Archive of Our Own ^beta

Office Hours

“Third time’s a charm” 

Yin’s advisor grins before taking a sip of his coffee. “This particular class is not easy, Yin, no matter who the teacher is. But I have a good feeling this time” the man types on his computer for a few moments, and Yin lets out a soft sigh. 

“I need it to be challenging. I’m just looking for a teacher that doesn’t mind explaining things more than once, that’s all” 

Yin has transferred classes twice, in less than two weeks. He doesn’t even want to think what kind of thing it could do to his transcript, already stressed for not being able to keep up with one class. And Literary Theory, of all things.

Yin is good with numbers. He’s precise with exact calculations. He’s better than a fucking machine. But apparently, his university needs to make sure the other part of his brain functions, and thus, forcing him to take at least one of these stupid classes. 

But a perfect transcript requires a challenging class. Yin needs a challenge. So, even if the subject is already too hard for his logical mind, he picked the hardest class of the curriculum, a smart strategy that will surely bump up his GPA and look impressive in his files once he graduates.

And Yin plans to graduate with fucking honors, because his family’s money won’t go to waste if he’s got any say in it. 

Problem is, to all his intelligence, Yin has a lot of trouble when it comes to interpretation and ambiguity – Yin doesn’t do well with ambiguity. He loves exact, perfect things, and literature offers none of that. 

There’s no formula for Yin to solve, and it’d been driving him insane, since his two previous teachers hadn’t been able to slow down their pace for Yin to get a grasp of it, and concepts quickly slipped from his fingers like sand before he could even assimilate them. 

Thus, his third try. 

“Here’s your new schedule” The man says, sliding a paper down towards him. Yin reads it over, nodding. Every Tuesday and Thursday at 6 p.m. 

So, tomorrow will be his first class, then. 

“Do you know his office hours?” Yin asks, slipping the paper neatly between his folders. Maybe he could go and introduce himself before class, to make the transition better.

“Uh, I don’t think he has a set schedule. He meets his students outside of class only when they need it” 

Yin frowns, “You mean I have to schedule one?” 

His advisor nods, “Yep. He’s pretty busy, most of the time” 

Yin sighs, stopping himself before he can roll his eyes. Great. Another teacher he’ll have to chase down for help. “Alright, thank you” he says, getting ready to leave.

His advisor gives him a tight smile. “You got this, kid. You know where to find me, if anything” 

Yin smiles at him gratefully. “I know, thank you. Have a good night!”

“Likewise!” 

Yin walks out of the office, and suppresses a soft whine. Why does he even need this? He’s gonna spend his days at a lab, for god’s sake. 

Exhaling tiredly again, he starts walking back to his apartment. 

He’ll just have to suck it, it seems.

✧˖°.⊹📖⊹.°˖✧ 

The next day, Yin feels dread pooling at his gut the closer the clock gets to six. He has only one morning class, which luckily doesn’t even drain his brain that much. He finishes his assignments quickly, as usual, getting an impressed nod from his teacher.

“Do you have any internships lined up already?” The woman asks, glancing over Yin’s station, humming in approval at the colors displaying inside the tubes. 

“I’ve heard back from a few junior positions” He says politely, stepping back so she can inspect the rest. “One of them offered me a job right after I graduate, thanks to your recommendation” He adds, and the giddiness in his voice is hard to contain. 

His teacher looks pleased, patting his shoulder excitedly, “That’s great news! Although I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew they’d sweep you up immediately” She laughs, reaching for Yin’s calculation sheet. “Perfect, as usual” she says, handing it back to Yin. 

“Thank you” he bows, accepting the sheet back; she nods at him, before walking over the next student. 

This is what Yin is supposed to be doing.

This is what he’s good at. 

And yet, hours later, he still finds himself dragging his feet towards the literature building, and climbing up the endless set of stairs leading to the entrance. 

The facade is impressive. Fitting, somehow, as it looms extravagantly with tall windows and pillars that mimic those of an ancient time. Carvings adorn the walls in romantic fashion, somehow enchanting. 

Yin has never been inside, but he’d eyed the building once or twice from a distance, coming and going from classes. When he walks in, it’s still twenty minutes before class is supposed to start, but he manages to find the room and quickly slips inside so he can get a good seat. 

The place looks like a chamber; hushed and dim, smelling slightly of dust. Quiet in a way any sort of noise might be disruptive to the knowledge held inside. Only a few students have settled, some chatting in low voices, others submerged in thick books that Yin imagines cannot be light to read.

He eyes the seats at the front, still empty.

Yin isn’t the type of student that hides away, hoping to go unnoticed. Even if he doesn’t feel comfortable with the subject, his academics are way too important for him to let his ego win over something so silly. 

So, he sets his bag down and takes a front row seat to the right; he eyes the clock, and there’s still fifteen minutes to go. With a soft sigh, he takes out his phone, deciding on answering the few texts he’d glanced over at earlier. 

There’s a huge project due in a few weeks, already, and Yin’s group doesn’t have one single clue about anything, to his luck. The teacher said it’d been a random pick, but Yin is certain he’d ended up with the lazy ones on purpose, just so they can have a chance at passing, for once. 

Still, Yin is kind enough to explain things to those who are genuinely interested. In all honesty, Yin would have done it by himself, if the workload hadn’t been so heavy. With his other classes, and this literature pain in the ass, he’d been left with no choice but to delegate. 

Which resulted in his phone being constantly blown up. The group chat is overflowing; two of them arguing over measurements, both of them wrong. The last few texts allude to him and to wait for help. His head already feels ready to explode, as he starts typing, as amicably as he can, where they’d gotten things wrong, and what the solution would be.

He’s so immersed in it, he doesn’t realize more people had filled in, along with his new professor. He doesn’t realize the room became silent, all of a sudden, until he hears his own name being called. 

“Mr. Wong”

Yin lifts his head, heart skipping a beat.

His new teacher stands right before him, a soft, serious glare in his eyes.

Brown. That’s the first thing Yin notices. Brown eyes, kind of warm. But definitely dark. Waves curl over them, parted on the side, gently brushing over thin frames. 

The man looms over him, arms crossed, sharply dressed. His posture demands attention. One that Yin quickly finds himself giving him, when the man tilts his head, eyes squinting a little. 

The tiny gesture sends tingles all over, bewildering Yin into high alert. 

“I don’t allow phones in my class. Think you can manage a few hours?” He speaks, and when that soft, commanding voice registers in Yin’s ears, instant chills run down his spine, both from the sound of it and the shock of being called out so unexpectedly. 

“I asked you a question, Mr. Wong” The man says, and even though his decibels are sweet, there’s thin veiled threat behind it, one that sends vibrations racing through him, freezing him on the spot.

But Yin breaks out of his stupor, nodding his head. “Y-yes” he replies softly.

The man quirks an eyebrow, lips tantalizingly curling upwards.

“Yes, what?” 

Oh, fuck.

Yin feels warmth prickling at his skin, drops of sweat sliding down the back of his neck. It should make him feel humiliated, but for some reason, it only makes this pulse spike.

Far, far from shame.

Yin holds the man’s gaze firmly. 

“Yes, sir” 

The entire class is so eerily silent, Yin realizes the man must be very respected (or feared), as students refrain from making any kind of remark.

Yin’s answer seems to please him, even if his stoic expression doesn’t change one bit. The moment stretches, but Yin doesn’t dare looking away until the man adverts his gaze, and addresses the class again, walking back to his desk.

“Open your books, chapter three. We’ll review homework in the second hour” He says, voice calm and even as he uncovers the board. Yin is happy to have something to do with his hands, swiftly taking his book and notebook out of his bag. The noises lull down his anxiety, as pages flip over and the sound of clatter fills the room. 

He then scrambles for his schedule to see the teacher’s name, unwilling to have any more surprises, already mortified at the thought of not knowing how to address him. 

A quick glance over, and he finds the bold letters right next to the name of the class. 

W. Ratsameerat

Yin memorizes it and puts his schedule away; his heart still races, and the moment seems to have successfully passed, at last, but then, just as the projector flickers on, the teacher addresses him again.

“Mr. Wong – stay after. You’ve got some catching up to do” 

He doesn’t speak condescendingly by any means, but Yin still feels his face warm up, nodding his head quickly. “Yes, Khun Ratsameerat” he says again, the name a gentle shape in his tongue. Relief washes over him, however, knowing he’ll have the chance to properly introduce himself. 

Again, the man doesn’t give any reaction nor indication of having heard him, simply looking back at the board and finally starting the lecture.

After what just happened, Yin’s eagerness to do well kicks in full force, so, even if he’s flustered for the remaining of it, he does his best to follow along, not wanting to fall even further behind. Granted, he quickly discovers this teacher is a better fit, as Yin finds himself understanding the concepts a lot easier. It’s still challenging, but Yin is positive he’ll manage to get the hang of it if he tries harder.

What he can’t shake off, however, is the feeling of dark eyes set on him. Yin feels that stare, but each time he looks up from his book, the man is never looking his way. Yin knows he must be imagining it, probably leftover anxiety.

It has to be in his head. It’s just residual nerves, he tells himself. No one likes to be called out, so he blames the tremor in his fingers to that. It most definitely does not have to do with his new teacher.

Definitely not.

✧˖°.⊹🔬⊹.°˖✧ 

“That’ll be all for today. Just remember: The narrator is always in control, but only because the reader lets them be” 

Yin scribbles that down and underlines it twice, before finally closing his notebook with a sigh. So far, so good. He doesn’t think he’d grasped all the concepts entirely, but he knows a few readings will set him on track. 

Putting his things away, he catches a few glances from his classmates, and swears a few pity looks are thrown his way, the more the room empties. 

Great.

Shaking his head, Yin stands from his seat, nervously wiping  down his hands on the front of his hoodie. He dumbly fixes himself up, glancing over his overly put-together teacher, who’s still talking to one last student. 

Standing on the side, he lets himself look at him, a bit calmer now that the class is over, and Yin doesn’t feel as lost as before. 

He can only see his profile, as he leans slightly over his desk; letting his gaze travel down his physique, he realizes he himself is actually a bit taller, but definitely not as buff. Muscles visibly strain beneath the tight, black button down he wears, and the arms crossed across his chest stretch the fabric further, as he nods his head to whatever the student says. 

Yin’s eyes trail him as he braces himself against his desk; his sleeves are rolled up, veins faintly raised beneath his skin despite the calm ease in his posture.

He can’t tear his eyes away, breath caught as the man tilts his head, stretching slightly, fingers rubbing the side of his neck. The fabric of his shirt pulls taut over his chest, clinging to the shape of a body Yin has no fucking business ogling. 

He gulps down, throat suddenly scraping dry. By the time his gaze drifts back upward, a pair of brown eyes are already fixed on him.

The jolt is instant. Alarms flare in Yin’s mind and heat rushes to his face as he quickly adverts his eyes, taking advantage of the student saying their goodbyes – grateful for the distraction that pulls the teacher’s attention away once more.

He feels his burning cheek with the back of his hand – he would fucking die if anyone saw him blushing after catching himself staring.

Pull yourself together, my god, he pep talks himself, before turning around once more. 

The student is gone, but the teacher isn’t looking at him, busy with gathering his books and documents inside his bag. Yin stands there, frozen, feeling strangely scrutinized and properly scolded, even if the man had barely thrown a few words at him. 

Still, Yin grips his bag when he finally glances at him, swinging his satchel over his shoulder. 

He tilts his head towards another door, on the opposite side of the entrance. 

“This way” he says, tone as calm as ever, turning around without waiting for Yin to respond. Reaching for the handle, he opens it, and turns back around in a silent gesture for Yin to get in first. When Yin doesn’t move, he quirks his eyebrow, “Any day now” he speaks, and Yin swears there’s a hint of amusement in his tone, ripping him out of his dumb state.

His feet finally move, and Yin runs a nervous hand through his hair as he walks over, bowing slightly as he passes by him. A whiff of his scent drifts over, and it only gets stronger the moment he steps foot in what he realizes must be his office. Sharp, expensive cologne, mixed with something richer, impossible to name.

The room curves gently. Dimly lit, but furnished tastefully. Cozy, almost, but incredibly elegant, just like the clothes he wears. There’s a couch on one side, a coffee table and a set of chairs to match. On the other side, right before the window, there’s a large desk. 

Hundreds of books displayed up the wall, with a ladder attached to the shelves. A few paintings, too, and several other ornaments placed strategically around, putting together an enchanting, mysterious look. 

It smells of ink, leather, and whatever it is that clings to the man’s shirt, which becomes stronger when Yin hears footsteps behind, getting closer. The hairs at the back of his neck rise up when the man walks past him, towards his desk, leaving traces of his scent behind.

For some reason, Yin’s heart cannot stop racing. The more he looks at him, the more he remains in his presence, his attention is pulled taut, set stubbornly on the man before him, currently sitting down on his chair, his back to the window. 

Outside, the moon is already high, and the man doesn’t bother with any more lights, as the few lamps scattered in the room offer enough to see each other. 

“Please, take a sit” He speaks calmly, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. Yin complies, leaving his bag next to his feet, movements stiff as he straightens up his posture.

The man looks at him, and finally does something Yin hadn’t realized he actually needed. 

