Chapter One

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No one comes to the University of Tokyo for the academics.

"That's not true," Hoseok shouts right into Taehyung's ear. "Yoongi came here for the journalism program. Said it's the best in the country!"

They're squeezed next to each other on a disgustingly lumpy couch, but Wooshik is blasting music through speakers that are entirely too powerful for a shitty campus apartment with thin walls. His ear drums are ringing—hell, his fucking bones are rattling from the bass.

"I thought Yoongi was studyin' psych." Tae asks.

Hoseok pulls back, confused. "He is. So?"

Taehyung rolls his eyes, bored of the conversation and way too sober. The kitchen is on the other side of the apartment, past the throngs of new freshmen losing their inhibitions. They're all crammed into the living room despite the ample space this early in the evening, grinding awkwardly against each other as if their first ever university party will be their only chance to be sluts.

It won't be. Taehyung's own freshman year is proof of that. Between the volleyball team, Greek life as an Alpha Phi Delta brother, and classmates who were equally more focused on having a life than homework, Taehyung had a hell of a year.

Sophomore year, he hopes, will be more of the same.

He nods a bye to Hoseok and pushes himself off the sinkhole masquerading as a couch. As he skirts the crowd, hands slide across his shoulders, tug at his sleeve, trying to convince him to stay and dance. No one in the crowd is hot enough for him, though.

Only a handful of people are in the kitchen. A couple is making out against the fridge, while a few loners sit hunched over at the small table, sad little faces backlit by their phones. Taehyung shoves the couple to the side. They don't so much as blink at their new location against the door leading to the back stairwell, using the opportunity to start sliding their hands under their clothes.

Luckily for him, they've blocked anyone from accessing the Jell-O shots until now. He grabs three and slurps two down. The third shot he'll either give Hoseok or Hyungwon, depending on who will be easier to convince to give him a sloppy handjob in the next 30 minutes.

The back door opens up—or tries to. At first, it manages a single crack before the girl making out with the other pulls an honest to god kabedon to slam it back shut.

Whoever's on the other side says something too quiet for Taehyung to hear, but the couple scrambles back.

The door creaks open, just enough for someone to slip through.

It's Namjoon.

He clears his throat, a delicate little thing that echoes despite the music, and it sends everyone in the kitchen onto their feet with their backs straight up.

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