Thread by @alarming_prism

🔞🔞 college au #fengqing with gremlin Mu Qing and unsuspecting Feng Xin ft identity shenanigans, modern Ju Yang, and an egregious amount of sexting

The first time Mu Qing texts Feng Xin, he almost convinces himself it's an accident.

He's drunk, after all. For the first time, too, so it makes sense that he'd do some things without thinking. As long as none of it upends his life, it's fine.

So, MQ sits on the floor of his empty dorm, nurses his beer, and stares at his phone.

MQ: Do yu have a big dck!?

His most recent essay is open on his computer, which sits on the desk. His roommate is god-knows where. Which is good, since MQ stole his alcohol, and he's tired of his roommate pretending to like him.

MQ is a little dizzy.

Three dots appear on his screen, then vanish.

MQ imagines FX's stupid eyebrows and his stupid face and his stupid frown. He's maybe in love a little bit, but he also hates him, and maybe wants to grab his face and press it against his, and also against the nearest brick wall.

FX: who tf is this?

MQ stares dumbly.

Through his alcohol-muddled mind, MQ remembers two very important facts.

One: MQ shouldn't technically have FX's number, although it definitely isn't his fault that their philosophy professor accidentally shared contact information for the entire class.

MQ just took advantage.

Two: FX doesn't know who MQ is.

Unless FX looked behind and to the left of where he sits, but he never does. Which MQ knows because he spends 90% of his time in class watching FX. He wouldn't if their professor was interesting, but he isn't, so that's not MQ's fault either.

FX is hot. And not an idiot. And MQ hates anyone at college on a sports scholarship. And does as well as him in class. And FX has a dick, and there's that rumor going around, and MQ is drunk and lonely and --

MQ: Somone

MQ: Do yiu?

FX: who are u? is this a drunk text

FX: it's just a stupid gd rumor someone i went to high school with spread around

MQ blinks. Through the haze, he grabs words and types them with clumsy fingers.

MQ: So do yku

FX: get tf off, some of us have class in the morning

It's Saturday. FX is still typing, though, the three dots appearing and disappearing for the better part of five minutes. MQ watches with a distant numbness.

FX: this obsession with dick sizes is fukcing disgusting and ur only adding to it. who cares if my dick is big? or small?

FX: all it does is perpetuate unrealistic body standards in men. it's just as dangerous as in other genders and esp bc dick size is something you can't change and has nothing to do with actually enjoying sex

FX: so shut up abt it

MQ is halfway through typing *Please Fuck Me* before he catches himself.

MQ: Yui can just say no

He's being a shit. But goddamn if FX doesn't deserve it for -- being hot, and getting good grades, and never looking at MQ even though he desperately needs him to.

FX: fuck you

MQ: I'd let yuo

MQ stares at his phone until his eyes burn. The three dots don't pop up again. He drowns out his disappointment with the last of his beer and briefly contemplates drinking another.

In the end, he recycles the bottles and climbs into bed.

He burrows into the blankets and stares at his phone some more. FX doesn't look at MQ. Doesn't notice him, doesn't like him, doesn't want him.

MQ: Yuor answer in class was stukid. Even the stupid professor thodughr so

MQ: srupid

MQ: Stupid

FX: thodughr?

There he is.

MQ smiles. The alcohol is making him sleepy, a sudden drag that pulls his eyelids shut. Before he lets it take him, he manages to type out one more message.

MQ: I's fuck uou so hard yodu'd cry

--

MQ is polite, respectable, and does exactly what he's supposed to at the exact times he's supposed to.

He gets perfect grades. Has since elementary school, really. He works enough hours to pay the gap of his tuition not covered by student aid, no matter how it kills him.

He's smart. Talented. Cold. Unreachable. Has hidden depths of potential.

And also lonely, friendless, tired, aching, and frequently too horny for his own good.

The days pass as they always do. MQ is used to it at this point, just as he's used to that incessant itching under his skin that becomes more and more unbearable as time goes on.

The second time MQ texts FX, he can't deny that it's on purpose.

He's sober, after all. And alone in the library past midnight on a Friday, working on his essay for philosophy. And thinking about philosophy. And thinking about FX.

FX has friends. MQ has seen him with Xie Lian, who is so friendly and bright that MQ wants to hit him.

FX has friends, and so he's probably out on a Friday night. Maybe at a party. Maybe fucking someone with his big-or-maybe-not-big dick.