He smiles. 

“You don’t have to be so nervous, you’re not in trouble” he says, tone shifting to something softer. 

Yin manages to return it, nodding his head, feeling something inside of him ease up. “Yes, si–Khun Ratsameerat”

“Just Khun War is fine” He pauses, eyes scanning Yin’s face, “I can’t be that much older than you” he adds, glancing at him with such scrutiny, Yin wonders what kind of thoughts go through his mind.

“Okay…Khun War,” He complies, unable to hold his gaze any longer; he focuses on whatever it is between them, sighing softly when he –War– his mind reconciles, starts flipping through some documents.

Even his movements are paused and elegant, deft fingers flickering through the pages delicately.

“You’ve switched instructors twice. That’s unusual” He converses, reading over Yin’s file. 

Yin nods quickly, “Yeah…I want to do well, and I heard this class was rigorous” 

“Rigorous is one word for it” War answers dryly, without looking at him. “What was wrong with the other teachers?” 

Yin scratches his neck, a bit embarrassed. “Their pace was too fast for me. I was hoping I could follow your lectures better…” he trails off, strangely unsure of his own words.

Brown eyes drill him to the spot.

“And? What’s your verdict?” War asks, words contrasting heavily with the thick silence that seems to surround him, making everything he says sound solemn, in a way. “Did I pass?”  

It’s insane, how commanding he is without even hardening one bit.

Yin absolutely hates feeling out of his depth, but something about the way this man looks at him, makes Yin want to ace his fucking class.

So, he doesn’t look away from War, this time. 

“With flying colors” Yin answers boldly.

It earns him a low, breathy chuckle, and even if it’s a reaction he’d hoped to get, it still shocks him. The stretch of his smile, slightly twisted to one side, and the dimple depressing the skin briefly, glueing his gaze to it for longer than it would be proper, even after it disappears. 

For two seconds, War hadn’t been as intimidating, staring back at him, handing him a thick envelope. 

The syllabus, stapled. 

Yin flips through it, noticing War had left a few notes in red. 

Then, he leans forward over his desk.

“You’re two weeks behind. You’ll need to read Calvino’s If on a winter’s night a traveler, and Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own before next week” he explains, going back to his usual, serious demeanor, “There will be a short analysis due Thursday. I don’t accept extensions” 

Yin nods, placing the document inside his bag carefully, “I can do that” he reassures. 

War studies him for a moment, and, for the second time that evening, Yin wonders what he’s thinking. 

Why is he looking at him like that.

Like he’s curious about something.

Then, the man stands, walking around his desk to lean against it, arms crossed over his chest. This time, Yin doesn’t dare let his gaze trail down, keeping his eyes fixed on his face.

The scent becomes thicker, swirling all around him, so strong, Yin wonders if he’ll leave this room smelling faintly of him. 

A thought he urgently forces away.

“I’ve seen your transcript” War says, looking down at him, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s brilliant. And I can recognize an over-achiever when I see one” He glances to his right, and when Yin follows his gaze he finds a wall almost entirely covered, from top to bottom, with all sorts of awards. 

Takes one to know one, Yin’s brain sings, and sudden excitement races through him, both at the sight, and the subtle challenge he can’t help but take to heart, as flawed old habits threaten to kick in full force.

“But you’ll soon find this class doesn’t reward answers” War’s voice pulls his attention back to him. His gaze doesn’t waver. “It rewards questions”

Silence follows War’s words and, somehow, Yin knows not to speak just yet. His proximity looms, like some sort of threat Yin can’t find within himself to be scared of.

“Are you good at asking questions, Mr. Wong?” War asks, his voice low and deliberate, like the hush before a dangerous storm, thick with the promise of thunder. The kind of stillness that electrifies the air, brimming with the weight of something inevitable.

And Yin has always loved the rain.

So he holds that gaze. Captivating, even as it unsettles something deep within. 

Irresistible, Yin’s mind whispers.

“I’m a quick study” 

✧˖°.⊹ᝰ🖋️⊹.°˖✧ 

Yin may have overestimated himself. 

He’s dragging his limbs, but he walks into class five minutes before it begins, and thankfully, the seat at the front he’s been using for the past few weeks is empty. Dropping on it unceremoniously, he exhales, hands holding his head like they might hold him together entirely, the utter exhaustion frying his brain, catching up to him now he has a short moment to breathe.

Yin has been busting his ass. The past few weeks have proven to test his patience, dedication, and goddamn decency. 

War has been merciless, and yet Yin doesn’t think he’s even pushing him that hard. The material itself is hard enough, the readings becoming heavier and more intrinsic as the semester rolls, making Yin realize he’s way out of his depth. 

Twice a week, Yin’s intelligence is pushed to its limits – dragged and stretched like gum, tested to the point of frustration, and he can’t even be angry about it. Not when he leaves each class feeling wrung out. As if the man had squeezed every last drop of his critical thinking and barely managed to fill a single cup. 

And that’s not even the most maddening part of it all, because Yin still cannot make sense of the fact he’s so goddamn attracted to him. 

Yes, Yin isn’t a dumb fuck. He knows when he’s got a crush. He’s got eyes, and the man is smoking hot. But Yin has never let himself get this caught up over a pretty face. Physical attraction has always been easy to manage, having seen his fair share of insane, ethereal beauty in his life.

And yet, those coffee eyes captivate him in a different, utterly devastating way. 

Simply indescribable.

Yin cannot work with indescribable. He needs to place every little thing in a designated slot in his brain, because he doesn’t know how to function otherwise. 

And yes, War would very well fit under the too pretty to handle category, but no matter how much Yin tries to shove his existence into that particular spot, War breaks down all the walls around it, making them explode and crack its surroundings, stirring up a chaos Yin doesn’t know how to contain. 

A fire impossible to put down, with each clever glance, like he knows every single one of Yin’s secrets, or at least had a hunch of them, and couldn’t wait to unravel them, with those fingers that flip over the pages of his books with utmost reverence.

Like a gentle lover. 

Each time Yin’s eyes catch it, a tingle runs down his spine, and he has to force himself to look away.

It’s not a first to have a crush on someone he shouldn’t. He’s been there, so it’s not strange to him. The problem is, he can’t afford to have any distractions; worse, when said distraction holds the power to either give him the best chances at graduating, or ruin his life completely.

Yin’s brain supplies that exact thought, the moment War walks into the classroom, wearing that goddamn tight button down again, tucked in his black slacks. Waves unkept, he runs a hand through them, before adjusting the glasses up his nose.

Ruin me.

Brown eyes suddenly fall into Yin, as if he actually heard the words.

War leaves his bag on the desk and looks away, leaving Yin to grasp at the fast beat of his heart, sending blood right up to his cheeks, worsening his already growing headache. 

God, Yin is so, so fucked.

Forcing his brain to get with the program, he opens his book before pulling out his notes, as the rest of his classmates do the same. 

Today, the lecture isn’t as overwhelming, or maybe Yin is getting used to the constant confusion; he takes down notes and makes sure to underline the things War tends to say more than once. 

Yin knows how to be the perfect, A+ student when in learning mode. He knows how to pace himself. Usually. But the questions flooding his brain about the course feel too obvious to voice out loud, so he’s taken into writing them down to ask War later. 

That’s another thing that has become part of his routine. The class ends at 8, but Yin doesn’t leave the building well after 10, hanging back at War’s office, unwilling to leave without a clearer understanding of the things he couldn’t get. 

Yin had walked in once after his second class to ask a question – he hadn’t intended to take much of his time, but War had taken a look at him, and might have taken pity in how fucking lost Yin was. So he’d invited him in, and kindly answered all his questions.

The younger hadn’t been able to stop going back, each time. 

War doesn’t seem to mind, or at least, hasn’t voiced any complaints so far. In fact, it’s like he hopes for Yin to stay, delighted at the way his questions never seem to end, as if Yin’s hunger for knowledge were something addicting, something he looks forward to.

He answers Yin’s questions, sometimes with more questions, but it’d started feeding a part of Yin’s brain he hasn’t known it’d been hungry at all, opening up worlds upon worlds of things he never knew could be discovered.

Yin might be struggling in his class, but the –mental– thirst War awakens within, surpasses any frustration that might make him even entertain the thought of quitting. 

That, and the fact he’d started looking forward to it; those stolen hours at the man’s office, every Tuesdays and Thursdays – truly, the highlight of his week, where Yin would learn new perspectives over coffee or tea, and a side of War’s breathtaking smiles.

“That will be all for today. There’re no assignments for next week, just make sure you do the reading and be ready for discussion” War announces, starting to wipe down the board. “Korn, would you please give back the assignments?” He asks one of the students near his desk, who bows at him and starts distributing them back silently. 

Yin feels a nervousness he hasn’t felt in years, when his classmate hands him back his paper. Upon closer inspection, he can’t see any marks, or scribbled notes in the handwriting he’d become familiar with over the weeks. 

He frowns, flipping over the pages, but there’s nothing written in them. No notes, and no crossed out sentences.

No grade.

In fact, his paper is exactly as he’d delivered it, if only a little worn out, as if it’d been read over and over. He’s immersed in his own thoughts, wondering why the hell did War give it back without any sort of indication of Yin passing or failing – he’s nearing the end of his paper when a classmate approaches.

“What did you get?” He asks, a curious glint in his eyes.

Yin turns towards him, folding back the pages. “What?” 

“The assignment. He gave me a C again and I need to compare with someone” 

“Uh…” Yin eyes his paper, suddenly ashamed, for some reason. He puts it down on his desk and places a hand on top of it, unwilling to share anything out of sheer embarrassment. “I’m not sure, I think I forgot to grade me, or something”

To this, his classmate winces, patting his back in a comfort manner, before going to the next person he sees, leaving him even more confused than before.

The fuck does that mean?

Yin’s mind reels, as War simply gathers his things and nods at the last few students that start filling out, before walking inside his office without looking back. The room goes quiet as the last person closes the door behind them, but Yin stares at the spot War disappeared from.

The door to the office is left wide open.

Waiting. Inviting him in.

As if War knows Yin will definitely walk through it. 

It both irritates and excites him, making him rise from his seat, bag hanging on his shoulder, paper clutched in one hand.

Inside, War is walking towards his desk, giving him no indication of having acknowledged his presence. 

“Sir– Khun War” He corrects himself when the man looks at him. “I think you forgot to grade my assignment” he says, timidly holding out the paper in the air.

There’s a beat of silence.

War settles his satchel at his desk, before walking over the large bookshelf occupying almost the entire wall. “I didn’t forget, Mr. Wong” he replies.

“Just Yin is fine” he says, unable to mask the subtle irritation in his tone.

It gets him one of those unnerving head tilts of his, as if War were endlessly amused by his existence. “Okay, Yin. I didn’t forget to grade your assignment” he says calmly, turning towards the books again, fingers flipping through them. “I decided against it” 

Yin blinks, and a frown quickly makes its way between his eyebrows; he lets out a soft sigh, willing his patience to stick around some more. “May I know why?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“Because that paper alone would sink your GPA underground if I ever were to grade it in good conscience” 

The words ring in Yin’s ears. Like annoying little vibrations, they blow his pride in the worst way. War’s stoic demeanor, speaking always as-a-matter-of-fact, making Yin bristle with how well-spoken he is. 

Intelligent in a way Yin has so much trouble keeping up with, a fire starts simmering, low in his gut.

His irritation is far from anger, though, dangerously close to something Yin doesn’t feel brave enough to name. Something that tickles his insides, anticipating something he shouldn’t be anticipating at all. 

“And how am I supposed to know what to do, then?” Yin retorts, “Or did you plan on at least letting me know?”

War turns to him, confused, as if he were suddenly dealing with a toddler and not a college student. “I wrote down specific instructions on the last page, didn’t you see them?” 

What? There’s nothing in his assignment. Not even notes, or pointers to tell him where he might have gone wrong. With contained ire, Yin flips over to the last page, finally reading over the words he actually did miss, written down with the same kind of tone with which he speaks. 

Calm, but firm. 

Try again.

“Do I need to be clearer, perhaps?” War speaks with boredom, and his voice and the words ignite so much frustration within, Yin has to clench his jaw not to burst. He takes a deep breath, and tries hard not to shove the papers inside his bag, slipping them in as calmly as he can manage.

“Khun,” Yin says, eyes following him as War moves, still searching in his endless stack of books. “I did the analysis, just like you–”

“This isn’t your chemistry class” War interrupts firmly, “You didn’t analyze. You read, regurgitated the plot, and named a technique” He says, gathering a couple of books in his arms, searching for a third one. “There’s no formula here, and yet you keep trying to force one in” 

When War finds what he’s looking for, he finally turns and walks toward Yin.

Looking up at him, it’s like a switch flips. 

His gaze softens, and the sharpness melts away. He places the books in Yin’s arms, and one hand lingers on top of them – not just handing them over, but almost caressing the covers with something close to reverence.

The shift in energy is so instantaneous, Yin becomes hyper-aware of it, and his presence so near.

“An unreliable narrator isn’t a literary trick. It’s a mirror. It’s asking the reader what they are willing to believe. Why you want to believe it. And what it says about you, if you do” 

His brown eyes linger, dark and dense, like pools of chocolate thick with meaning. It’s the kind of look that makes Yin feel exposed, like War sees things in him he hasn’t even begun to understand. Waiting for Yin to ask the right question. Desperate for it, even. 

