Chapter Text
“What the actual fuck?”
Jay’s hand froze mid-stroke, his fine-liner bleeding a harsh, permanent black dot into the expensive cardstock of his fashion croquis. He muttered a string of colorful curses under his breath, his heart immediately hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He had heard the front door click. Not just click—open.
Jay lived alone in apartment 7E. Or, well, he was supposed to be living alone until the housing office figured out whatever logistical nightmare they were dealing with for the new semester.
It was a Saturday afternoon, his room smelled like heavy vanilla incense and textile markers, and someone was currently rustling around in his tiny entryway.
Panic, sharp and blinding, shot through him. Jay was a walking contradiction: he looked like a runway model who could break your jaw, dressed in an oversized, faded black vintage zip-up, cargo pants that pooled over his chunky boots, and heavy silver rings cluttering his fingers.
But internally? He was a nervous wreck, a total softie who couldn’t even tell the cashier they gave him the wrong coffee. If I die today, I swear to God, I’m haunting the housing department, he thought, his chest tight with anxiety.
Trying to keep his breathing shallow, Jay slipped off his desk chair. His mind raced. He needed a weapon. His room was right next to the open-concept kitchenette, so he took three stealthy, agonizingly tense steps out of his bedroom and lunged for the stove. His fingers wrapped around the handle of a heavy, grease-stained cast-iron skillet.
Holding the pan aloft like a club, Jay rounded the kitchen counter, ready to swing.
"Step back, motherf—"
He stopped dead in his tracks. Standing by the shoe rack was a guy. A really, really handsome guy. He was slightly shorter than Jay, wearing a simple white t-shirt and loose-fitting denim that somehow looked incredibly chic on him. He had soft, sharp features, dark hair, and a wide-eyed, completely terrified expression. The guy was clutching a massive duffel bag to his chest like a shield, staring at Jay—and the cast-iron pan—with the vulnerability of a kicked puppy.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and absurd. "Uh," the guy said. His voice was a low, smooth cadence, heavily laced with a thick, melting Australian accent that instantly threw Jay off balance.
"G'day? Please don't hit me with the cookware, mate. I'm just the new roommate."
Jay’s brain short-circuited. Roommate? Australia? Mate? "The... what?" Jay slowly lowered the pan, his aggressive stance instantly melting into utter embarrassment.
A hot flush crept up his neck. God, he was such an idiot. He just threatened a foreigner with a frying pan.
Great job, Jay. Fantastic first impression. "Oh. Oh, shit. You're the transfer student?"
"Yeah," the guy said, offering a small, incredibly timid smile.
He let out a breathy laugh, adjusting the heavy bag in his arms. The movement pulled his sleeves up slightly, revealing forearms lined with prominent, sharply defined veins that mapped down to his hands. Jay’s designer eye automatically noted how aesthetically striking they were.
"Jake. Jake Sim. Sorry to scare ya. The lady at the housing desk said it was alright to just come up, but I reckon I should've knocked first."
"No, no, it's fine. I'm Jay. Jay Park," Jay muttered, hurriedly putting the skillet back on the stove, cursing himself out in his head.
Fucking hell, Jay, you look like a psychopath. He turned back around, forcing his best, most reassuring smile despite the lingering adrenaline.
"Don't worry about it. I just... thought you were a burglar. My bad."
"Nah, all good," Jake said, his Korean a bit hesitant, the syllables clipping awkwardly as he tried to navigate the language. He shifted on his feet, looking around the apartment with a shy, polite curiosity.
"Nice to meet you, Jay." He looked so small, so entirely harmless and sweet, that Jay’s innate, anxious urge to please immediately kicked into overdrive.
"Here, let me take that bag. It looks heavy as hell," Jay said, stepping forward. "Oh, you don't have to—"
"I got it, I got it, seriously," Jay insisted, grabbing the strap of the duffel.
Their hands brushed for a split second, and Jay felt a sudden, weird jolt at the contrast of Jake's warm skin.
Jay hoisted the bag easily. "Your room is the one on the left. It's clean, but if you need extra blankets or whatever, just tell me. I have a ton of shit."
"Thanks, mate. Appreciate it," Jake murmured, following him down the small hallway.
When Jay set the bag down in the spare room, he turned to see Jake looking at him with literal stars in his eyes, as if Jay had just saved his life instead of threatening him with a kitchen utensil five minutes ago. He was just a sweet, innocent kid trying to survive in a foreign country.
"Alright," Jay said, rubbing the back of his neck, his silver rings clinking.
"Get settled. I'll be in my room if you need anything."
"Thanks, Jay," Jake said softly, his English rolling out like velvet. Jay retreated to his bedroom, shutting the door and letting out a massive sigh. He slumped against the wood, staring at his ruined croquis. Well, he thought, at least he's not a serial killer. And he's pretty cute. Sucks that he’s probably straight like every other guy on this godforsaken campus, but whatever. We can be normal roommates.