MQ hates the thought. So he takes out his phone and texts him.

MQ: I bet your essay sucks ass.

Only seconds pass before those three dots appear.

FX: i bet u suck ass

MQ restrains himself from responding with *I'd eat ass if it's yours.* If FX ignores him again, he'll break something.

MQ: Sweet of you.

MQ: You think a lot about ass?

*Don't mention his dick, don't mention his dick,* MQ's mind repeats to him over and over.

MQ: Or is it a side effect of having a monster dick

Fuck.

FX: i repeat, who tf are you?? how did u get my number? are u stalking me?

The words give MQ pause. What he's doing probably doesn't count as stalking. Just, obsessing. Out of boredom.

But if FX is uncomfortable, he'll stop replying.

MQ: I'm in your philosophy class.

FX: fuck that professor i stg, i should have known someone would steal my number

MQ: Think a lot of yourself, huh.

The dots appear, disappear, and reappear a few minutes later. MQ's eyes switch between the blinking cursor on his laptop screen and the bouncing dots on his phone screen.

FX: u don't know shit abt me. stop txting me. dick

MQ rolls his eyes, ignoring the drop of disappointment in his chest. He goes back to his essay and reluctantly adds a few sentences to his outline.

His phone buzzes.

FX: wait hang on do we have an essay

FX: nvm don't answer, i'll check the fucking syllabus

Another few minutes pass. When MQ's phone buzzes again, it lights up with a single message.

FX: fuck

(hi yeah i'm back with another threadfic 🤪 not sure how long this'll be but i have Plans so stay tuned 😌 aand a link back to the top!)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1549910059303460870

MQ turns in the essay on Monday feeling pretty okay about it. He gets a 95, which is crushing.

The professor walks around the room passing out the essays. MQ watches, debating whether it's worth it to discuss his grade. The fact that he *happens* to be near FX is nothing.

MQ watches FX's face when he gets his essay handed back. His brows are furrowed until the point that the professor leans in and says, "Good job."

FX breaks out into a grin. It's stunning. Amazing. Awful. The worst thing MQ has ever seen.

Their professor doesn't hand out praise easily. In two months, MQ hasn't had a single pleasant comment, despite having top grades.

And FX just -- he didn't know there was an essay until three fucking days ago! MQ started three *weeks* ago! He could fucking hit something.

MQ leaves class absolutely fuming. He fumes through his shift that evening, through his hill of homework that night, and into the small hours of the morning.

Finally, MQ reaches the point of exhaustion where all he knows is self destruction.

MQ: Glad to know you work well under pressure.

FX's reply is instantaneous despite the early hour.

FX: don't u dare say smth abt my goddamn dick

MQ: Can I see it?

FX: nope

FX: what did u write ur essay abt?

MQ stares at the message. He can't wrap his head around it. The time is nearing 3am, his roommate is sound asleep in the near-dark room, and all MQ is here for is to harass FX and yet -- it doesn't make sense.

MQ: I don't condom plagiarism

FX: i'm afraid to ask if that was intentional

MQ eyes glaze over the typo. He's so tired he can barely feel his own body, and yet there's that frantic undercurrent running just below his skin.

MQ: Depends

MQ: What size do you buy?

FX: i stg i fucking hate u

FX: idgaf who u are, if i see u in class i will body slam u into the ground until u forget i even have a dick

MQ: Hot.

There's no response right away. MQ takes the chance to put away his homework, change into night clothes, and brush his teeth.

By the time he's piled enough blankets on his body and pillows on his head to feel like a little woodland creature without responsibilities and taxes instead of a live human being, FX has responded.

FX: how'd u know i got a good grade. were u watching me

MQ: Our professor basically screamed his congratulations. So congratulations. Your smile is stupid

Stupid and stuck in MQ's mind. The memory of it flashes hot and cold on his skin. He wants to tear it out of himself.

FX: ur fucking stupid

MQ: Nice comeback.

FX: shut up. this is harassment

MQ: It took you that long to figure it out?

MQ pictures the furrow of FX's brow. He's seen it in anger before, caught between the hallway or halfway across the dining hall or in his imagination.

FX: i could report u

MQ: Not if you don't know who I am

MQ has the feeling that FX wouldn't, anyway. There has to be a reason he keeps replying.

FX: where do u sit? behind me?