Just like that, every trace of irritation evaporates, when War’s lips curve into a soft, unguarded smile.

“You don’t trust the text yet, and that’s okay” War says, tone mellowed down. “But you won’t learn until you start doubting everything” 

The words are practically hushed, said both with conviction and gentleness, like War believes them wholeheartedly.

Enough for Yin to welcome them too, without question.

It’s as if Yin were suddenly being warmed up after a cold rain – the teacher’s demeanor utterly impossible to keep up with. Leaving Yin blindsided, stupidly enchanted at the way he speaks like he holds every truth in the universe. 

With a thundering heart, Yin remains still, while those eyes travel all over his face, lingering for a moment to long before they blink, and dart away towards the books between them.

Breaking a spell Yin hadn’t realized he’d been pulled under.

War clears his throat, “Choose one of these, and start again” War says, and Yin blinks, bewildered. “Same as last time. Ten pages, no more, no less”

The younger shakes himself out of his stupor, the haze fading away as quickly as it came, forcing him to get his bearings. 

“The entire thing?” Yin asks in disbelief. “How long do you expect me to work on this?” 

War looks upwards, as if considering for a few moments. 

“Until you learn to stop coloring within the lines” 

It’s said with finality. With expectation, like War wants to discover him, open up his brain and see what’s inside.

And Yin is suddenly scared what he finds might disappoint him, leaving him stranded with concepts and thoughts that don’t even feel like his own, brain scrapped dry of all the things he thought he knew. It’s a terrifying thought, one Yin doesn’t even want to entertain. 

But something nags at him, pulling at his heart, telling him to do exactly as War says, because only that will tilt his axis and force him to balance, just like Yin has to do every single time he stands in his presence.

With a heavy sigh, he resigns to his fate, and concedes. Just when he’s about to leave though, he decides he can’t let have War have the last word.

When he’s at the door, Yin turns his head, glancing at him over his shoulder. “I thought you didn’t accept extensions” he says, books held gently against his chest, eyes dead set on the figure that stills completely, about to sit on his desk.

War’s gaze falls on him heavy, giving absolutely nothing away. 

But Yin gets exactly what he wanted, anyway.

His sharp, undivided attention.

Yin can’t help the soft smirk, and a head tilt of his own – a simple retaliation only the both of them seem to understand.

“Are you making an exception, sir?” Yin formulates it as a question on purpose, and it proves to be the right thing to do when he’s rewarded with a smile that tries very hard to be contained.

“Don’t make me regret it, Mr. Wong” 

✧˖°.⊹🧬⊹.°˖✧

It’s later that week, after Thursday class, that Yin finds himself at War’s office again. The man is busy grading papers, but answers Yin’s questions easily, sometimes without even stopping to think. Quick and witty with his words, it’s clear he knows his books by heart, finding new, clever ways to explain them. 

They’re reading The Remains of the Day. After an hour draped over War’s desk, Yin manages to grasp what War wants him to understand. How the narrator is withholding the truth, not to deceive, but to protect themselves, somehow. He’d read the book over and over, wanting to have its most important aspects right at the front of his mind before drafting out the paper. 

Yin had finally gotten what War had meant with ‘asking the right questions’. Over the past few days, all the reading he’d done had opened up his mind slowly, but surely, urging at him to pry between the lines not written in ink, invisible to the eye.

It’d been mind blowing, to say the least. He’d stormed inside War’s office right after class was dismissed, setting the book and his notes down excitedly, ranting about what he’d realized. Even if they’d been obvious to War, they just became visible to Yin, and the man seemed to understand that, never making fun of his eagerness.

He’d simply listened to him with a soft smile, perhaps sprinkled with something close to pride, if Yin’d let his mind go too far ahead. It hadn’t dimmed for as long as Yin had ranted, as if he’d been happy to hear the right questions, questions that don’t necessarily invite answers.

Once it clicked in Yin’s mind, it’d been impossible to quiet it down.

“We already know he’s lying by omission” War reminds him, almost absent-minded, as he continues with his task. 

Yin frowns, tapping his pencil over his notes. “But… Stevens isn’t actually lying. He just doesn’t know how to tell the truth” Yin says, fingers threaded in his hair, settled against the large desk. 

War hums, and if Yin were to let his wishful thinking win, he’d say he sounds a tad impressed. 

“Sometimes, silence is far more dangerous than lies” The man says, then, glancing up at him, but Yin shakes his head.

“My paper’s looking at him less negatively. Less accusatory. Like… from all those times I said I was fine, but I wasn’t?” Yin pauses, surprised by his own reflection. “I see it like that” He shrugs.

The words settle between them, and then something flickers across War’s eyes. Recognition, or maybe understanding. 

Whatever it is, it hits Yin like a jolt. 

War sets the red pen down, his gaze shifting, striking even through the barrier of his glasses. He leans forward, mirroring Yin’s posture.

“Exactly,” War says, voice lower now. “It’s exactly like that” 

It’s not quite a compliment, but it sure feels like one. 

And it’s dangerous, what it does to Yin. The way his chest threatens to expand, breath caught. The way his fingers twitch with the impulse to reach out.

The way it makes him ache to earn that reaction again. To be the reason for it, over and over.

Without a word, War stands from his chair and walks around the desk to take the empty seat next to Yin. “Let me see” he speaks softly, and Yin hands him the papers before setting both hands on his own lap.

His fingers tap on his knees, restless – Yin bites his lips, looking at him attentively as he reads.

He doesn’t know what makes him so nervous. Sure, War has been strict towards Yin more often than not. Sarcastic and utterly amused, but the man has never looked down on him. War has done nothing but listen to him, like he actually wants to hear what Yin wants to say.

Thus, worsening his current, still very improper crush on him. 

The corner of War’s lips tilts at the first few pages.

“You’re quite the emotional writer” War says, flipping over the papers gently. “You’ll have to be careful with that” he converses, getting immerse in his reading. Yin can’t help but follow the way his brown eyes scan over the words, as if he were to see his thoughts, or catch a reaction, or maybe simply because he likes the way he blinks.

His eyelashes flutter, from time to time.

They look like actual butterflies, flickering over smooth cheekbones, where a soft pink taints them, albeit faintly, as if that were their natural color. 

Following the slope of his nose, and down to his lips, Yin wonders how can someone have such a rosy color in them. Full and unfairly inviting, even if ghosts of slight abuse cling to them, a clear sign of constant biting. 

Yin wonders if he’ll ever catch such thing, brain already conjuring up images of him, tugging down on that lower lip, maybe nervous, maybe in anticipation.

Bolts of something forbidden strike through his chest, and Yin can no longer control his own thoughts, thoughts that spiral down towards somewhere unknown, the more he stares at that insanely perfect, youthful face. 

Just how old is he?

War flinches, and his eyes shift from the paper. He turns his head, looking at Yin, slightly bewildered. 

“What brought up that question?” War asks, voice timid.

Yin belatedly realizes he’d voiced out his thoughts, just then. War tilts his head, and Yin doesn’t know when that gesture of his stopped being infuriating, and became solely endearing – a very War thing to do.

He feels the moment his face becomes all shades of red, but he manages to hold that gaze, even if he can’t hide the mortification in his own. 

“Uh, no–nothing, you just–” He clears his throat, looking away. “You just look young, for a college professor” 

War blinks at him, seemingly unimpressed.

“If I had a penny each time I hear that…” War sighs, eyes back on Yin’s draft. The younger waits, already used to the pace with which he speaks, holding his breath. War lets out another sigh, eyes flickering to Yin before they go back to the paper. “I’m thirty” He mutters, finally.

“What?” 

War looks up at nothing in particular, before glancing over at Yin, eyebrow quirked. 

“S-sorry” Yin utters, bitting his lip. “But you don’t look a day older than twenty” He confesses, leaning back against his chair.

“And you don’t look a day older than eighteen” War retorts, still busy with the pages in his hands, even if Yin has a feeling he’d stopped reading a while ago. 

Yin snorts, “Come on, I do not look eighteen. You’re messing with me” he says, shifting back towards the desk to gather his books. War lets out a disbelieved sound, folding back the papers to the first page. 

“I’m twenty-six” Yin says, shooting him a hard stare. 

The indignation in his tone causes  War to contain a smile, one that would have made his eyes wrinkle if he’d let it take over. One that still makes that dimple appear, once again, to Yin’s delight. 

It’s etched in his brain more persistently than the books Yin has tried so hard to memorize. 

“I know” War replies, swiftly giving his paper back. “You’re in good shape” is all he says, not giving him any extra indication as to how to proceed. 

Not that Yin really expected more, to be honest, already used the man’s ways.

Two weeks later, when gets his assignment back, he doesn’t feel one ounce of nervousness. He knows he did a good job, anxiety long gone even when the student assigned to hand them back reaches his desk, and Yin’s eyes glance over the first page, the familiar words he’d written and deleted, over and over, before ultimately deciding to leave them be, staring back at him.

“This analysis won’t offer a single answer — because I don’t think there is one. I’ve started to wonder if what we call ‘truth’ in fiction is just what we’re programmed to accept. Maybe that’s why the narrator feels like a liar: because we believed them too easily.”

Yin doesn’t bother re-reading the assignment – he has it practically memorized after the week he spent rewriting it, over and over. Instead, he flips straight to the last page. 

There, in neat handwriting, are a few words. So cleanly penned, it feels like War meant them to be spoken gently.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Below, a B+ stares back at him – and even though Yin has never gotten a fucking B in his life, it feels like a win. It fills him with a swell of pride, breaking into a grin he can’t even begin to contain.

When he glances up, War isn’t looking back at him, flipping through the worn out pages of a book aimlessly, as if pretending to be busy.

But the gentle, easy smile tugging at his lips gives him away. 

War doesn’t need to look at Yin for him to know it’s meant for him.

As delusional as that might make him feel.

✧˖°.⊹📖⊹.°˖✧ 

Things take a swift turn towards somewhere Yin hasn’t expected. 

If you’d tell his past self, right at the beginning of the semester, that he’d be spending any extra free time hiding away at War’s office discussing book after book, he’d laugh with his whole chest. 

Yin doesn’t know what did it, doesn’t know how he finds himself ridiculously involved in a tangent about the portrayal of romance in books. The never ending possibilities, the discussions, the hours spent near him, listening to his voice and saving every little reaction, every little smile, every soft, precious laugh. 

He finds himself pathetically drawn to each moment. Moments that, Yin starts to notice, become charged, one after the other, at the intensity slowly building up each time he leaves War’s office with a thundering heart. 

But it’s the way War looks at him what puts Yin’s sanity to the test, making him wonder how far his imagination can go, and how much of it is actually real.

Because there’s no way this is the work of his wishful thinking. Not those glances. Not those lingering touches. Not the way the air seems to cling to him each time they get close, distance becoming erased bit by bit, as if something were pulling their bodies nearer, one inch at a time. 

There’s no way Yin was imagining the sudden tension, one night he’d been reading, trying to find a specific reference, and War had leaned over his shoulder. He’d rested his hand next to Yin’s over the inked words, finger pointing exactly to the quote he’d been looking for. 

“Here, is it this one?” War said in almost a whisper, heads so close the words brushed against Yin’s temple. It had taken everything within Yin not to close the remaining distance the moment he turned his head, finding warm brown eyes already looking at him, scanning all over his face. 

“Yeah…” Yin replied, and the moment had been the flicker of a second, as they’d turned away at the same time. Electricity had lingered long after, even after they wrapped up for the night and Yin left, knowing he’d come back soon, unable to stay away. 

The younger knows well enough the direction this is taking, and it becomes more and more obvious to him, that he’s not alone in it. That, whatever this is, might not be as one-sided as he’d thought. 

Because he can see it.

War’s desire. As urgent, as burning as Yin’s own. Simmering, waiting, like an imminent explosion.

It’s pulling at him so tight, Yin doesn’t know how much it’ll hold.

Even if, sometimes, it quiets down, like now, as they find themselves wrapped up in another discussion after Yin finished reading War’s last recommendation. This time, it’d been romance. Yin had been excited, being a hopeless romantic himself, but the story had left a bitter aftertaste, even if it’d had a perfectly happy ending.

Yin knows War gave him this book on purpose, if the delighted response to Yin’s reaction is anything to go by.

“It’s impossible for me, or anyone with a even tiny sense of rationality, to relate to this kind of story” 

War offers him a steaming cup of tea, before sitting down next to Yin on the couch, taking a small sip of his own beverage. “And why do you think that happened?” He asks, even if he looks like he already knows the answer. 

Like he knows everything, reading Yin as if he were one of his beloved books.

Yin can’t find it in himself to be the slightest bit upset about it.

He thinks about War’s question, setting the cup gently over his lap, letting the steam and the scent of jasmine drift over his nose. “Because I don’t conform to societal rules. I don’t want to be anyone’s savior, nor I want anyone to save me” Yin replies, “And at the same, it tries to convince me this idea of love is actually possible”

“Well, fiction always tells some kind of truth, even if it’s slant” War counters, leaning comfortably against the cushions.

