laundry, meanie

Overlook

Mingyu hates his mind. Absolutely loathes it. Except for the fact that it helps him a bunch when it comes to university stuff, he often wishes he could disconnect it from his system – like a user signing out of a desktop.

He's supposed to be fucking sleeping, after what he told Wonwoo, but maybe it shouldn't have been Wonwoo with whom he'd talked to just thirty minutes ago. Just the thought of the boy makes it impossible for him to fall asleep. He infiltrates his mind like a heavy, dense smoke – making it unable for him to think about anything else. Wonwoo and his tiny fucking frame, Wonwoo and his irresistibly cute voice – which held a scarily huge amount of power over Mingyu.

Mingyu can't even identify if it was just momentary attraction, or what he likes to call a serious case of having a 'thing' for the boy. He'd met him less than a month ago, and here he is, going crazy with the fantasies his mind liked to cook about Wonwoo. In any way, Mingyu knows he's fucked, but he doesn't feel the need to draw back and distance himself from the boy at all. No one has ever made him feel so skittish and jittery before – and Mingyu has had his fair share of dating since high school. Maybe he'd been too young to judge back then, and he'd been with too many girls before – which could be clouding his ability to gauge what he was really going through.

It is scary to some extent, how Mingyu wants Wonwoo next to him at that very moment, and he can't even recognise why a boy he barely knew makes him feel this way.

Mingyu spends the night sleepless, yet again, although the reason behind his sleeplessness was way different from the usual ones this time. His mind screams, and he deeply suspected that if someone had to cut open his brain right at that moment, it had enough data to produce a whole fucking image of Wonwoo. Groaning, he throws off the covers at the ass-crack of dawn, getting out of his bed without disturbing Minghao. Making his bed, Mingyu tries kicking the raging fantasies about Wonwoo out of his mind, all attempts feeble before the deep strength with which the boy was ingrained in his headspace.

Seven-thirty in the morning – the earliest Mingyu ever found himself awake, at least since highschool. Still in his pyjamas, he quietly steps out of the room, silently padding downstairs with his sliders thumping and echoing on the stairs. The weather early in the morning reminds him that fall is on its way – it was practically there already – and it brought a smile to his face, at the prospect of going home just in two months and meeting his dad again. Piper too – the husky would never leave his side.

His nose goes numb in no time, and he's sure as hell it was a bright pink too – making him look feverish. The two whole layers he wears are no match against the biting, early morning chill, and Mingyu nearly thinks of going back to the dorm to bury himself in the sheets. The idea sends a shudder running through him – just the hallway reminded him of last night's conversation with Wonwoo – and how the boy had had no difficulty in identifying exactly what turmoil Mingyu's mind was in.

Shrugging his thoughts off, Mingyu notices he's already at the little park he wanted to be at. It's a huge expanse, large enough to let his thoughts about Wonwoo drown away and lose their way back to his mind. He scans the area – the empty pair of swings, one of which swayed gently, hinting that someone had recently gotten off it, and the rusty grass that is beginning to lose a bit of its colour. It is a familiar sight, comforting enough to let Mingyu bask in the peace. Although one spot that catches his eye is a tall pile of brown, raked leaves, sitting on one side of the park, silent and inviting. Mingyu grins – he'd always loved jumping in those and making a mess. It's just one of the things that makes fall feel like fall – something he'd been doing since childhood. It is all too inviting when he leaps into the large pile, expecting to land smack in the middle, on top of the grass with the dry, crusty leaves blanketing him.