MQ pauses, thumbs poised over his phone. He knows that FX doesn't know who he is, because he's always watching, and FX never turns his fucking head.

The question tugs at his brain.

MQ: Who do you think I am?

It takes a while for FX to respond. MQ watches his screen, the sound of his roommate's snores echoing in his ears.

FX: idfk. u could be the girl right behind me or the one at the far end who chews her hair

FX: or the person who always wears that checkered shirt

FX: or the guy with the long hair and pissy expression or the fucking professor who fucking knows

MQ stares at that last message. Long hair and pissy expression. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who that is, which means that FX has looked around and made note of him.

As much note of him as the girl at the far end who chews her hair, at least.

MQ: I know.

FX: ik.

FX: and ik u know who i am and ur angry that i got a good grade and ur obsessed with my dick bc of that goddamn rumor and apparently u don't fucking sleep

FX: but neither do i so it's fine ig, keep harassing me

That's consent. MQ has been given real, actual consent to keep texting FX. He's almost giddy with it at the same time he's overwhelmed with the desire to fuck over everything.

The desire beats in the wire under his skin, trailing downwards until it collects in a warm heat.

MQ: I'm not obsessed with your dick because of the rumor.

FX: what

A breath in, a breath out.

MQ: I like to think about what I'd do with it, if you were to let me.

FX: dude

MQ: Do you want to know?

FX: what tf are u doing

MQ hesitates. He's half hard at just the fucking thought of detailing this to FX, but it could go wrong. It's a boundary crossed.

MQ: Let me tell you

The three dots appear and disappear.

FX: uh

FX: sure fine why not

God. God, okay, yeah. MQ casts his eyes over to where his roommate is asleep. If only he respected Pei Ming more, but fuck it.

MQ: I'd suck your dick.

FX: revolutionary

MQ: I wouldn't go fast. I'd start by feeling the weight of you in my hands. Getting used to it

FX: okay and

MQ: I'd press my lips to the side of your cock and kiss you there. You'd be frustrated. You'd think I was stupid

MQ: But I'd taste the tip of you and meet your eyes. I'd wrap a hand around the base of your dick as I wrapped my mouth around you

MQ pauses. He can feel the weight on his tongue. It sends a shiver through him, his cock hard.

MQ: If you're as big as the rumors say, Ju Yang, I'd have to bob my head gently as I got used to you. Slowly, too. You'd barely hit the back of my throat

MQ: Half of it would be the difficulty of fitting you in my mouth and half of it would be to drive you mad. I'm right there, my mouth is so hot, but you have to keep still while I blow you so gently

FX: ur insane

MQ: I think you'd like it. I think you'd let me

MQ shifts. He refuses to touch himself while not alone, but he's starting to think with his dick regardless.

MQ: One day I'd learn to take you all the way, but that first time, I'd try to take you deep and struggle to swallow around you.

MQ: I'd take you like that, all slick and hot. You'd feel my breath and my hands touching the parts of you my mouth can't reach. I'd keep you there, looking you right in the eyes

MQ: I want to see what you look like, lost in all of that

MQ: I want you

MQ: I want you to watch me with my mouth stretched around you and spit all over. You could ruin me

MQ: And when you come, I wouldn't swallow. I want you to come on my face. On my collarbones, on my chest, on my ass; any part of me you want you can have

PM's snoring fills the room. MQ sighs against his pillow. He knows he won't touch himself, and so he's going to sit here with his goddamn cock and think about FX until he goes insane.

MQ: That's what I'd do, if you let me.

FX is never going to let him.

MQ knows that as well as he knows why he's well into college without making any friends. He's too much and not enough, a permanent dichotomy fired with the distance in his eyes and the red in his cheeks.

He wants, though. So bad. Just for FX to look at him, even.

Not a relationship, not a fuck, not a pity date, not a blowjob in the backroom of a party, just -- MQ finding FX across the classroom and seeing his gaze already on him.

Nothing in it. Completely empty. A customary glance.

MQ would cut his hair if FX asked. Would change his major, drop out of college, ruin his future or change its trajectory.

FX is clueless. MQ is in love.

The three dots don't appear again. MQ stares at the screen until his eyes are dry.

(link back to top!)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1549910059303460870

MQ isn't brave enough to face into his actions.

FX doesn't respond, and so MQ goes on with his life as if it never happened at all. Nothing to be said about the tension settled in his chest. Nothing to be said about the curiosity, the regret, the fear.