Yin huffs, setting down his cup on the table. “So then, lies count as honesty if we dress them up pretty enough?” 

War chuckles, “You just ran head first into the point” he says, draping an arm over the back of the couch. The movement brings them closer, Yin’s body slightly turned towards him. “It is a lie. But it’s your job, as the reader, to find the truth in it” 

Yin mulls over those words, but something tugs at his chest. His thoughts are scrambled, making it impossible to keep his own emotions at bay. “I might need to look at it from a different perspective, but for now, it’s just utter bullshit” he decides, his inner thoughts no longer caged as he’s unable to contain them. “It’s so infuriating, because I hate it, and yet it makes me yearn for it, like someday I might…”

Yin halts, suddenly realizing how personal his words became. Feeling his face warm, he avoids War’s expectant gaze.

“You might…?” War utters, and when Yin looks at him, he’s leaning a hand on his temple, eyes painfully knowing, like he doesn’t even need Yin to finish his thought. Not when War’s lips are pulled into that smile – that goddamn upside down smile that brings a glimmer to his eyes and makes them appear like they’re about to ignite with stars.

The words catch in his throat, but Yin smiles to himself, quietly. “You’d call this unreliable narration, wouldn’t you?” 

War blinks, then lets out a breathy laugh. It’s quieter than Yin expected, unrestrained. A sound he hadn’t yet earned, until now. 

It’s devastatingly beautiful. 

Yin doesn’t look away, not this time. He’s long since stopped keeping these thoughts away, not even bothering to try anymore. 

“I don’t think I have it in me to be a transparent narrator” he says, more to himself than to War, watching him, as he sets his own empty mug at the table.

War tilts his head, thoughtful. The silence stretches just long enough to pull tension from it, but not long enough to make it uncomfortable.

“Those aren’t the most interesting, anyway” he replies, impossibly soft, sounding much like a reassurance.

There it is again. 

War’s words are followed by silence, and Yin welcomes it. He doesn’t have anything to say to them, anyway. There’s no need to, because his heart rate spikes up when War moves back  next to him, and Yin notices how their bodies seem to be unconsciously turned towards each other.

Another few inches, erased.

Yin doesn’t know if War does it on purpose, because there’s barely any space between them, yet Yin has no intention of calling him out. Not when he’s already so addicted to feeling his breath near him, or watching the way his chest goes up and down.

Addicted to getting lost in that scent he still can’t pinpoint, but that never fails to make his knees go weak. That, and the fact War’s eyes seem to burn, laid on him heavier, as seconds pass by.

Nonetheless, Yin isn’t brave enough to look at his face up this close, and his eyes catch a few buttons strangely undone on his dark blue shirt. 

It’s swiftly and without much thought, that he reaches over to fix it. “Hold still” he utters, and the fabric feels as soft as he’d imagined. Thin, oozing of his delicious scent when Yin leans closer to button it again. 

It’s as if War stops breathing all together, frozen and pliant while Yin works. 

Yin’s fingers grace at his skin slightly, and his ears catch the moment War’s breath itches. 

Glancing up into his eyes, Yin finds infinite darkness taking over them; never-ending pools of thick chocolate melting, threatening to spill all over him. It sends an electrifying thrill through him, making it impossible to look away. 

A beat – a hiccup of hesitation – and then, a sharp intake of breath has Yin tugging at the fabric, unable to stop the motion, bringing their faces closer.

It’s like War melts, utterly unable to resist, desire crystal clear for Yin to see when blown eyes flicker down to his lips. Yin’s tongue darts out to lick them – an invitation. War shudders, and Yin takes it as encouragement to lean in, brain suddenly empty of all and every reason why he’d been keeping him at arms length. 

Because Yin’s heart thunders, wild and delirious, when their noses brush and War’s eyes close, evaporating any remaining hesitation left in him.

With a quivering breath, Yin closes the last few inches between them, meeting War’s lips with his own in a slow, gentle kiss. Mouths press softly against each other, almost timidly, but it’s enough to send Yin’s heart into a euphoric state, skin vibrating everywhere they touch, urging at him to press in further.

Their mouths part and join tenderly, never pulling away entirely – it’s soft and hesitant, each kiss they share, but Yin’s fire threatens to burst, shattering his breath as he tries to deepen it, tightening his grip on War’s shirt and moving forward with every intention to climb on his lap, desperate to get closer.

But War flinches, limbs tensing, and a hand comes up to cradle Yin’s face to keep him still, pulling back from the kiss with a soft, smacking sound.

Yin opens his eyes, but War keeps his own closed for another moment, letting out a shaky breath, chest heaving, swallowing dry like he hadn’t drank a drop of water in years. 

Then, those beautiful orbs find Yin’s. 

With dread, Yin sees it happen – the second War comes back into himself, blinking as if he’d suddenly woken up from a feverish dream. 

But it’s so pained, the look in those eyes, as if he hadn’t wanted to wake up at all. “You should go” War still utters with strained decibels, and a gentle hand closes around Yin’s wrist, slowly prying his fingers off.

They don’t move, not right away, the air crackling, burning where War still holds his face gently, sending shivers everywhere when his thumb runs across his jawline.  

“…right now?” Yin breathes, can’t keep the longing from bleeding through his words, but War doesn’t answer, suddenly moving away, standing up so quickly Yin sways, grounding himself with a hand on the couch, a trembling sigh slipping out of his lips at the sharp, cold emptiness.

But the fire in his belly doesn’t die – it’s still aching and restless, even as War tries to smother it with silence. The older man doesn’t look at him, standing before his bookshelf, back turned like he’s trying to compose himself, running nervous fingers through his waves, messing them up even more. Yin stays where he is, pulse thrumming loud in his ears, watching the sharp lines of War’s silhouette, wondering if the man is breathing just as hard.

If he’s wanting Yin, just as hard.

“Yin…” War’s voice strains, and the warning is so clear, he doesn’t need to say anything else for Yin to understand.

To read between those unspoken lines.

He’s had a great teacher, after all.

So, Yin stands on shaky legs, reaching for his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. Nearing the door, he slows down his steps as he walks past him, before reaching for the handle. 

“You know…” Yin speaks, glancing back. War is already watching him, chest heaving slightly, and his eyes are cautious but still so warm, as if both aware of the danger, and addicted to it.

Confirming all of Yin’s suspicions.

“You’re not as unreadable as you think you are” Yin says, and something flickers across the soft brown of his orbs – a crack in War’s composure, vulnerable, and Yin turns around before he can watch it disappear. 

The door clicks shut behind him, but as he walks away, he can’t stop the hope that stubbornly blooms in his chest. That whatever started tonight, won’t be so easy to ignore.

That his words will echo, and sit heavy in War’s mind. 

Maybe even follow him into his dreams.

✧˖°.⊹🔬⊹.°˖✧ 

They leave it at that.

Midterms are around the corner, and Yin can’t really let his brain wander more than it should, even if he’s not particularly overworked as this is his last semester, so his schedule isn’t that packed. It doesn’t help his current situation, since the few brief moments of peace he finds get instantly snatched by him, and the memory of that fucking kiss.

They hadn’t talked about it. In fact, they hadn’t talked at all, as the only few interactions since then had been in front of others. Yin is growing increasingly impatient, but it’s not like he can do much at the moment.

Not when he notices War is trying his hardest to pull away. Giving Yin the cold shoulder after class. Closing the door of his office, never letting them end up alone. 

War barely looks at him. Barely spares a few glances, and only when necessary. 

He grades Yin’s papers with copious notes, giving him no reason to stop by after class. Going as far as opening his office hours temporarily until midterms, causing several students hanging back well after his lecture to speak with him.

“Mr. Ratsameerat doesn’t usually meet his students unless it’s seriously urgent, so everyone wants to take advantage of this” His classmate had explained when Yin had confusedly stared at the long line of students waiting outside of his office. 

It’d hurt, and also been fucking annoying, even if that tiny peace of information had him preening at the realization. Of Yin being the exception for many things, apparently. 

Yin thrives on things that make sense. In formulas, schedules and precision. But nothing about War is linear. It breaks every single model he knows how to solve. There’s just such a chaotic nature to him, infuriatingly unpredictable, but calm and warm in a way that puts to rest every little logical thought lingering in his brain.

However, it does very little to deter him, since Yin’s mind sees it this way: if there are no feelings, why does War feel the need to avoid Yin at all? Why suddenly pull away instead of speaking to him directly?

If there are no feelings, why not simply let Yin down easy? Hell, he hasn’t even said anything about the huge elephant in the room: the fact a relationship between them is strictly off limits. 

War hasn’t said anything, period.

It doesn’t help Yin’s inner turmoil at all. He needs an answer for this, even if War has told him, countless of times, that not everything has one. 

Still, War has gone out of his way to shut him out, so Yin gives him space. He can take a hint, but his resolve isn’t that easy to break.

War is actually insane if he thinks he can get rid of Yin that easily.

Not after he’d kissed Yin back like that. Not when there’s still clear intent in his actions. So heavy, when Yin catches a stolen glance, every now and then, it melts down the ice-cold treatment instantly, forcing the man to double up his efforts next time.

After another class, in which War drills into them the mock-paper for their midterm is due next week, Yin packs his things and, after what felt like years, he catches War looking at him; his stupid heart skips a beat at his unwavering, sudden attention, but his own eyes harden when he sees the long line of students lining up to speak to him – Yin shakes his head, looking away, not sticking around long enough for War to notice the disappointment in his face.

His chest aches a little; he feels hurt and a little bit offended, at being blown off so easily. Yin knows they’ve barely known each other but their conversations and the time spent together had meant a lot. Still does. Yin hasn’t ever spoken with someone the way he’d spoken with War. 

Yin has never dared to open his mind for anyone. Never let anyone in like this, and it wounds him, how quick and sharp had been War’s shift, like none of that even mattered in the first place.

Whatever. 

Midterms are just next month, his brain supplies. Then, Yin will have time to deal with whatever War comes up with next to avoid him, and he’ll break it down, no matter what it is. 

The next day is a holiday, and many students around campus are already taking advantage of it, some of them going back to their hometowns, leaving the halls mostly empty. 

He’s walking out of the Humanities building distractedly, making sure he doesn’t have any emails or messages he needs to answer, when he bumps into someone, swiftly grabbing them by the shirt before they fall on their ass.

“Sorry!” He says, pulling them upwards, and the familiar face lights up instantly. “Mark?” 

“Yinyin!” The short boy exclaims, enveloping him into a hug.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yin muses, laughing lightly, belatedly reciprocating the friendly hug.

“I’m meeting up with a friend” He replies, pulling away, adjusting his backpack. “What are you doing here?” He asks suspiciously. “Aren’t you allergic to books?” 

Yin clicks his tongue and shoves him gently, earning a playful snicker. “Shut up. It’s one of my mandatory electives” he says, already easing up after seeing such a friendly face. He’d been too immersed in his academics and… well, a certain someone, to notice he’d barely been paying attention to his social life. The group chat he has with his friends digs wholes, heavier on his pocket. 

“Well, we’ve missed you” Mark says, playfully accusing. “We’re actually going out tonight! It’s all in the group chat you never read” he says cheekily, before making eye contact with someone walking out of the building. “Ah, there she is. Come tonight, okay? The guys wanna see you, too!” 

Yin finds it in himself to smile, unable to find any excuse within to refuse. 

“Sure…I’ll meet you guys there” he nods, conceding to the idea fairly quickly, finding he does miss his friends, too. Even if he’s not really into the club scenery. He’s more of a quiet bar kind of guy, but he can do some sacrifices, sometimes.

Why shouldn’t he? It becomes more and more obvious he might need to relieve some stress – it actually does sound good. 

It’s a no brainer, really, the though of unwinding for a night. To doll himself up, and dance. Drink a little bit.

Maybe kiss some faceless stranger to take the edge off.

God knows he fucking needs it.

✧˖°.⊹ᝰ🖋️⊹.°˖✧ 

The place is packed. 

Yin makes his way through the crowd, sighing in relief when he finds his friends only after five minutes of searching, as some of them spot him and wave at him. 

“You actually came?!” 

“You lost! You’re paying for my drinks tonight!” 

Yin rolls his eyes, taking a seat at the nice section they’d managed to snatch, ignoring Talay, who whines at him at the prospect of losing money.

“Of course, the one time I bet against you, you show up!” 

“Serves you right” he retorts, accepting his first drink of the night and drowning it in one go, already grabbing one of the beer bottles scattered at their table. 

“Ooho, someone’s eager” Som, one of his oldest friends, drops down next to him “To what do we owe this sudden, rare appearance? You look gorgeous, by the way” She says flickering the pendant on his choker, humming in approval at the all black ensemble he wears. 

She’s always made him feel so good about himself; they’ve grown older but never apart, and no matter how much time they spend without seeing each other, it still feels like he saw her yesterday. It’s the kind friendship he’s never taking for granted.

“You’re the gorgeous one” Yin replies, hugging her back, pliant as she runs a hand through his unkept waves before pinching his cheeks affectionately. He sighs, “I don’t know, it’s been a while, I guess”

“Damn fucking right! Jay exclaims, finishing up another drink, courtesy of Talay, who glares at him in betrayal before he’s pulled away by an already tipsy Mark, towards the dance floor.