By Monday morning, the entire campus had completely lost its collective mind over Jake Sim. It was ridiculous, really.
Jay walked through the humanities building, his oversized plaid button-down flapping behind him, a heavy silver chain swinging against his chest, and all he could hear was the frantic whispering of girls huddled in clusters.
"Did you see the new transfer student in the physics department?"
"The Australian guy? Oh my god, he's so handsome."
"He doesn't talk much, he just smiles and looks all mysterious..."
"And his hands! Have you seen his hands? The veins are literally so hot, I can't breathe."
Jay rolled his eyes, adjusting the strap of his leather tote bag. He muttered a quiet, disgruntled curse under his breath. It wasn't that he was jealous; it was just that the school's population was so easily amused.
Though, to be fair, Jay knew firsthand that Jake was striking. Over the weekend, they had barely interacted—Jake spent most of his time cooped up in his room with massive, terrifying physics textbooks, only emerging to offer Jay polite, quiet smiles and a soft, "Morning, mate," before scurrying back into his cave.
Because Jake’s Korean was still quite rusty, he stayed mostly quiet in public, inadvertently wrapping himself in an aura of innocent, academic mystery that made him completely irresistible to the student body.
Everyone thought he was this pure, brilliant, untouchable genius. Jay, on the other hand, was dealing with his own reputation. As he walked down the corridor, a girl from his styling class practically ambushed him. "Jay! Oh my god, thank heaven," she gasped, looking distressed.
"Can you please help me with my fabric swatches for the mid-term? I'm completely lost and the professor is going to fail me!"
Jay’s internal alarms went off. No, no, no, I have my own collection to design, I don't have time for this, please leave me alone, his brain screamed in pure, unadulterated social anxiety. He felt the familiar sweat prickling at his hairline. He wanted to say no. He desperately wanted to say he was busy. Instead, a soft, incredibly sweet smile stretched across his face, completely betraying his internal panic.
"Yeah, of course! Just drop them off at my desk during studio hours, I'll take a look at them for you."
"You're a lifesaver! Thank you!"
As she sprinted away, Jay’s smile instantly dropped. Fucking hell, I'm a doormat, he cursed viciously under his breath, stepping into the elevator.
A literal, pathetic doormat. Why can't I just say no? Goddamn it.
Their paths didn't cross much at school during those first couple of weeks, given their vastly different majors, but they did have one mandatory, agonizing interaction. It happened when Jay was frantically searching for his student ID in the library café, completely overwhelmed by the line behind him. Jake had happened to be standing nearby, holding a iced Americano.
Seeing Jay panic, he had stepped up, his deep Australian accent slicing through Jay’s rising anxiety.
"Hey, Jay. You alright, mate?" Jake had asked, switching entirely to fluent, effortless English.
Jay had looked up, flustered. "I can't find my fucking card. I think I left it in the studio." "Don't sweat it," Jake had smiled, that sweet, puppy-like expression fully intact.
He tapped his own card against the reader, paying for Jay's pastry and coffee before Jay could even protest. "I gotcha. We're roomies, remember? You can just pay me back later."
"Oh. Shit. Thanks, Jake," Jay had mumbled, his English a bit rougher but perfectly fluent since he had spent time abroad himself. "I owe you."
"Nah, all good," Jake had chuckled, giving him a polite little nod before disappearing back into the sea of swooning students.
That was it. That was the extent of their relationship. Normal roommates. Polite, quiet, and completely ordinary. Jay just assumed Jake was a regular, hyper-focused academic guy who happened to look like an idol.
Until P.E. class.
The university mandated a general fitness credit, which meant Jay—who hated sweating in front of people—was forced into a gym shirt and athletic shorts, crammed into a massive field house with fifty other students.
To his surprise, Jake was in the same section. They were currently in the middle of a warm-up, scattered across the polished wooden floors.
Jay was trying his best to look effortlessly cool even in basic gym gear, leaning down to stretch his hamstrings.
He bent over, reaching for his toes, his mind wandering to a pattern layout he needed to finish later. Because he was flexible, he bent deeply, his gym shorts tightening over his lower body. As he held the stretch, Jay lazily tilted his head to the side, looking through the gap of his arms toward the bleachers.
Jake was sitting there, supposedly stretching his calves. But he wasn't stretching. Jay’s breath hitched in his throat. Jake was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
His gaze wasn't fixed on the floor, or on the instructor, or on his own shoes. Jake was staring directly, unashamedly, and with terrifying intensity, straight at Jay’s ass.
Jay froze.
He couldn't move.
He thought his mind was playing tricks on him.
No way. No fucking way. Jake is a sweet, innocent physics major. He's just spaced out.
To test his theory, Jay slowly stood up, pretending to shake out his legs. He kept his sharp designer eye trained on Jake through the reflection of the massive gym mirrors.
What he saw next completely shattered every single perception he had of his roommate. A group of girls from the cheer dance elective walked past the bleachers, laughing loudly. Jake’s head turned.