In class, FX is focused as always on the professor. In class, MQ is focused as always on FX.

Sometimes he thinks it's a miracle his grade is as high as it is, even as he writes notes by touch with his sight halfway across the room. He'll go over them later.

Sometimes he thinks it's a miracle he still has his sanity intact. Going on three years of college and still he reads the school paper the day after FX's games, never going to any himself.

MQ does what he always does. Works, studies, jerks off, thinks about FX, jerks off more.

He's lonely. He's horny. He's barely twenty-one and has the stamina to prove it. He's dead on his feet with more projects and essays and a lack of time.

It's one of those nights off work with a mountain of assignments that MQ is alone again. PM is off at some party.

Never mind the fact that it's Tuesday; where there's a party, there's a PM.

MQ was annoyed by PM's tendencies at first, but after a semester and a half he's glad for it. Gives him time alone.

MQ is halfway through his readings when his phone buzzes.

FX: hey

MQ stares uncomprehending. Almost two weeks have passed since. He was sure he scared FX off.

Still. He's powerless in the face of FX. He clicks on the notification and flinches away from the last messages he sent, shining right there on the screen.

God. He was possessed.

The three dots are there, though. FX is typing. MQ is struck by the sudden thought that FX might have taken this time to track his number, to report him for harassment, and is now here to inform him.

FX: so like this is weird but i've had a bad day

MQ believes it. There have been whispers about an injury at a sports practice; MQ asked around just enough to ascertain that FX wasn't the one hurt, but it makes sense that he'd still be affected.

Why FX is telling MQ, he has no idea.

FX: and i could use some stress relief if u get what i mean

He --

Oh.

MQ blinks. He stares at the message. He tries to think about it and faces a blank, white slate encroaching on his entire mind. There's only one thought there.

MQ: Did you get off on that?

The dots appear, then disappear. MQ is still in denial, which is a nice feeling that he's rather fond of. It shrouds him as he puts away his homework needlessly, as he still has assignments due, and lays on his bed.

FX: what tf else was i supposed to do??

MQ: Block me?

FX: it was hot tho

Huh. MQ stares at those four words. He's oddly calm, as though the reality of the situation hasn't quite caught up to him yet.

FX: i already have my dick out but my usual isn't doing it for me so can u just

FX: u know

There it is.

What the fuck. What the fuck. What The Fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck the fuck the fuck the fuck the fuck the fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

MQ: Trade.

FX: what

FX: oh.

There's nothing. MQ's hands are shaking. He didn't scare FX off before, but he's definitely done it now, with his goddamn incessant asking and pestering and --

FX *wants* MQ to think about fucking him. He's asking for it. Some part of MQ wonders if he'd beg.

FX: *attachment*

Ha. Fuck. What the fuck. Fuck.

FX's cock is definitely a cock. That's all the eloquence MQ is capable of as his eyes glaze, staring unblinkingly at the image. It's flushed, and beautiful, and definitely a dick, and MQ wants to put it in his mouth. Desperately.

MQ can't believe FX walks around with this. It's fucking unfair. He wants to frame this poorly lit, amateur dick pic with FX's ragged cuticles and dirty laundry hamper in the background and hang it on his front door.

There's only one thing he can say.

MQ: Fuck me

FX's reply is instantaneous.

FX: yes okay tell me how

MQ: Slowly.

FX: fuck u maybe i'd hold u down and make u take me

MQ shuts his eyes and breathes deeply. His traitorous cock stirs at the mental image of FX above him, hands on his wrists, helpless as he --

God. Okay.

MQ: Fine. Hold me down. Don't think I wouldn't fight you back

MQ: I'd writhe underneath you; the more I try to pull away the tighter I clench around your cock and the harder you have to fuck into me to keep me still and pliant for you

MQ: But you didn't ask for that

FX: ur unreal

MQ knows better than to take that as a compliment, even as blood rushes straight to his dick.

MQ: You wanted me to talk to you. So I'm going to talk to you

MQ: I want you to fuck me. I think about you coming home after a long day, tired and stressed

MQ: And you find me in the kitchen and come up to me from behind. In the middle of putting away groceries, maybe, when you push up against me and snake a hand down my thigh

MQ: I want you to want me inconveniently. I want the milk to go bad before it ends up in the fridge

Somewhere past the thin dorm walls, there's the sound of laughter. MQ jolts back into himself, staring at the words on the screen. His cock strains against his jeans.