“I missed you, you little shit” Som sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder, cuddling close against him. Yin catches Jay’s gaze, who looks at them with thin veiled jealousy; it sparks old habits he’s missed partaking in – it has been a while since he’s seen his lovely friends. 

Feeling playful, Yin drapes an arm around her, nuzzling against her hair, chuckling in amusement when his friend rolls his eyes. 

It seems that aspect hasn’t changed. His friend has been hung up on Som for ages, and Yin has tried countless of times to convince him to fucking go for it, that Som likes him too, but both of them are still being dumb, apparently.

Jay has nothing to worry about when it comes to Yin, but that doesn’t mean he won’t push his friend’s buttons – maybe one day he’ll finally get over his ass and do something about it.

“He’s lucky I’m gay as fuck” Yin mumbles against her temple, which earns him a mad giggle from her. 

“Leave him alone. He’ll come around when the time is right” She chides, seemingly unbothered by it. Yin doesn’t know how she stands it, that stubbornness. Yin had barely kissed the object of his obsession and it’s already threatening to make him burst with how frustrated he is already.

Nonetheless, he has fun. He always does with his friends. Hours pass by and he’s probably drinking too much, but he doesn’t shy away from having a good time, dancing and laughing harder than he’s done in months, until he finally settles down for a breather.

“So? Will you tell me the real reason why you’re here?” Som asks at some point when they stumble back into their booth. She’s a talkative, honest drunk, Yin has come to know. They both are.

He lets out a long, suffering sigh. 

Som laughs, “Okay, so a guy, then” 

Yin snorts, shaking his head, warmed by the fact she knows him so well, but his brain is too scattered to even know where to start. 

“He’s being difficult” He simply says, unwilling to share more than he should, as their situation is far from ideal. “It’s complicated, but it’s not even that big of a deal. He’s making it bigger than it actually is”

And Yin wholeheartedly believes it. He’s got one foot out of college already, and after that, no one, literally no one, can say shit about it. 

It’s not as if he’d flaunt it anywhere – whatever it is that they have. But Yin doesn’t like wasting time. He knows what he wants, and it’s frustrating to happen to want someone who doesn’t seem to be on the same page.

Simply unavailable, in every sense of the word, much to his poor heart’s dismay.

“You know” Som says, looking at him thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen you like this” 

Yin frowns, too drunk to handle any ambiguity. “Like…?” 

She shrugs, tilting her head a little. The movement reminds him of War, and Yin curses his stupid, pathetic brain for letting itself be so monopolized, instantly going back to him at a mere, simple gesture. 

“I’ve seen every boyfriend come and go, but none of them made you look like this” 

“Still not following…” Yin mumbles, blinking owlishly, clumsily bringing his beer bottle to his lips.

“Like you’re yearning” 

He chokes on his drink, indignant.  

“I do not yearn” 

Som laughs, delighted. “Oh, babe, you were so yearning, just now!” 

Yin rolls his eyes, leaning back against the cushions, looking at anywhere but his friend currently dissolving in giggles, drunk out of her ass.

“I’m not yearning. He’s just… he’s just so hot!” he whines, drunk enough to have no qualms about admitting it out loud, “And you know my type, I’m sure you can get an idea of what I mean”

Som hums, mimicking his position. “Please, enlighten me, I’m dying to know more about this” 

Yin sighs, hating how dreamy it comes out, eyes glazing over. “He has the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. He’s… he’s funny and mean, but also really, really kind. And mysterious, and fucking unpredictable, and…and…” Yin’s words die on his throat, when his eyes focus on the booth across from them. 

“And??” Som insists, shaking his arm.

“And sitting right fucking there!” Yin exclaims, unable to believe his eyes.

Yin’s gaze sets dead on the man currently sitting against the cushions, dressed in tight jeans, sheer button down opened, exposing parts of his chest. Hair wild. Glasses gone. 

Looking utterly delectable, and like he’d rather by anywhere else.

An unbelievable vision. 

Som follows his gaze, and a whistle leaves her lips.

“Damn. You were not kidding” she muses, eyeing him up and down, visibly impressed.

Yin glares at her, “Hands off. He’s mine” he pouts childishly, and yeah, he may have had a bit too much to drink.

Som laughs, leaning against him. “Easy boy, I like’em more rugged than that” She says, gently patting his lower back. Yin cannot take his eyes away from him, however, utterly shocked at seeing him here, looking so out of place Yin wonders if he’d even come willingly. 

It doesn’t seem like it, if the way he glares at his companions when they try to get him to drink is anything to go by. 

“Oh, he seems delightful” Som giggles, sipping on her fruity drink. 

“You have no idea” Yin utters, tearing his gaze away, heart beating so fast it’s threatening to sober him up. 

Som grins, still looking over their booth, “Say… wanna have a little fun?” She asks drunkenly. Yin is no better, instantly leaning into her when she whispers into his ear. 

“Stay like that, and look at him” She says, and Yin knows that, from War’s point of view, the both of them might look as if wrapped into something more intimate than what it actually is. It prompts him to curve a hand around her waist.

When he looks back toward War’s booth, his breath itches.

He finds those impossibly dark orbs already glued on him. There’s a bit of shock in them, but there’s something other beneath, clear and obvious even through the distance, enhanced by the bright lights flickering over them from time to time. 

“Smile, and nuzzle into me” Som whispers, brushing her nose against Yin’s neck, shaking her shoulders as if she were laughing at something he said. 

“You’re a menace” Yin giggles, pulling her closer.

“Is it working?” She asks, resting her hands on his chest. 

He finds War’s eyes again, and if looks could kill, they’d both be death by now. War drills his eyes into them for a few moments before he rips them away, snatching a water bottle from his friend’s hand when he hands it over, clumsily opening it and gulping down its contents.

Yin smirks.

“Wanna dance?” He asks, mind already set. 

The dance floor is significantly less crowded now, so Yin finds the perfect spot, right at the center, with a clear pathway towards the booth currently taking up all his attention. 

It helps that War had chosen to sit right in the middle of it, body leaned backwards comfortably, arms crossed across his chest, looking incredibly bored aside from the fact he can’t seem to take his eyes away from Yin.

War raises one perfect eyebrow, and blame his wishful thinking, or his delusion, but Yin is almost certain War’s fingers dig into his forearms a little.

The younger smirks, can’t really help it, even if he knows it’s detrimental to his plan.

Still, he pulls Som closer, glueing their bodies together. She instantly nuzzles against his neck, and War’s lips part slightly, tongue gently sliding over his lower lip, and the sight is so sexy Yin feels sparks of arousal coursing through him. 

Som brings their hips together, and Yin bites his lip, unable to look away from him.

Then, the beat of the music drops. 

They grind against each other, both of them inebriated enough to let go of their inhibitions, blinking off every bit of critical thinking with so much alcohol in his system. Yin feels the world spin, but War is the only steady thing his eyes can see in a sea of sweaty bodies and blinding lights.

His heart beats out of his chest, because the man looks one second away from storming towards them, and the jealousy he can see in that face almost makes up from every single week he’d been ignored. Dismissed. Cast aside. 

Almost. 

“Do you think Jay will be mad if we kiss?” Yin mumbles into her ear, making his intention clear, but waiting for her to agree. 

She huffs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “We’ve kissed dozens of times, Yinyin, what’s one more?” Som doesn’t give him any time to react, because she’s suddenly on his face, taking his lips in a rough kiss.

Alcohol does not mix well with pettiness, Yin realizes, as he’s soon kissing her back sensually – the sensation is familiar to him, and putting on the act becomes easy, even if the kiss doesn’t do shit for him. 

It doesn’t last long, however, because within the first few seconds, he’s suddenly being pulled away, and a hand on his arm tugs at him towards the door. Yin is disoriented for a few moments, but then, he finds Som grinning a few feet away, thumbs up, waving at him like he’d just scored a victory.

One that becomes real, the moment his eyes focus on the man currently taking him outside of the overflowing club. Yin feels a grin of his own taking over his lips, but finds it within himself to resist it, pulling back his arm the moment fresh air hits his face. 

“I can walk on my own” He mumbles petulantly, and the movement makes War turn towards him. 

The man heaves, faced flushed with something Yin is too inebriated to dissect. 

“You’re drunk” War states, in that fucking infuriating voice of his. “And I’m taking you back home, right now” 

Yin snorts, swaying a bit, batting War’s hands away when he tries to steady him, “Are you, now?” He slurs, sending flirty smile his way. “I usually expect the guy to buy me dinner, first” he jokes, giggling madly when War rolls his eyes.

“I meant yours” War clarifies, and Yin doesn’t fight it this time, when he drags him down the block, probably towards his car.

“I was having fun, though” Yin whines, not even caring his future self will be absolutely mortified once he remembers how he’d pouted at his hot teacher.

“You’re too drunk to consent to anything” War leaves no room for argument, opening the door of the passenger seat. 

“Oh, now you’re worried about me?” Yin coos, unable to keep the delight out of his voice. War doesn’t answer, pulling at his hand to make him get inside, but Yin stands stubbornly still, tilting his head. “Admit it, and I’ll get in” 

War’s stare hardens.

“There’s nothing to admit. Get inside, now” He commands, and fuck, he sounds so goddamn sexy, Yin has to keep himself from complying immediately.

He crosses his arms instead, leaning against the vehicle. “I have no problem with walking right back in, you know. I’m not that drunk, and you can’t tell me what to do” 

Something dangerous flashes across those brown eyes, almost blown. The man inhales, visibly containing himself, and the sight is delightful – pleasing, in its own way. “Fine. I’m concerned for your wellbeing. Happy? Now please get in” 

Yin smiles, “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he concedes, happily climbing into his seat, eyes following his figure as he rounds the car and gets into the driver’s seat, turning the engine on with a sigh. His sleeves are rolled up and a watch adorns his wrist – something about the sight is alluring, and Yin is in no state to keep himself in check, impatience growing the more time passes and War doesn’t say anything.

The younger sighs.

“All that eloquence, and you can’t spare me a few words” Yin mumbles, still slurring, tilting his head to look at him as he drives. “It hurts when you don’t talk to me, you know?” He confesses, chest suddenly aching with a longing that seemed to multiply tenfold over the past hour. “It hurts when you don’t… you don’t even look at me” 

Silence is so thick, Yin swears he can actually see it — War’s words come out soft, reprimanding.

“Well, I’m driving a car at the moment” He retorts, in that infuriating know-it-all tone, but Yin doesn’t let him have it.

“You know exactly what I meant” Yin whispers, unable to tear his eyes away from him. 

War doesn’t answer, but Yin doesn’t miss the way his hands tighten around the steering wheel. Yin’s eyes are stuck on his profile, the way his jaw sets, tight, and his throat bobs, nervous, the longer Yin looks at him. But the silence stretches, and soon enough, they’re right across Yin’s apartment complex. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind questions how does War know where he lives, but that’s something his sober self will have to ponder over.

The night isn’t young by any means, yet Yin doesn’t want it to end; but War asks for his key card and walks him inside, making sure he gets into his apartment safely, before turning to the door with a tired sigh. 

“Get some rest–”

Yin doesn’t let him get away. He reaches out and wraps a hand around his wrist before he can escape, pulling him back clumsily, letting out an apologetic giggle when they stumble.

War is nowhere near as drunk – Yin doesn’t think he’d drank a single drop of alcohol tonight, so he steadies them both, exhaling when Yin takes the opportunity to hold his waist, keeping him right where he is. 

“…Yin” War breathes, trying to create distance between them. Yin doesn’t budge, pulling him closer each time he tries to step back. “Yin, you’re drunk–”

They stumble, meeting the wall behind. Yin’s breath itches, and before he knows it, he’s leaning his forehead against War’s. The motion makes him flinch, but War doesn’t make any move to push him, looking up into his eyes with batted breath. Yin can’t look away from him. His gaze, his cheeks, his lips, so, so close. Yin licks his lips, faintly remembering the taste of him.

War’s fingers close around his shirt, and to Yin, it isn’t clear whether he wants to push him away or bring him closer. It’s as if he wanted to do both of those things at the same time, like there’re two beings within him fighting to win over his body.

“You’re one hell of a narrative, you know that?” Yin breathes, thoughts running wild.

War blinks rapidly, swallowing down. “What are you talking about?” 

Yin doesn’t miss a beat. “You. You’re unreliable” He replies as a matter of fact, drunken mind supplying him with a never ending string of words. “You’re hot one second, then cold the next. One minute you’re distant, and the other you’re looking at me like… like…” Yin gulps, unable to finish that thought, when those eyes darken impossibly, sending shivers down his spine. “Like that”

“Stop trying to analyze me” War utters, and his hands push a little, but it’s half-hearted.

Again, so fucking confusing.

Yin scoffs, laughing cynically. “Now, didn’t you want me to ask questions?” He complains, the alcohol in his veins doing the talking for him. 

“I don’t have any answers to give you–”

“Liar” Yin breathes, brushing his nose against War’s, quieting his bullshit down instantly. War’s words die on his throat, closing his eyes at the soft nuzzle. “You do. You just don’t want to tell me” 

War remains silent for a few moments, fists clenching against Yin’s chest, quivering, stubbornly fighting against this, as if he’d stood a chance. “Because you won’t like them” 

Yin nuzzles into him again, drinking in his unfairly beautiful features. Breathtaking eyes that flicker down his lips for the split of a second, stolen, before they brave Yin’s again. 

