Westhill had a lot of blocks, and in one of them, Chase walked down the corridor like he owned the floor, his tall frame cutting through the crowd, and beside him were two of his usual clique, laughing at something Chase had said five seconds ago.
A few freshmen slid to the side, pressing their backs against the lockers as they passed, like they had heard stories.
It was a subtle reminder of the reputation that nearly sent him to jail, but was avoided due to his father's affluence. Instead, he got sent abroad, and the university board covered up for him. To the school, he was a "rehabilitated" talent from abroad; to everyone else, he was still a touched-up risk.
His eyes scanned the lecture halls as he passed, but slowed down at one, his gaze catching a familiar figure, Ryan, sitting somewhere at the back, head bent and slightly focused on whatever he was doing.
He made a move toward the door, but stopped, his eyes locking on another figure coming from the opposite direction, heading straight for that same room. Ethan.
He paused, his lips twitching into a grin, and turning just before Ethan could reach the door, he slung an arm around the younger guy's neck
"There you are," Chase rumbled, his voice low and teasing.
Ethan stiffened, nearly dropping his bag. "Chase? What're you doing?"
"Who's that?" one of his friends asked, looking Ethan up and down, and exchanging looks with the other
"A junior in the Art Club," Chase replied easily, dragging Ethan away from the classroom door. "You guys can go on ahead. I need to have a private consultation with this one here."
He didn't wait for a response before steering Ethan into an empty studio down the corridor.
"So," Chase began, "Did you register for the art club at the fair?
He hesitated a bit, "No, I didn't."
Chase stopped, dropping his arm and turning to Ethan. "Why?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I just... needed time to think about it," Ethan continued. "But I don't think my skills are good enough. I've been drawing for ages, and I haven't gotten any better. I like art, yeah, but it feels pointless chasing something that's not going anywhere."
Chase pulled a table closer, leaning back against it. "You know how many people said that exact same thing? That they were stuck, peaked early, and stayed there."
"You know," he went on, "Viarento Diego felt that way right before he painted The Night Has Come. He thought he was a complete failure, too."
Ethan frowned. "That's different."
"No, it's not." Chase smiled, slow and confident. "You think talent just shows up and stays forever? It doesn't. It dies if you don't work it the right way."
He leaned a bit forward, his voice dropping low and persuasive. "The Arts Club isn't just about people hanging around to draw. We have specific programs patterned for specific people. Training schedules, guided practices, and critique sessions that actually fix whatever is wrong."
Ethan's eyes flickered.
"We even have a system," Chase went on. "It's like a prescription with different approaches depending on how you're stuck. So here, we don't just teach you to draw, we rewire how you see. We've had people who couldn't draw a straight line leave with gallery-ready portfolios in a semester. You want a dream? We're offering you the tools to build it."
Ethan swallowed, his grip tightening. "That sounds… actually good."
Chase watched the moment it clicked, the desperate spark lighting up in Ethan's eyes.
"I want to join," Ethan said quickly. "I mean, if I still can."
Chase leaned back slightly. "Application's closed," he sighed, looking genuinely pained
Ethan froze. "What?"
"It was only open during the club fair," Chase said. "Anything after that doesn't count."
"But our course rep said we can still register at the club room."
"For the Chess club? Sure. For Crochet? Probably," Chase shrugged. "But in the Arts Club, we tweak the rules to our liking. Once the fair is over, the door stays shut for the year."
He paused, watching the disappointment settle on Ethan's face. "But... there's a chance for you. A small one."
Ethan looked up immediately. "What's the chance?"
Chase straightened, his tone shifting, more controlled now. "As you know, I'm the creative director, so I'm basically part of the leadership. And the president and I are close. I could ask for a special exemption."
He paused. "But on one condition."
"What condition?"
"Your friend, Ryan," Chase said, his eyes locking onto Ethan's. "I need to get close to him, and I need all the support I can get from you to do that."
Ethan blinked, confused. "What kind of support?"
"Every information and detail about him. His contact info, his likes, where he spends his time, his type, his interests... everything, right down to his underwear color," Chase stated.
Ethan's brow furrowed as he pulled back. "That's a joke, right?"
Chase didn't smile.