MQ thinks about the kitchen, the groceries, the spoiled milk with the same pedestal as his own wellbeing.

MQ: You put your hand on my thigh, and I bite your head off for it, and you unbutton my jeans and stroke my cock and kiss me all the way to your bed

FX: are u like a theater major or something

MQ: No?

FX: okay so stop with the theatrics and get to the part where we fuck

FX: idk wtf spoiled milk has to do with anything unless ur torturing me into sending another dick pic

MQ stares at the screen. He's reminded, acutely, of how much he fucking hates FX. Loves him, yes, but the kind of love where resentment overpowers affection.

Maybe FX says it then, too. *What the fuck does spoiled milk have to do with anything* in response to MQ bitching about being dragged away from the groceries.

The thought settles MQ enough to reply.

MQ: Fine. We're naked on the bed. I spread my legs for you.

MQ: You work me open slowly. You run a finger around my rim until it catches. It's so hot and tight that you think about your cock there instead

MQ: I run my hands over your chest, playing with your nipples. I drive you crazy with it

MQ: Even more so when I wander down far enough to wrap a hand around your cock. Lightly, just enough to distract you from your fingers inside me

MQ: Just enough that your control snaps after two fingers. You shove my wandering hands away and grip me by the hips

MQ hesitates. There'd be greens on the counter too, wilting in the meantime. Inconvenient. Wanted.

MQ: It's painful and pleasurable at the same time

MQ: The stretch fucking hurts. It feels good. For you, my hole is all slick and hot and tight around your cock

FX: fuck

The single word breaks the dam in MQ's mind. He unzips his jeans and takes out his dick, gritting his teeth against the groan in his throat.

FX: do you often?

Fuck that. MQ will have his first time after graduation, when he knows he'll never see FX again.

MQ: No.

FX: fuck

FX: u rly sit there and think abt me?

FX: do u touch urself?

MQ strokes himself slow. There's a tension under his skin, a rising desperation to thrust into his hand until he finds release, but he has to make it last.

MQ: Like I have time with college.

FX: fuck that's hot

He sees right through MQ, straight to the hand on his cock and the twist of his wrist.

FX: i'm inside of u. it feels like fucking heaven. u think i'd be able to resist fucking u into the mattress? making u moan so loud there'd be a noise complaint?

"Fuck." MQ stills his hand. He's close. The strength of his impending climax is disorienting.

MQ: I count on it

Thank god he knows how to type with one hand.

MQ: I bet there's some place near your neck and throat that's the perfect spot. The one that gets you going

MQ: I'd find it and suck a mark into it while you marked my insides

FX: i'd give u two for every one left on me

FX: fuck just. u want me so bad

FX: ur fucking insane. i don't even know u

FX: i'm so close

Fucking insane, that FX could get off on this. That he's going to come from nothing more than MQ's messages.

MQ: I'd do anything to you

Even waste money on groceries that spoil out on the kitchen counter.

MQ strokes himself roughly. He comes with a gasp choked in his throat.

In the aftermath, he's left sitting on his bed fully clothed with his phone in one hand and his softening cock in the other.

FX hasn't responded. MQ knows why, and still he resents it. He's there for more than getting him off; he's there to put away FX's groceries.

Not to be abandoned the second FX gets what he needs.

MQ: I'm writing my next essay on situational ethics.

Three dots appear immediately. MQ's heart jumps to his throat. Embarrassing.

FX: and i came harder than i ever have, give me a bit before i think abt fucking philosophy

MQ: No need to be an asshole.

FX: ha

FX: thanks, ig. goodnight

Goodnight. Good fucking night -- nothing about what he just asked of a stranger. Nothing about the reality of getting off and leaving without even fucking talking about why he approached MQ in the first place.

But. Fine. MQ is used to not getting what he wants.

MQ turns off his phone, cleans himself up, and settles back on his bed to finish the rest of his assignments.

(link back to top)

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1549910059303460870

It happened once. It happened twice. It happens a third time a few days later, and a fourth a week after that.

MQ isn't quite sure what's happening anymore. He's consumed by FX in a way he's never quite been before, despite how good he is at being consumed.

He isn't quite sure if there's a reason to the rhythm of FX texting him. Always it's for the same thing, and always he cuts off before MQ can start a fucking conversation that isn't an excavation of how much he wants FX carnally.