“Why don’t you let me decide if that’s true?”

The words are hushed, hitting War’s face with how close they are, and the man closes his eyes briefly, as if reigning himself, before one of his hands finds its way to Yin’s face, gently cradling his cheek.

The tender touch has Yin quivering, closing his own eyes and leaning into it, when his thumb brushes across it like it wants to conquer the skin. It travels down his lips, swiping them slowly, lingering. Yin can’t stop himself from pushing against it, kissing it softly, inhaling sharply when War presses down harder, nails digging where they hold his waist.

There’s no way Yin is imagining the hunger in those eyes, making him lean forward, close enough so the only thing keeping their lips from meeting is War’s thumb, still pressed against them with possessive, contained desire.

It swirls hot in his gut, sending jolts of something so desperate within, it claws at his chest. 

“…Please. Please, War” Yin breathes, doesn’t give a fuck how needy he sounds, because War is sliding his thumb away, erasing the last barrier, only to keep Yin in place when he tries to lean in.

“I’m sorry” War whispers, brushing Yin’s cheekbone delicately. “But you’re drunk, and this is wrong” He says, finding the door behind him and slipping out of his arms, leaving Yin alone again, choked up in anticipation.

The door shuts with a soft click, but the sound booms in his ears.

He lets out a sharp breath, and then, the room tilts. 

The next thing he knows, he’s running towards the bathroom to puke his guts out.

✧˖°.⊹🧬⊹.°˖✧

Yin is definitely losing his mind.

After that night, War starts being short with him in class. 

He never oversteps any lines, but there’s a stronger intention behind his words, giving him hell with questions that Yin scrambles to find answers to, forcing him to focus harder, to dig deeper, and re-do assignments left and right. He marks a clear distinction between them, defining the thick, uncrossable line between teacher and student, unwilling to let Yin blur it even more.

It’d been such a clear rejection, Yin had instantly circled back to his usual self after one hell of a hangover – deciding to never do something like that again.

Yeah, it hurt like hell, but Yin has tried to be good, even if it’d infuriated him. War had shown him a world of incredible things, had let Yin get closer, had gone out of his way to spend time with him only to regret it, leaving him stranded just like he’d feared. 

Yin doesn’t regret what he’d said that night, but he now wishes he’d been more careful. Knows he’d crossed a boundary War hadn’t wanted Yin to even step on, and guilt had been heavy on him for the remaining days before his next class.

So, he’d polished up his mock-up midterm paper. He went the extra mile, flourishing his writing style into something warmer, more personal, something that might earn him forgiveness, even, if he’s lucky enough, knowing how much War appreciates genuine effort. 

He knows his words came from his heart, when he’d written “it is not distance that creates longing, but the readers awareness of what cannot be had”. It’d been pretty easy to write about yearning that comes from restraint, about how its language betrays what the characters won’t admit, and words might have hit too close to home, in certain aspects. Yin knows this paper had become personal to him, and directly aimed at War.

It’d been his way of letting War know he’d be backing away. 

Yin now realizes he might have made a mistake, because today, a week after turning it in, War walks into the room with clipped steps, and slams all the graded papers on his desk before turning to the class. 

Absolute silence follows, so, so thick, Yin practically hears the chills running down his spine.

At the contained ire in his face.

Masked, in the way he rolls his shoulders, but leans back against his desk with practiced movements. He glances at the entire room, at every single face, swiftly bypassing Yin’s as if he weren’t there. 

It hurts, but concern overwhelms his simpler emotions at the sight of him, and the subtle shadows beneath his eyes.

Like he’s reaching his limit. 

“What does it mean to understand a text?” War asks, then, voice commanding the entire room. 

Nobody answers, as if they all knew War isn’t in the mood for a swift, calm discussion. That he doesn’t seem to want any answers, even though he keeps asking. 

“What’s the narrator not telling us?” 

Again, his question lingers in the air, followed by silence. War exhales, turns around, and at last, his eyes set on Yin. His orbs have fire underneath, urging, daring at him to answer his questions. 

So Yin does, without hesitation. 

“That he’s unreliable. The narrative voice contradicts itself when–”

“Wrong” 

War’s response is sharp, making a few heads turn. 

“Care to try again?” War taunts, keeping his gaze firm on him. 

Thrown off his track, Yin swallows up his pride. “He’s hiding emotional vulnerability, disguises behind rhetorical–”

“That’s just surface level. Did you hear the question at all?” 

A few students shift on their seats, uncomfortable; some of them send him pity looks, but Yin doesn’t let it get under his skin. Whatever War’s problem is, Yin is not taking the blame for it.

Jaw clenched, he cools down his voice. “He’s angry. He uses distance and irony to deflect intimacy–”

“Wrong again” War says flatly, shaking his head.

Yin exhales hard, leaning back in his seat. He crosses his arms, mirroring War’s posture in open defiance. “There’s no right answer, is there?” He asks, voice tight, patience finally worn thin.

War simply sighs, as if Yin finally got the point. “Look how many guesses it took you to get there” he replies evenly.

Yin’s eye twitches, tongue running faster than his better judgement. “And who’s fault is that?” 

A sharp inhale cuts through the silence, and murmurs stir up, but Yin doesn’t pay them any mind and War doesn’t even blink. He just stares, as if he’d been expecting such a response, but Yin doesn’t look away. Refuses to be the first to do so. 

Brown eyes look as beautiful as they are terrible, like they’re trying to harden, only to fail miserably. 

Finally, War straightens.

“Class dismissed”

His voice cuts through, and there’s a moment of confusion. Students become unsure, but then War lifts his voice again. “No office hours today. Come get your essays, and use this extra time to fix the errors I’ve already pointed out. Final version due next week” 

With that, he moves, not sparing them nor Yin another glance, walking toward his office without a word.

Frozen in his seat, Yin watches the rest of the class filter out – some of them reluctant, but he doesn’t move. Not until the room is nearly empty, still trying to grasp whatever the hell just happened.

Chest tight, he finally stands, and steps up to grab his essay from the desk. Heart thundering, he flips it open and freezes for the second time in less than a minute. Red ink screams across the front page like it’s sealing his fate, and his stomach lurches.

It takes him half a second to recover, and when he does, it’s with rage rolling in his chest. Exhaling sharply, he turns towards War’s office and storms in without knocking, swinging the door closed with a bang. The man doesn’t even flinch, halfway through drawing the curtains as if getting ready to leave.

Yin slams the paper onto the table nearest to him so hard, it echoes.

“An F?!” Yin barks, “You gave me a F?!” He exclaims, incredulously.

War doesn’t raise his tone, merely turning his back and calmly circling to the bookshelf on the wall. 

“There was nothing academic about what you turned in” War says, voice contained, plucking a few books from the shelf, stacking them with infuriating precision. “And it’s a mock-up score, anyway” 

“I did everything you taught me!” Yin snaps, gesturing wildly at the paper strewn on the coffee table. “Where did I even go wrong? It’s flawless! I followed the prompt just like you–”

“No, you projected!” War turns sharply, voice finally rising as his control cracks. “You let your emotions take over what was supposed to be an analysis” 

“And didn’t you ask me to write with intention? That’s what I did!” His voice shakes, but the more he speaks, the more Yin realizes he’s not angry about the stupid paper at all. 

Just like War isn’t, either, because the man steps forward, breath heavier now, and the sight is so alien to Yin he can’t help but want to see him burst. Because the mask slips by the second, and Yin watches it fall apart.

“You turned an academic paper into a confession.” War growls, seething. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see through it?” 

Yin scoffs, the laugh bitter in his throat. “So what – you failed me because I made you uncomfortable?!” 

“I failed you because you wrote a fantasy, not a thesis!” He yells, and it’s like a dam finally breaks. War trembles, breathing heavily, like it’s costing him everything within.

Yin exhales sharply, feels himself reaching his limit, a point of no return, unable to fathom just how stupid this whole thing is.

“God! You can’t just–!”

“What?! Give you the grade you earned?” War shoots back, eyes burning, “I’m your teacher, Yin!” He says, like it’s both a warning and a lifeline — the only thing anchoring him to the ground right now.

I’m your teacher.

I’m your teacher.

The words hit like a cold wave, and clear the static between them at the same time.

War heaves, eyes wide, voice cracked. His sharp edges unravel, at last, finally letting Yin see what’s underneath, unfreezing his limbs and igniting up an inertia brewing within since the moment they’d laid eyes on each other.

Yin moves, walking towards him with intent, and War flinches with each step.

“Do you understand?” War rasps, “I’m your goddam teacher–”

Yin slams their lips together, swallowing up the rest of his words.

The force of it sends them stumbling – War’s hand shoots out and braces against the desk behind him, but the rest of him melts. Instantly. All his resistance, all his control, evaporates into nothing, and Yin presses in, urgently, fists clenched in War’s shirt. 

Yin’s shoulders tremble as he exhales into the kiss, slow and aching, before pulling back, just barely. 

Their lips part with a soft, wet sound.

It’s pure silence after, other than the ragged breathing shared between their faces. 

Time doesn’t slow down but actually stops around them, stilling in the air even the dust particles invisible to the eye.

All that moves, are the specs of gold scattered in those coffee orbs, unguarded, at last. 

“Who the fuck are you trying to convince?” Yin breathes, quivers, drowning in the brown of those eyes, pouring down with unrestrained desire.

There’s a beat in which neither of them seem to breathe.

A slow second that stretches, and then, snaps.

With one shaky sigh, the world starts spinning again full speed. 

Yin’s back meets the book-wall behind, and his lips are swallowed up by a hot, eager mouth. The younger doesn’t stand a chance against him, instantly, pliantly opening up for him, giving as good as he gets, licking his desire away and pulling him closer and closer and fuck, Yin melts against him. 

Tangled tongues battle out of desperation to taste, and hands – strong, perfect hands, dig around his waist, welding their bodies together against the never ending shelves of books that shake vigorously when War grinds down, pushing him towards it with the force of his thrusts. 

It’s frantic. The lewdness of it all tingles down Yin’s spine and pools pleasure low in his gut, turning him a desperate mess of soft, breathy whines and hands that seek purchase anywhere they can. His fingers tangle up in wild strands of hair and claw down a broad back, hastily pushing his sinful, expert hips against his own harder, faster, squeezing his backside for more. 

The delicious pressure, the hot, hard member straining those pants, has Yin breaking the kiss and throwing his head backward with a sharp gasp, but War doesn’t stop, leaning forward to ravish his neck, sucking every inch of skin available to him, increasing the wild pace of their hips.

And his moans. Fuck, his moans are out of this world; low, grunted, breathed, filled with despair, like he can’t get enough, like it’ll never be enough. Deft fingers undo their pants hastily and then there’re less layers between them, but there’s no time for anything else, no time to waste with bothering to get naked, because the pleasure builds, and builds, and builds creating a cacophony of broken grunts and thudding sounds, accompanied with the few books that tumble down uselessly to their feet.

It’s indescribable, the high they ride, when Yin finds those brown eyes of his again. Blown up, wide and almost black with desire, War stares right into his soul and gives it to him, driving him up the wall once, twice, trice, until it chokes out a moan from Yin and hot, white pleasure blinds him completely.

War lets out a loud grunt, vigorously humping against him a few more times before he stills completely. Hiding his face into Yin’s neck, he holds their bodies impossibly tight, frames shaking against each other, roughly riding their high with sharp, slow movements until they come to a halt.

His grunts become mere gasps for air, and the sound is so delectable, it overwhelms the after-shocks of his orgasm towards oversensitivity. 

It’s like waking up from a fever dream, the moment all tension leaves their bodies. War’s hand on his waist loosens, as well as the grip on one of the shelves next to Yin’s head. 

Yin’s nails no longer dig on his back, and his fingers softly slide down the wrinkled fabric, damp with sweat. 

Gazing into blown, perfect coffee orbs, Yin finds it even harder to breathe, urgently holding onto him, unwilling to separate, devastated with the mere thought of pulling away. But War finally listens, reads between his unspoken lines, and leans their foreheads together, brushing his nose against Yin’s in a gentle nuzzle. 

There’s firmness in those eyes – eyes that seem to be finally tired of running away.

Another soft nuzzle, and War sighs against Yin’s lips, leaving a soft kiss in them.

“I’m still not changing your grade” War breathes, spent.

Yin blinks in confusion, but soon a giggle finds its way out of his lips, bubbling up inside of him so fast it’s impossible to contain. His shoulders shake and War hugs his waist when he falls against him, leaning his head on his shoulder. 

“I don’t care” Yin mutters, and noses into his neck, daring to leave a kiss on the beauty mark he finds there. 

War snakes his arms around him, completely sagged, as if tired from holding back for so long. Then, he brushes his lips against Yin’s temple, “I’m not gonna play favorites with you either” he mumbles, leaving a soft kiss.

Yin gives him a heated glare, before pushing him towards the couch.

“You better fucking not” 

✧˖°.⊹📖🔬⊹.°˖✧ 

They say when a dam breaks, there’s nothing that can stop it, but Yin and War had picked the worst possible moment to make it burst.

