seventeen oneshots

i kinda want u(ber) (wonhao)

LINK:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558367

Summary:

Cute delivery guys apparently really do exist.

_______________________________________________________________________________

It's eight fifty-three p.m and Minghao wants to gently place his head into a toilet bowl. He's not usually a dramatic person, but this assignment is puncturing holes in his soul and sucking it out of his flesh through a straw. He has about eight tabs of articles and videos and podcasts about creativity or whatever open and he's concentrating on approximately zero of them, instead staring blankly at a ninth tab opened to Google, chewing on his fingernails, for the past seven minutes. Never mind that it's due in two days. Never mind that it's the first assignment of his second semester as a first year media student, not that that matters a lick, because death is imminent anyway. Never mind anything.

"Minghao," his housemate Seungkwan calls from the couch.

"Hn."

"I... I need to feel alive again."

"Hnh." Minghao manages to rip off a piece of nail with his teeth clean and without pain and feels mildly successful.

"How much have you done?" Seungkwan flips over onto his stomach, head drooping from the arm rest. He is also trying and failing to do his work. It's econ-related. Ugly stuff. "Tell me you're not halfway done, please, even if it's a lie."

"I'm about to kill myself," Minghao says.

"Oh thank God."

Under normal circumstances, Minghao would throw a pillow or something at him, but right now he commiserates. It's way less mental effort than emoting. Who does that anymore? Actors don't even emote for real. He needs grape juice.

"I'll be right back," he mumbles, shooting up from his seat and walking into the kitchen. The fridge door opens in his grip, and fish eyes glaze over the contents. A can of Spam (opened), another can of Spam (unopened – why are these even in the fridge), a bottle of ketchup (why is that in the fridge)...

There's a moment of pin-drop silence. And then, a cracked, unused voice from a dry throat, bordering on manic: "Where's the grape juice?" Minghao stands up, wobbling a little, closing the fridge. His world is crumbling. "Seungkwannie, where's the grape juice –"

"I finished it all yesterday!" Seungkwan's voice comes. "I was having a crisis!"

Minghao stumbles back into the living room. He feels like he could cry. "What?"

"I was having a crisis," Seungkwan whines, covering the bottom half of his face with a textbook. "One of my extended papers was due last week and I completely forgot about it until last night. I had to."

Minghao lets his forehead fall onto the wall next to him. What a nice wall.

"I'm sorry," Seungkwan says.

"It's fine."

"Clearly it isn't," he says, sounding kind of disgusted.

"It's okay."

"Oh my God, you're doing that thing," he snaps. "Fuckin' Ubereat grape juice or something, stop moping, you're getting me down."

Minghao lifts his head. Whispers, "Oh."

Ten minutes later he has placed an order of apple juice (next best thing) and two large fries from the nearest fast food restaurant, as well as an apple pie for Seungkwan.