Fuck. He wants FX so badly he's fine with this.

Even after the fifth time, and the sixth time, and the seventh time with PM holding a one sided conversation on the other bed while MQ details how he'd need FX so desperately they wouldn't make it to the bedroom of their shared, one-room flat. The groceries are fine this time.

After, MQ asks FX about his upcoming game, and FX makes some excuse about leaving the tap on and says goodbye.

MQ stares at his phone. Before he can think better of it, he says to PM, "Would you fuck a stranger if they already knew who you were?"

PM is silent. MQ looks over to see PM's 'do you even have to ask me that?' expression complete with raised eyebrows and a suggestive grin.

"Fuck you," MQ says. "Gross."

"You asked me, buddy," PM says. He gestures towards MQ's phone. "Does someone need to give you the talk?"

"Fuck. You," MQ says again.

"Might make the roommate situation a little awkward."

MQ shuts his mouth and casts PM his nastiest glare. PM isn't a bad roommate after all, but he's shameless to a degree that MQ both resents and envies.

Try as he might, though, it's hard to shut up about FX. Now that MQ has this taste of him, it's near impossible to drag his eyes away in class, to interrupt his thoughts long enough to work on his assignments, to not open his mouth and scream to the world that he's sexting FX.

MQ comes to the conclusion that he has a huge fucking problem when he finds himself blabbing to the freshman he tutors, Quan Yizhen.

QYZ isn't a bad kid. It's a common misconception that he's oblivious but only because he doesn't care about what most others do. MQ respects him.

MQ doesn't respect his failing grade in calculus, but only because he *knows* QYZ is smart enough to do well if he just *cared* to try.

It's for that reason that MQ keeps their tutoring sessions math-related. It's for the reason of his failing sanity that today, he fails.

"Do you know Feng Xin?" The words slip before MQ can snap his mouth shut.

QYZ blinks. "What?"

The epitome of confusion, and still MQ continues with, "There's a rumor that he has a big dick."

QYZ blinks. "Okay?"

MQ hesitates. Jesus Christ, this kid is barely eighteen.

What the fuck is he doing?

"Do you think he does?" MQ has to know. He's a terrible person. He can't shut up about FX.

QYZ blinks.

MQ isn't sure what he expected, actually. QYZ only cares about two things: wrestling and his tutor before MQ, who graduated last year.

Half the reason MQ implemented the math-related discussion rule was so QYZ would stop talking about Yin Yu. It's not like he's going to say yes, of course he's heard the rumor, of course he thinks FX has a big dick -- so MQ can whirl on him with a gleam in his eye and say, oh?

You think FX has a big dick, QYZ? Well -- it's none of your business! MQ has a picture and nobody else does! He's lost count of how many times he's gotten off to it! Not to mention the other two FX has sent since, one immediately after finishing with come all over --

God, MQ has to get a hold on himself.

Math-related discussions only. Okay. Okay. In an effort to save his sanity, MQ does the only thing he can think to do -- he constructs a practice problem about the estimated girth of FX's cock and has QYZ find the length from it.

"This is weird," QYZ says after, packing his things. "You're weird. See you."

MQ waits until QYZ is out of sight to drop his face into his hands. Everything is fine so long as his grades are perfect, so long as his job is stable, nothing careening out of control.

Except *he* is careening out of control. A constant tremor set into his skin, eyes glued to his phone on the off chance FX will text him.

MQ sighs. He raises his head. After tutoring QYZ he still has work before he can rest, but until then, he has a few hours for homework.

The library is as good a place to work as any, and yet MQ gets to his feet. All he wants right now is to sit in his own bed.

Out of the library and through the student center, then. The hustle and bustle of fellow students flows around him.

When the traffic gets particularly bad, MQ presses himself against the wall beside a bench.

That's when it happens.

The sound of a laugh. The glimpse of warm skin, dark eyes. MQ holds his breath as FX comes into view, the sight catching in his chest.

God. He's gorgeous.

Gorgeous, and with a group of people MQ barely knows.

The traffic wanes. MQ could easily get past now, but if he did, FX would be out of sight in seconds. The thought has MQ slipping his backpack off his shoulders and balancing it on the bench.

He unzips the main compartment and feigns looking for something, one eye kept on FX.

MQ is used to these fleeting glances at FX. Until this fucking philosophy class, it was all he had. Seconds to commit the curve of his jaw to memory, the furrow of his brow.

