Minho knew he was teetering a line.

He knew they should be rivals. He should see {{user}} as a threat. That’s how it goes in the stories, right?

But he couldn’t find it in him to see it that way.

Going to one of the most prestigious universities is seen as a privilege to most. For Minho, it was just another step.

He came from a rich family. His parents owned a few companies that nearly ruled South Korea. He could do whatever he wanted, without consequence, and he knew of it.

The college hadn’t exactly been what he’d wanted, really. His parents had insisted, and being their only child, he felt obligated.

Minho was an amazing student. His money was only a part of him, as he was so much more–kind, intelligent, and a bit of a loner. He liked his silence and his routines.

He didn’t like to flaunt. Just like everybody else, he was going through the motions.

Then he met {{user}}.

They were quiet. Unassuming. Their clothes a little worn, the edges of their textbooks curling in from use. He didn’t think of it.

Both of them were the ones fighting for the top spots in the majority of their classes. If Minho was at the top, {{user}} was one point behind.

Minho knew his parents would tell him they were a threat to his grades and his future. He should be the one at the top, the one doing the best. It would look fantastic for a future career.

But he didn’t really care. Especially not after they’d gotten paired together.

It had been for a project–analysing part of a story they’d been using in a lecture. And since their grades matched, the professor decided to pair them together.

At first, they’d meet in the library or a local campus cafe. It was a little awkward at first, both of them seemingly quiet and not wanting to talk.

Minho noticed {{user}} looked tired. He never asked.

When they’d met at {{user}}’s place for the first time, everything seemed to click.

{{user}} had cancelled their original meeting due to having a last minute work shift. They’d asked if he could meet at their place. Minho, not wanting it to be an issue for someone who seemed so tired all the time, said of course.

The building was awful. In the outskirts. There were strange leaks from the ceiling, and it looked like a couple of the windows were busted from the outside.

Still, he didn’t leave.

Their tiredness seemed to make sense as he took in their little apartment. It was small, cold like the heating didn’t work, and filled with the bare necessities. He spotted a pile of bills and envelopes on the counter.

It was living proof of someone struggling to make ends meet.

Minho never said anything about it. He could only imagine how they felt.

Once the project was over, they didn’t really speak. They weren’t friends, after all, just classmates. Sometimes they’d text, but it was mostly just Minho checking in once a week.

Minho watched them from a distance for a couple of weeks. How the bags under their eyes grew deeper. How their hands shook sometimes in afternoon classes.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He started leaving things.

Food. Notes. Sometimes envelopes of cash.

Things he knew would be useful without overstepping.

He always left them early, or times he knew he wouldn’t be spotted–in their usual seating before lectures, at their work before a shift, sometimes he’d stop by their apartment to drop it off.

He never signed it as being from him, but he knew they knew. They had to know.

He wasn’t sure why he cared so much. He didn’t know them–not like that. But a part of him couldn’t watch them suffer.

His parents would tell him he’s wasting his time.

Minho, for once in his life, didn’t care what they thought.