✎ᝰ. draw me like one of your corporate girls
Minghao meets with you for coffee and a discussion. Things don’t go quite how you planned.
⋮ ⌗ art student!minghao x business student!reader, non-idol au, university au, bsf!vernon and bsf!joshua, slight academic rivals 2 lovers, business major slander (from an ex business student, unrealistically generous extra credit assignments, gender neutral reader, light angst, fluff
⋮ ⌗ im kinda mean to fancy cafes here but if u have ever been to THAT type of strangely way TOO fancy cafes then yk the vibe… its on the other side of the same coin those expensive hipster burger places are on
You woke up an hour later than you were supposed to.
It’s a Saturday, 10AM. The sun was out, but it wasn’t blinding or overbearing. Clouds were still scattered, floating overhead, and the sweet spring smell of pollen and freshly cut grass wafted through your open window.
Minghao, like some sort of psychopath, asked to meet at 10:30 (this being his only period of free time, apparently) at a coffee shop twenty minutes away from campus. Upon reading that message two nights ago, you wondered if this was the reason he had no friends.
Well, who were you to judge? You only had two close friends here.
Upon realising your tardiness, you had to rush through your morning routine like it was an Olympic sport. Skincare, outfit, hair, finishing touches. Thankfully for you—and this possibly singlehandedly saved you from leaving a terrible impression on your cute project partner—you had decided on your outfit the night before.
You had a feeling Minghao cared about fashion.
You whipped out your phone, tempted to call Joshua and beg for a lift to this cafe you had never even heard the name of before. Once you discerned that it would probably take significantly longer waiting for him to pick up the phone than it would to just sprint there and hope for the best, you reached for your bag and bolted out the door.
Vernon chuckled watching you rush out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye. He had seen this sight many times before, believing now that it's impossible for you to arrive to anything on time. This 'habit' of yours has pissed off many dates before.
Fortunately, this isn't a date. It's a purely professional meeting between two partners. Project partners, that is.
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You've never seen this place before, and you're sort of surprised you haven't. It's undeniably beautiful, nustled away within a larger, beige stone building, giving the cafe a feeling of both safety and secrecy. The door is lined with wood painted with a black polish, windows so clear it takes a moment to even realise they're there, allowing the warm lighting to shine through forcibly, even on the brightest of days. Every detail is curated for a autumn Pinterest board.
A Pinterest board you'd never make, because despite its beauty, it’s… intimidating. Unwelcoming. Tables are scattered inside and outside the cafe, but they're mostly empty, like this is some private club and the only people that enter are those who know they belong there. You can't even see a menu!
When you eventually muster up the courage to open the front door, it doesn't take you long to find Minghao. You believe he could stick out in any crowd; models, fashion designers, anyone. The stylish man in question is seated at a four-person table in the back, far away from every other person in the cafe. Wirebound sketchbooks and notebooks are scattered around the ornate table, with a grey ceramic mug in the centre. His slender hands ghost over the keyboard of his laptop, fingers decorated with silver rings, matching the thin-framed glasses adorning his face.
It's almost like the air around him is shimmering. He looks like he's posed for a photoshoot—but he's not, he’s effortless, acting like it's completely normal to look this good all the time.
When he sees you, the illusion breaks. It takes him a second to realise your presence with his laptop owning his attention, but when he does, your breath hitches. He looks up, and the emotion in his eyes (or rather, lack thereof) is unnerving.
You feel wrong. You want to walk back out. You want to magically brandish a pocket watch and hypnotise him into forgetting your existence.
"I'm sorry," you stagger, "I woke up—"
"Late?" he finishes, low voice scarily calm. Any sense of confidence you would've normally felt in this situation has worn thin.
"Sit," he gestures to the empty seat across from him, "I already ordered."
Confused, your gaze falls upon another mug, noticably empty, behind his pile of notebooks. The full mug is completely untouched, and the lack of steam reveals its cold state.
He ordered for you. And you came late.
Cleverly deciding not to irritate him further, you smile with a simple 'thank you' as you settle into your chair, setting down your bag in silence, taking out your phone and a notebook, making a conscious choice not to open it as to not expose the fact that you came here without a plan.
His gaze refuses to leave yours, and you feel like he sees right through the composed facade. Silence falls over the table, the only other noise in the vicinity being the whirrs of coffee machines and the whispered conversation of an old couple a few tables over.