"I mean... if you want to befriend him that badly, you can just as him just ask him. I'm sure he'd tell you a bit about himself if he likes you."
"Well, I don't think your friend likes me," Chase replied coldly. "He shunned me last time and refused to give me his number. And I have no plans of backing down, Ethan."
Ethan began pulling back, towards the door, his expression hardening. "I'm really sorry, but I can't do that. I'm not giving you information about Ryan behind his back. That's... that's betrayal. I can't."
He reached for the door handle.
Chase's voice stayed calm. "If you walk out that door, the offer disappears. There won't be a second chance."
He froze, his fingers resting on the handle, with the silence of the room weighing on him.
On one side was Ryan, his friend. And on the other side, the only thing that made him feel alive.
Finally, Ethan spoke. "I'm only giving you his place of work. Nothing else."
Chase rubbed his chin, his eyes blinking. "Just that? I asked for the full file."
"That's the only info I can give you," Ethan said, his voice strained. "That's my best. I'm giving you an open card, it's up to you to decide what to write on it and how to play it out."
Chase reasoned the stakes for a moment. A location was better than nothing. A location meant a surprise visit.
"Fine. I'll take it. The club meets once a week. Wednesdays, five pm. See you there." He gave a sharp wink.
"He works at MingMing Café, 40 minutes from campus," Ethan muttered. He pulled the door open, then paused. "And don't make it obvious I gave you that information."
Chase held up his hand, forming an 'OK' sign with a smirk. "Of course I won't."
Ethan walked out and slammed the door behind him.
_____________________
It was a hot afternoon. Ryan was at the café doing his shift with the other part-time worker. He moved between the tables while the other guy handled the barista tasks.
The café was quiet that day, with barely any customers, so Ryan settled at a corner table, working on a practice assignment Adrian had given him during their last session, the one where he had thrown up on Adrian.
His mind kept drifting back to the aftermath of that incident. How Adrian hadn't lashed out at him. How he had calmly handed him his t-shirt to change into and even let him use the bathroom. How the shirt had carried a mix of Adrian's scent and his soap, a combination that had oddly triggered his stomach into vomiting again. And yet, afterward, that same scent had lingered, filling his senses and leaving him strangely calm during the rest of the session. Calm, but also distracted. Distracted enough that he struggled to focus on anything Adrian was saying.
He had taken the t-shirt with him afterward, promising to return it during their next session. Adrian must have noticed how unfocused he was, because instead of pushing the lesson further, he gave Ryan a practice assignment to submit at their next meeting.
Ryan cried internally at the urgency as he scribbled answers down, and at the same time, ate the lunch Mrs. Chen had brought him.
She often prepared homemade meals for the part-timers, and refusing was not an option. And he was grateful for it.
The café paid well and also made sure he had a meal, which was more than he could say for most of the jobs he had applied for before.
That thought dragged him back to when he had been desperately looking for part-time jobs. Those were some of his hardest days. Cause no matter how much he applied or searched, no one ever got back to him. And when they did, it was always with excuses.
"You're quite young. I can't hire minors."
"You're Asian? The last Asian we had ran off with my money."
"You lot always think because you have dual citizenship you can do whatever you like."
Deep down, Ryan knew exactly what it was. Racism and a fucked-up, cowardly excuse. Why not just say it to his face? Just admit it. Say you're racist and move on, instead of hiding behind pathetic justifications.
Those were moments he hated being mixed. He had heard stories of mixed-race people not being accepted in either country, and for the longest time, he thought they were exaggerated tales.
His father was Western, his mother Asian. Apart from his Asian features, there was nothing Asian about him. He had grown up with a toxic yet useless father who restricted him and his siblings from almost everything.
He was born here. He had never been to Asia. He didn't speak the language, didn't have the Asian accent. Even his full name was English, all because his father insisted on it.
Well, he had almost given up when he stumbled across the café and decided to give it a try. The owner hired him on the spot and joked that it was because of his good looks and wanting to attract customers.
But Ryan had overheard a customer once mention that the owner was Asian too, and that she had seen how Asians were treated here, and decided to be more patriotic in her own way.
So, for quite a long time now, almost every part-timer at the café had been Asian.