One would think they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of each other after that night, but they absolutely had to.

Because, even if midterms come and go, Yin’s last semester isn’t over, and he still wants to graduate in one piece. Yin still cares about his academics but he truthfully can’t fucking wait until it’s all over, stress and horniness growing exponentially each day that passes.

Each day they have to stare at each other and hold back, as War’s precious time is constantly snatched by stressed out students that want to do well. He throws him apologetic glances each time Yin stares at the students already lining up at his office, hiding the obvious longing in his eyes.

Even if Yin knows those stolen glances are all for him anyway, every single one of them takes his frustration up a notch, the promise in those brown eyes burning, the smirk in those lips, tantalizing, even more irresistible now that he knows what becomes of him under them.

That, and the fact War hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wouldn’t go easy on him. But Yin sucks it up – he’d kill War, if he ever dared to ease down the work just because their relationship changed.

And Yin tries to behave. 

Alas, he’s only human. So they do manage to squeeze in a few –very risky– stolen moments here and there. 

Yin is definitely a model student, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to take advantage of getting to know the man’s weaknesses, to play with War’s sanity a little bit. 

It’s payback for putting Yin through so much, he thinks, one day he waltz in class wearing a particular item, deliberately chosen for today. 

The choker is a nice weight around his neck, and this time, he’d paired it up with another short necklace and a pendant that dangles prettily as he moves.

If Yin had known that’s all it would take for War to throw caution into the wind, he would have probably done it a lot sooner. Because the man is already on his desk when Yin takes his seat at the front, and his eyes instantly find him, before they set on the choker. 

Yin feels victorious at the subtle shift in him – War stills his movements, in the middle of flipping a page, and visibly composes himself before finding Yin’s heavy gaze. The younger leans against his desk innocently, head tilted slightly, rested on one hand. 

He’d even gone a step further and chosen this specific shirt, one that offers a clear view of his collarbones; the dark maroon compliments his skin nicely, he knows. Slightly tucked into his creamed-colored slacks, Yin knows he’d thrown together a look hard to resist.

In all honesty, Yin had simply wanted to ruffle his feathers a little, now that they’ve crossed that line. He’d wondered how War would react, hoped to get any sort of reaction, just to at least leave the classroom today on a different note. Less on edge. A bit more desired.

Yin doesn’t expect War to dismiss the students right after class, only to roughly pull him into his office when the room finally empties. 

Now, Yin finds himself pressed against his desk, swallowing up his grunts and delving his tongue deep inside his mouth, letting out a moan when War bites down his lower lip and pulls, breaking the kiss with a heavy breath.

“Do you want to kill me?” War heaves, hand spread around Yin’s neck, feeling the velvet fabric, fingers tangling on the chain. Yin swallows when War tugs experimentally, feeling himself growing hard, humping against War’s tight. 

“Not sure what you mean” Yin says, breathless, fire pooling down his gut heavier when War’s eyes darken. 

“Oh, really?” War tilts his head, and tugs at his choker again, enough to make it tight. Yin’s back arches as if in command, ripping a gasp out of him.

War grins against his cheek, “I think you do, Anan” he breathes, and Yin has to bite down another moan at the sound of his name. He remembers the first time War said it – a broken grunt in his ear, and Yin had climaxed on the spot, so hard, his mind had reeled for long minutes after. 

It’s not much different now, as the little word and his relentless kisses make him start leaking within seconds, feeling War grow hard against his tight the more they grind against each other. 

God, Yin really, really wants War to fuck him. 

But that’s another thing they’ve both agreed to take their time with. Yin hadn’t protested when the man had asked him to wait. Knew it’d be worth it, in the end. But that doesn’t mean he won’t satiate his thirst some other ways.

War sucks all over his exposed skin and the pressure is delicious, but Yin finds himself wanting more. Needing more of him. Yin wants to have it all, to taste him all over, to turn him delirious, just like he does to Yin.

Kissing him deeply, he pushes forward, lifting himself up from War’s desk and bringing him closer, indulging into the kiss for a few moments before he breaks apart, chest heaving. Searching into his eyes, he smiles at the sight of him, already fucked out, a mess of flushed skin and unkept waves. 

“I wanna suck you off” Yin admits brazenly, feeling himself leak at the mere thought of it – War’s response is delivered through dilated pupils, body achingly curved towards him like he craves it, hiding his face in Yin’s neck with a soft, breathy whine, like there’s nothing in the world he wants more. 

“You do wanna kill me” War breathes, lapping at his neck, going pliantly when Yin pushes him backwards, around his desk and pushing him down his chair. The man looks up at him reverently, and Yin is already becoming too addicted to this particular sight.

The wide office chair offers them enough space for both, but Yin doesn’t linger on his lap for long, even if the thought of riding War on it sends jolts of heat through his limbs. Fuck, he’d let War do anything to him, anywhere, and it sends Yin’s senses into overdrive, the more he indulges himself, letting War grind their hips together a few more times before he pulls away. 

“Stop distracting me” Yin chides, swallowing up War’s grin, before he starts kissing his way down his neck, licking at the bit of skin peaking through his shirt, wishing he could just rip it off.

Yin doesn’t waste much more time, already growing desperate for it – he continues traveling down until he’s kneeling between his legs, the height of the chair offering a perfect view of the bulge in his slacks, straining, pulsing just for Yin.

Locking their eyes, Yin’s fingers make a quick work of his pants and pull, just enough to free the hard, aching member already licking at the tip, making Yin’s mouth water at the sight. 

Unable to control his heavy sigh, he gazes up at him, once more, and knows what kind of vision he’s giving him. Flushed skin, swollen lips, and ragged breath, Yin takes War into his hand, and gives it a few pumps, swiping his thumb over the slit. 

More pre-cum comes out and War throws his head back, hips jolting upwards. 

“Shit” Yin breathes, and dives in, sucking the head into his mouth, licking it off hungrily. War’s hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling on it desperately when Yin sucks again. War gasps, but a low moan escapes him as he tries to keep still when the younger starts bobbing his head slowly. 

Yin can’t help but palm himself through his pants, unable to fathom how turned on he is just by the weight of him on his tongue. His warmth, his scent, his taste.

Everything, everything is so good, Yin is powerless to hold back, head moving up and down, pausing every now and then to lick at the slit, delighted by the salty taste of him and the way his entire body quivers, at the mercy of his tongue. 

He tightens his lips, thriving in his sounds, getting more and more desperate, hips casting upwards slightly when he can’t help it, his other hand gripping the edge of his desk tightly.

Yin is delirious with it, hand hastily slipping into his own pants to stroke himself, his aching member throbbing, dangerously close to release the more he sucks him, increasing the pace by the second, encouraged by the way War’s breathing becomes sharper, and the way his fingers grip at his strands.

Just then, a knock on the door startles them both. 

They freeze, and Yin pulls out, heaving, staring up at him in shock. 

“Khun Ratsameerat? Are you still here?” A voice calls from the other side, and, much to Yin’s horror, the sound of the door opening follows.

They didn’t lock it.

Fuck, they didn’t lock it.

Yin’s heart hammers in his chest, but he stays put right where he is, unbelievably grateful War has a pedestal desk, hiding him completely. Yin is luckily concealed from prying eyes, but the person walks in, and Yin witnesses the way War composes himself with unfathomable speed.

“…Yes?” He responds, the serious quip to his tone familiar, even if now Yin recognizes the undertones of irritation beneath. “What do you need, Mr. Jirapat?” He asks, leaning against his desk calmly, like he hadn’t been writhing in pleasure just moments ago. He pushes the chair in to hide his lower half further, even though whoever came in sounds too far from the desk to notice anything.

The movement brings Yin’s face closer to his exposed groin – breath caught, he holds still, not daring to move one inch. His heart doesn’t slow down, however, and adrenaline shoots through his entire system, the moment he breathes, and sees War’s cock twitch, still leaking, achingly hard. 

“I forgot to take the book you told me about…” The student says, and Yin vaguely recognizes his voice. “I just thought I’d pick it up before you left”

Yin lets out a quivering breath, and War pulses again – the sight calls to him, and, against his better judgement, he lets his fingers slip around it, once more, leaning in to leave a kitten lick on the tip. 

War clears his throat, “R-right” He strains, one hand covering the lower half of his face as he nods, but he doesn’t pull away from Yin’s hold, fingers simply tightening where their rest on his lap. “It’s on that bookshelf over there, if you could…” he continues, halting as he motions towards the shelves.

”Oh, okay” 

Yin bites his lip, the situation making him more aroused than it should, boldening him enough to lean in again and suck the head in, lapping his tongue hungrily without making any noise. 

War’s hips stutter, but he masks it as if he were adjusting on his chair as the student walks over to the other side, and starts searching for the goddamn book, taking their sweet fucking time – however, Yin doesn’t stop, doesn’t feel deterred at all, his own hand going back to his own cock to find some relief, as he slowly starts bobbing his head up and down, careful of his sounds.

War exhales, hand threading through Yin’s strands with trembling fingers. “It’s at the far end” He speaks, and it’s incredible how composed he sounds.

”Ah… let me see” The student mumbles, still searching.

Yin tightens his lips, and goes in deeper. War’s hand slams on his desk, startling the person across the room. 

War clears his throat, “Third shelf on the left” He says, voice straining slightly, impatience seeping through.

“A-ah, right, here it is” The student says, mumbling a soft apology Yin does not care enough to listen to.

War seems to be on the same wavelength, ushering his student away as politely as he can, even if the urgency in his tone gives away his irritation.

The student doesn’t linger, simply mumbling a greeting and swiftly leaving the room, closing the door behind them, leaving them alone once more.

War exhales sharply, hands slipping into his hair and gripping at the strands, finally letting his hips move, fucking them into Yin’s mouth with desperate, sharp movements.

“Fuck, you little…” he grunts, but doesn’t stop thrusting, sounding as desperate as he looks, throwing his head back, lost to the pleasure.

Yin has never been this turned on in his life; he lets War fuck his mouth and pumps himself eagerly, bringing each other near their peak faster, and faster, fueled in by sheer adrenaline. Letting out a soft whine, Yin shakes, orgasm hitting him in wild waves, never-ending, making him moan around War. The vibrations send him over the edge, and with a spam, he’s releasing into Yin’s mouth with a choked moan.

Breathing heavily, Yin milks him dry, stroking himself until he’s spent, shivering as he pulls out, swallowing thickly as he leans his forehead against War’s thigh. 

It takes him a while to come down, but fingers are soon carding through his hair, soothing. The touch urges at him to look up, and Yin gazes at him from where he kneels, bone tired, utterly exhausted.

“That was…” He breathes, still reeling from it; War swipes a thumb over his cheek delicately, before tilting his head up with a gentle grip on his chin. 

“Reckless” War responds, but the softness in those eyes betray his words. That, and the way he pulls him in, leaning down to slot their lips together. Yin can’t stop the smile that takes over him, one that makes War grin, too, until they’re both laughing quietly at the absurdness of it all.

War looks at him with such tenderness, then, Yin doesn’t know how to stop his heart from jumping. 

“Come here” He whispers, bringing Yin up and settling him into his lap comfortably, holding him secure. He holds his waist, and his hands trace soft patterns around, leaning in and rubbing his nose against Yin’s.

Every encounter they have ends up this way, Yin has come to realize. With a need for aftercare – a need for a different type of closeness. 

It’s safe to say, no one has ever made Yin feel this adored. 

It hurts his chest a little, but War always kisses it better.

“We’ll have to be more careful” War mumbles against his lips, soothing a hand up and down his back. 

Yin sighs, “I know” he concedes, nuzzling into his neck. He smiles, unable to help it. “You liked that, though. Didn’t know you could be so kinky” he teases, yelping when he gets a pinch on his side. 

“Don’t…” War warns, mortified. 

Yin giggles, kissing his way towards War’s lips, pecking them softy several times, wrapping his arms around his neck. 

“That’s okay, I liked it too” Yin reassures, finger swiping over the soft skin of his face, staring deep into brown, perfect eyes. Eyes that brighten up as a slow smile takes over his pretty lips, earning Yin another string of kisses he doesn’t have any intention to stop.

Not anytime soon.

✧˖°.⊹🧬ᝰ🖋️⊹.°˖✧

Finally, the final week of Yin’s last semester.

He’s pulled so taut, he practically vibrates out of his own skin when he walks out of his last exam with a heavy breath.

It’d been a fucking intense last few weeks, but Yin is finally done with it, sighing in relief at the prospect of not having to worry about anything else at least until next month. The ceremony isn’t until next week, but his mind already reeling with it, can’t wait to wear his gown and get his fucking degree already. 

Just so he can finally feel at ease, and spend each waking moment celebrating. Preferably on a bed. Preferably, with War.

Or at least, that’s what Yin has been hoping, if he’d read between his lines correctly, when War had whispered the words against his lips, telling him they’d only have to hold back for a little while longer.

“Tomorrow after eight” He’d said, then, kissing him goodbye one last time. “Come by, I’ll be here”

They hadn’t had one moment to breathe for over a month. Yin had wanted to do well, too worried about his academics, and War had been adamant they be more careful after almost getting caught that one time. 