The sweet, polite, puppy-like expression he wore every single day was completely gone. In its place was a dark, confident, utterly filthy smirk. Jake’s eyes slowly traced the girls from head to toe, devouring them with a heavy, shameless gaze.
As one of the girls laughed and tilted her head, Jake slowly ran his tongue over his bottom lip, biting down on it with a raw, primal hunger that sent a violent shiver straight down Jay’s spine. Jay’s jaw practically hit the floor.
Oh my god, Jay thought, his heart pounding a frantic, chaotic rhythm against his chest. He's a freak. Beneath that polite, stuttering Korean, beneath the innocent foreigner persona and the brilliant physics textbooks... Jake Sim was an absolute perv. He had a shockingly dirty mind. He wasn't sitting in class thinking about quantum mechanics; he was sitting there having incredibly spicy thoughts about everyone around him.
And he had been looking at Jay. Jay’s face exploded into a furious, bright red blush.
He quickly turned away, his hands shaking as he adjusted his gym shorts. His mind was a chaotic mess of profanity. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? He was totally checking me out. Or was he? Jay tried to rationalize it as he ran laps.
Listen, everyone looks. Every guy at this age is basically a walking hormone. God knows I've caught myself eyeing some guys' huge dicks in the locker room showers before. It's normal. We're guys. Jay, calm the fuck down. He wasn't looking at your ass like THAT. He was probably just staring into space. And so what if he likes girls? The girls are pretty. It doesn't mean anything.
Jay aggressively repeated this mantra to himself for the rest of the day. They were roommates. They were normal. He was not going to make this weird. He was going to act completely normal.
Which brought them to Tuesday evening.
The living room of apartment 7E was quiet, bathed in the warm, ambient glow of a floor lamp. Jay was sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, a massive sketchbook propped against his knees.
He was meticulously drawing out a complicated jacket sleeve, his silver rings softy clicking against the graphite pencil. Across from him, sitting on the sofa, was Jake.
True to his public persona, Jake was wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, a thick grey sweater that made him look incredibly soft, and had a massive physics textbook resting on his lap. He looked like the picture-perfect definition of a dedicated student.
But Jay couldn't unsee it.
Every time Jake turned a page, Jay’s eyes would involuntarily dart to those veiny, attractive hands, and then up to Jake's face, wondering what kind of absolutely filthy thoughts were currently running behind those dark eyes.
Stop it, Jay. Focus on the sleeve. Don't be a weirdo, Jay cursed himself out internally.
The silence between them wasn't awkward; it was actually comfortable. It was the longest they had spent in the same room just coexisting.
Jay was trying to enjoy the peace, but his mind kept drifting back to what had happened this morning at school.
A heavy sigh escaped Jay’s lips, his pencil slowing down on the paper. He was thinking about the girl. This morning, right outside the design studio, a girl from the communications department—someone Jay barely knew—had cornered him. She had been blushing furiously, twisting the strap of her bag into knots.
"Jay," she had squeaked, looking everywhere but his eyes. "Um, I know you live with Jake? The new transfer student?" Jay’s anxiety had instantly flared up, but he had maintained his soft, helpful smile.
"Yeah. I do. What's up?"
"Could you... could you please give this to him?"
She had thrust a small, pastel pink envelope into his hands. It smelled faintly of strawberries. "And tell him that I really, really like him? I see him in the library all the time, but he's always so quiet and studying so hard, I didn't want to disturb his focus... please tell him!"
Before Jay could even process a response, she had bowed deeply and sprinted down the hall, leaving him standing there holding a love letter meant for his roommate.
Jay hadn't given it to him yet. It was currently tucked safely inside his leather tote bag by the front door. Jay glanced up from his sketchbook, his sharp eyes mapping the lines of Jake’s face.
Jake was currently resting his chin in his palm, his eyes scanning a dense page of formulas. To anyone else, he looked completely absorbed in his studies. But Jay knew. Jay thought about the pink envelope.
He thought about how the girl had called Jake "quiet" and "focused." He thought about how absolutely hilarious it was that the entire school thought this guy was a pure, innocent saint.
If only she knew, Jay thought, a weird, hot spark of amusement and something entirely unnamable twisting in his gut. If she only knew what he looks like when he's biting his lip, devouring people with his eyes.
Jay bit his own lip, turning back to his sketchbook. He wasn't going to say anything about the letter just yet. He wanted to sit in this secret a little longer.
He wanted to watch Jake, to see if he could catch a glimpse of the freak hiding behind the physicist. Across the table, Jake suddenly shifted, his sweater fabric rustling. He didn't look up from his book, but his veiny hand slowly moved, his long fingers trailing lazily down the edge of the page in a way that felt entirely too deliberate.
Jay kept his head down, his heart doing a stupid, anxious flip as he kept sketching, the silent, invisible tension between them tightening by the second.