FX is gorgeous, yes, but also beautiful.

His cock is, too.

MQ resists the urge to drop his gaze to FX's crotch. He can't waste these few seconds on looking anywhere other than his face, turned towards his friends and contorted in something like a smile, something like a laugh.

All MQ knows is, he wants FX to look like that at him. All MQ knows is, he's been caught in this since the first day of freshman orientation, when he fell in love for the first time and cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes.

FX passes MQ without a glance in his direction.

MQ zips up his backpack and goes on his way.

He wonders if, the next time FX wants him, he can disguise the thought of FX comforting him in a bathroom stall as a fantasy of public sex. Everything else has worked so far under similar disguises.

It's only when MQ is back in his dorm and halfway through an assignment that he realizes -- maybe that's the problem. Maybe he's too obvious.

Maybe it's uncomfortable. Maybe the sexting is fine until the point that MQ can only make small talk because he knows so much about FX.

After all, it's easier to say 'what do you think about class?' than 'I know your family has a vacation home because I took art history for the sole reason of hearing from my lab partner in chem that her cousin's dormmate who was your girlfriend at the time was taking it --'

‘-- and she could be pressed to talk about you if you asked the right questions. So, have you been recently?’

One makes MQ sound fucking deranged, and the other makes him sound like a goddamn stalker. It’s an easy choice between them.

But still — uncomfortable, to sound so impersonal about everything. Uncomfortable, to sound like talking after is nothing more than a routine MQ feels he’s obligated to stick to.

FX doesn’t know anything about MQ. He wouldn’t know this about him, either.

The thought is terrifying, though.

Anonymous, MQ retains some sense of safety. If FX starts to hate him, he’s only started to hate the random number in his phone. If FX starts to hate MQ, he really, truly hates MQ.

It scares MQ to the very bone and marrow of himself.

Even more terrifying than the ordeal of being known, though, is the idea of FX never texting MQ again. Anonymous, FX doesn’t know MQ anything.

If FX starts to hate MQ, it stands to reason that he would at the very least tell him to his face rather than leave him on read.

MQ brings that sentiment with him all the way to class. It settles in his chest, leaving a tremor in his hands that shows in the messiness of his notes.

As usual, he’s staring at FX. As usual, he’s careful not to get caught, something that’s been made more difficult recently.

One side effect of texting so often is that now, FX lifts his head from his notes and looks around the room.

The first time he did it, it caught MQ by surprise. Given what MQ has realized, though, it makes sense. It’s no longer impersonal if FX has a face to attach.

Towards the end of class, MQ steels his nerves. When FX does his customary glance around the room, MQ doesn’t look away.

FX starts at the far end of the room. Seconds pass as he studies the faces of their classmates. He reaches MQ’s row, reaches the person beside him —

FX meets MQ’s eyes.

MQ raises an eyebrow.

FX’s stare is steady. No widening of his eyes, no visible realization — only the moment caught and stretched into a segment of time in which MQ is closer and farther away than he’s ever been.

FX turns away. There’s red in his cheeks.

That’s it, then. MQ tried. He did his best. As class ends and he packs up his bag, he thinks, at least there’s no excruciating situations stemming from this —

“I forgot to take notes.”

The voice comes from behind MQ. He freezes, then realizes how fucking obvious that is.

MQ forces himself to relax. He turns around, quirking that same eyebrow. “And?”

God. God, FX is *right there,* face impassive and eyes so dark and warm and *looking.* “Well, I need to study for the exam. Can I borrow yours?”

MQ loses himself a bit.

“I’m not responsible for your failing grade,” MQ says.

FX is visibly taken aback. Something warm flops in MQ’s chest. “Hey, I’m not fucking failing.”

“Really? Why didn’t you takes notes, then?”

“Because I was fucking — I just didn’t, okay?” Except he did. MQ watched him.

He’ll play this game, though. “So you’re failing, then.”

“Christ, are you dumb?” There’s actual anger there, and still MQ resists the urge to burst out laughing.

God. He loves him, loves him, loves him so much it hurts when FX steps away. “Forget it. Bitch."

MQ snorts. He watches FX retreat. The soft, lonely heart in his chest grows three sizes larger and beats with the lingering scent of FX.

https://twitter.com/alarming_prism/status/1549910059303460870?s=20&t=MfsRVUz2RJ3usEJ8iOk_iA