They hadn’t met outside of school, nor had gone to each other’s places yet, aside from that one drunken night. Yin understands why War is being so careful – knows it’s for the best if they hold back as much as they can until they can be together properly. He appreciates how seriously War is taking it, at ease, knowing they both seem to finally be at the same page. 

Even if they hadn’t had a proper conversation about what they want from each other, Yin does know how to read between the lines, now. 

He’d learned from the best.

So, he can’t blame his heart from stuttering, trembling within his ribcage as he makes his way towards the familiar building and climbs up the stairs, feeling lighter than he’s been in ages.

It’s a blur, getting in, finding the room and slipping inside – Yin finds it blissfully empty, void of students, so eerily silent the air feels thick around his skin, as he crosses the wide chamber, eyes set on the door at the other side, currently the only thing offering a sliver of light coming out of its edge, left ajar. 

With batted breath, he pushes it open.

War turns to him, standing by his precious wall of books – it’s as if those shelves were his shield, always drawn towards them, seeking comfort and finding calmness in them, when he’s the most anxious. 

The curtains are drawn already, and Yin knows War had been expecting him, brown eyes softened with relief when he sees him walk through the door.

Yin leans against it, and it closes, eyes set on War’s soft silhouette, honeyed out by the dim lights around. Yin’s fingers find the lock blindly, and the soft click echoes between them, darkening War’s gaze on him. 

With slow steps, he makes his way towards War, who leans against his desk, expectant. It’s crazy how much Yin wants him, never quite getting enough. Still, he feels calmer than he’s been in ages, nearing him and, at last, holding that beautiful face between his hands.

Nuzzling into him once, he smiles when War is the one to lean in to kiss him, as if he’d also been waiting long enough to have him. It stirs up warmth within, to be told, this unabashedly, he’d been missed, wanted, longed for, just as much.

The kiss grows intense, and Yin urgently presses against him, licking into his mouth, moaning softly when the man hugs him close and pulls at him, blindly walking them toward the couch. Yin pushes at his chest and War falls into it; his arousal spikes in at the mess he’d already made of him, all blown eyes, flushed cheeks and bitten lips.

He doesn’t waste any more time, climbing into his lap and swallowing up his grunt with his mouth, delving his tongue deep inside, shuddering when War does the same, hands scrambling to pull him as close as possible, welding together impossibly.

They kiss and kiss for long, delightful minutes, barely coming up for air, deemed entirely unimportant. Hands travel all around and Yin indulges them, lets them feel him up to his heart’s content – lets War map him all over, wishing his gentle touch would brand itself in him, so Yin never, ever forgets it.

Heat starts simmering, tightening his belly and bringing urgency to his movements, but when he grinds against him, War breaks the kiss with a hiss, fingers digging on his ass, trembling.

War heaves, but doesn’t go far from him. “Yin… ” He breathes, gazing up like Yin hung the stars for him, “I wanna take you home” he says, an echo of the words he’d spoken not long ago, outside of that club. “Mine” he clarifies then with a charming smile.

Yin’s heart stutters, because the implied new meaning is too heavy for him to misunderstand. He slides down his hands until they rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Yin grins playfully, his emotions too overwhelming for him to handle.

“Yeah?…That seems serious” Yin mumbles against War’s lips, brushing them softly, unsure of the sudden nervousness that grips at him so tightly. His honest words are delivered lightly, as if testing the waters, but War’s brown eyes don’t waver. Not one bit.

They stare up at him with something akin to devotion, starved, almost, like he’s waited ages to ask him. 

It’s shatters him, the want bleeding out of his gaze, but War puts Yin back together, holding his face gentle and nuzzling into him, reassuringly. 

“I can’t properly ask you out until you graduate” He says, his other arm glueing their bodies as they sink into the couch. Yin goes willingly, utterly helpless to resist him in any way. “But I don’t want to stop experiencing you…” War confesses, sighing before he leaves a soft lingering kiss on his lips. “I hope you know I’m serious about you. And I don’t want to stop” 

Yin can’t tear his eyes from him, heart ramming against his ribcage at the way those fingers grace the skin of his cheeks. Reverently, like he flips Yin’s pages, like he’s one of those books he loves so much.

“Then don’t” Yin replies, arms tightening around his neck, leaning in for a slow, tender nuzzle. He looks into his eyes with intent, and there’s not one ounce of hesitation in his voice when he speaks. 

“Take me home” 

✧˖°.⊹ᝰ🖋️🔬⊹.°˖✧ 

War becomes unleashed the moment they’re behind closed doors – like the safety of his home unlocks a truth within, achingly visible.

He presses him into his bed, smothering Yin in his fucking delectable scent, and it’s so addictive he wants to choke in it, on him and his clever mouth, leaving trails everywhere with his tongue, uncovering Yin’s skin bit by bit like it’s a treasure and kissing each gem he finds.

No lover has ever made Yin feel this adored, this desired, so he doesn’t stay behind, doesn’t hold back his own desperation, leaving declarations of love all over War’s perfect, honeyed skin, glistening with sweat the more they move, the more the layers come out.

At the mercy of his touch, Yin lays himself down docilely, opening his legs and caging War between them, arching his back at the euphoria of his touch, expertly edging him, hand circling around him like it knows every part of him, pushing all the right buttons and driving him up the wall each time he slows down, when those slick fingers find every perfect spot inside of him.

War thrusts three fingers in, and digs on his sweet spot, ripping out yet another breathless moan – the tears gathering around his eyes beg him silently, because Yin doesn’t know how to form words anymore other than his name, which he breathes, and whines desperately in between gasps for air.

But Yin doesn’t need any words, because War reads him anyway, pulling at his hips and aligning himself. His movements are sharp and desperate but his touch is so painfully loving, even at the mercy of desire, pleasure plastered all over his gorgeous features, the more he enters him, orbs never leaving Yin’s, as if hungry to see the way Yin unravels, throwing back his head and arching impossibly at the tight pressure.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful” War gasps the words, thrusting slow, in and out, getting Yin used to the feeling of him, so, so deliciously thick, dragging along his walls, increasing the momentum with each pulsing thrust. “Fucking. Breathtaking” he stutters breathily, fucked out orbs drinking in the sight of him like Yin is an elixir he can’t get enough of. “Wanted you for so long. Too fucking long” He grunts, punctuating his words with the sinful dance of his hips.

Yin opens his mouth in silent moans, unable to look away from him, and those eyes that command his own to stay, filling up with tears the faster War moves, pushing him up the mattress with each jab of his hips, angling them upwards in search for the right spot, shuddering when he finds it, and Yin lets out a sharp moan, clenching around him. 

“There!” He yells, squeezing his eyes shut when War stills, digging against his prostate.

“Yeah?” War grunts, and Yin feels him smirk in his neck, slamming his hips upward again.

“War!” He chokes, hands scrambling to hold onto him, and the sound of his name breaks him loose. 

War sets a frantic pace, knocking the breath out of him – Yin gasps, choked moans ripped out of his throat with the strength of his thrusts, drilling into him like there’s no tomorrow. There might as well not be one for all he cares, because Yin digs his fingers on his back, grips his perfect hips and squeezes his ass, urgently begging for War to give it to him faster, harder, deeper. 

War grunts, choked almost, at a hard thrust. “Anan” he breathes, uttering a name so achingly intimate, it sends bolts of lighting right through Yin’s heart. 

“Fuck, say it again” 

War breathes sharply, snapping his hips harder into him, “Nan” He moans, low in his throat. “Nan, Nan, Nan”  

“Yeah” Yin whines softly, encouraging his thrusts, “Yes, yes, yes” he breathes, replying to each and every little call of his name – a sound straight from heaven, dripping like honey from his ears, bringing him closer and closer towards those golden gates. His thrusts, and the hand pumping him fast when those hips stutter. Grunts that turn delirious, increasing in pitch the closer War gets to his peak. 

“N-nan” He whines, so utterly gone, the sound alone is enough to push Yin over the edge, squeezing hard around him and spurting out uncontrollably with a loud, broken moan.

War’s rhythm becomes desperate, breathy whines impossible to contain as he chases his release, stuttering when he finally finds it, stilling completely against him, cum filling up his inside, stuffing him full, sending jolts of oversensitivity, as both of them ride the high longer, slower, until they’re completely spent.

✧˖°.⊹📖ᝰ🔬⊹.°˖✧ 

The afterglow comes with the soft morning light, when Yin opens his eyes, and the sight that greets him has him wondering if he’d actually gone to heaven.

War is naked, much like Yin, and the sheets partially cover their bodies. He’s wide awake already – face calm and relaxed, as those eyes scan over the worn out pages of a small book. 

Brown orbs are softened impossibly, just like the lines of his body stretched out on his bed like a painting, head leaned comfortably on one hand as he reads peacefully. Sunlight peaks through, filtered, bathing them softly in certain angles, making War look like an angel Yin brought back to earth on a whim. 

Yin doesn’t know how long he stares, but his hands can no longer keep to themselves, reaching over and brushing the skin under his eyes, still so immersed in his book, it makes him startle. 

The younger laughs quietly, not moving much from his comfortable position, “You look at your books like you’re in love with them” he mutters, voice raspy and sore.

War smiles, taking Yin’s hand and kissing it reverently, nuzzling at his wrist. It has Yin’s heart stuttering pathetically, wondering if the man had actually come alive and escaped one of those books — utterly, devastatingly perfect. 

“There’s a book for every single thing I love” War says, putting it away and shifting closer, gathering Yin into his arms, leaving soft greetings into his lips, pulling a soft, drained giggle out of him.

“Do you have one for me?” Yin asks, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, smiling into the endless string of kisses.

War nuzzles into him, and shakes his head. “No” he breathes against his mouth. “Hundreds of books could attempt to describe you, and none of them would come even close” 

Yin’s insides swoon, and it’s unfair, how much his soft confession moves him. It threatens to make him burst with happiness, so stupidly, so childishly, yet Yin can’t bring himself to care.

“None of them?” He asks anyway, because he can’t get enough of how lovestruck he sounds.

War hums, sighing softly.

“There are simply not enough words in the universe”

✧˖°.⊹ [missing scene] ⊹.°˖✧

Bonz finds War with his head against the dinning table, hands gripping his hair in utter devastation. 

War hears him sigh, and almost, almost hears the way he shakes his head. 

“That boy must be one hell of a firecracker” His friend says, prompting War to shift his head to look at him, without lifting himself up. Bonz winces, sympathetic. “What’d he do now? You’re a mess, my dude”

War grunts, willing his voice to come out.He still can’t believe it. “He’s taking my class” He rasps, stomach churning when his friend’s eyes widen. He smashes his face against the hard wood again, hitting it along with his words, “He’s. My. Student” he yells, sound muffled but no less devastated. 

“Shit” Bonz says, shocked, even as he tries to contain his laughter. “H-how, how did that happen? You said he was a lab rat!” He starts laughing, even as he tries to pat his shoulder gently. “How did he end up in your class?!” 

“Because that’s my fucking luck, okay?” War replies, glaring at his friend, who can’t stop laughing at his misery. 

Truly, the one time someone catches his eye, and he becomes instantly unavailable. Why, how did he end up at his class? Is this some twisted joke from the universe to tell him he can never get to be happy? Is that it?

He sighs, lifting himself up, leaning his head against his hand, at a complete loss. “I hate my life” 

“Well, that should make it more interesting” Bonz says, stretching his arms above his head as he goes to the kitchen to find something to eat. “A great story to tell your kids in the future” 

War looks at him incredulously, “Are you out of your mind? Nothing can fucking happen!” 

Bonz laughs, closing the fridge and taking a bite out of a plain bagel. “If you say so, teacher” he says, his full mouth making his words come out funny. “Just saying, you’ve been thirsting over that boy for months, and if he’s taking your class, that means he’s gonna graduate soon. Weren’t you waiting for him to do just that before going after him?” 

War leans back, running a hand through his unkept waves. “…yeah” he admits, rubbing his neck. “But it was easier watching him from afar. I didn’t want to get involved with him at all while he’s still a student. Now I have to see him every week. He even sits at the front! Who does that?!” 

His friend chuckles, “Maybe he has a crush on you, too” he shrugs, and War hates how much fun he seems to be having, at the expense of his sanity. Bonz rolls his eyes, “It’s four hours a week, and you’re in a classroom full of other students. I think you’ll be fine. It’s not like you’re gonna be spending time alone with him, ya know?” 

War bites his lips, adverting his eyes; sudden embarrassment prickles at his skin, tinting his cheeks pink.

Bonz gapes at him, and his scrutinizing eyes redden War’s cheek further.

“War…” He speaks, tone curious, even as he squints his eyes, like he has him all figured out. Curse him and their long fucking friendship. “You’re not spending time alone with him, aren’t you?” He asks, voice chastising, like he’s speaking to a fucking toddler.

War closes his eyes, exhaling softly. “He needs extra help”

Bonz snorts, shaking his head.

“And you’re Mother fucking Theresa” 

“Shut up!” War groans, throwing a couch pillow at him, but it only makes Bonz laugh harder. 

God, War is utterly fucked.

✧˖°.⊹📖♥︎ fin ♥︎🔬⊹.°˖✧