You cautiously pull the mug to your lips, grimacing at the lukewarm taste.
He tilts his head, amused, "I didn't know what you liked, so I just ordered you a latte."
"Cold?" he finishes your sentence again, to which you nod. "It's a special blend. For those who arrive to meetings fifteen minutes late."
His deadpan delivery renders you seconds away from getting on your hands and knees to beg forgiveness, but all goes quiet when you look up from the cup and a slight smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smile back, allowing yourself to comfortably breathe for the first time since arriving.
Minghao tears his gaze away from yours, a flicker of disappointment surfacing in your head. He turns the laptop towards you, screen showing a set of slides. A title slide dominates the screen, accompanied by bullet points you skim over. It's arranged in an purple and blue colour palette, too adventurous for a business presentation but befitting an art student.
"You started? I thought we were supposed to plan together," you comment.
"I did," he replies, "With my previous partner. I had to change some things, obviously."
"So," you take a deep breath, grabbing a pen from your bag and opening the notebook sat in front of you, "You've got your part planned. Where do I fit into this?
Minghao briefs you on his current idea for the assignment: making paintings to enhance workplace environments.
He describes it more articulately than how you’d later summarise it to Vernon and Joshua, with a gentle confidence you've never really seen from someone before. He's not coming across like he's trying to influence you into agreeing with his ideas, instead voicing his thoughts without apprehension, without fear over whether anyone would care or not.
You don't care about this assignment, not really. You also suspect the sponsors who'll be in attendance to the exhibition don't really care either, just signing up to improve their company image and advertise how much they 'care' about local universities. They won't care what innovative ideas will emerge at this exhibition, even if it'd singlehandedly achieve world peace. They're just looking for future employees.
"Our goal will be to demonstrate how art is valuable for more purposes than just decoration," He describes, gesturing like he's giving a class speech, "Creativity, culture, morale. It's been proven that in mundane environments, people are more likely to suffer from mental health issues, namely stress and depression."
It's not crazy, what he's peddling, but it's... unrealistic. You know from your past internships that HR will never truly care about the mental health of their employees. Well, they do care—in the sense that poor mental health leads to less employees, leading to less people to do the monotonous everyday work that keeps businesses alive. And if the business loses profit? Less money funnelled into the CEO's pockets. That's what business owners care about.
Plus, employees won't care if there's an extra painting in the break room. The only motivation to them is a good wage and friendly co-workers.
"So, we're just making paintings to uplift people's... mood?" you question, dubiously.
"Yes? I'll make an abstract, more emotional piece, something to uplift people and encourage creativity." he continues, firmly, "Explaining the appeal to businesses will be your job."
"Art has immeasurable effects on human behaviour and the attendees will see that," he concludes, "The work will speak for itself."
A small laugh escapes out your mouth before you can even attempt at suppressing it. Minghao looks up from his laptop, eyebrows furrowed in offense. "Is something wrong?"
"No," you defend, "It's just that... isn't the point of this project to convince people who don't care about art that art matters?"
He shrugs, indifferent, "If they don't care, that's not the fault of the artist. Nor the art."
"You're entitled to that viewpoint, but that won't sell to anyone."
He rolls his eyes, "I'm not trying to sell anything. I do what I do to express myself and make an impact on likeminded people."
"Good for you," you shoot back, more assertive than you truly mean to sound, "But we'll be advertising to businesses. I know how they think. They won't commission art to make an emotional impact. They do it to make the lobby look fancier and attract 'cultured' clients. If anything, that's what we should be marketing; a way to make brands look 'cultured'."
"That's... a shallow way of thinking," he says, and you're unsure whether he's commenting on your words or you yourself, "I understand that companies have graphic designers for branding, and they have their own talent—but that's not what I do. My art is not just branding. I want it to have a proper purpose."
"Branding is the only purpose art has to companies. There's no CEO that would stand in front of some abstract piece and think hmm, yes, let's cut 10% from staff wages to pay for this, they'll definitely be happier now—"
He cuts you off, "Small businesses care about art. What about—"
"There's a reason small businesses stay small, their owners don't realise they can't afford to care about everyone," you cut back in, "You really think some random person's Etsy jewellery page will be there?"
"You want me to paint for funding?" he leans forward, voice lowered, passing the invisible unspoken boundary between you two, "I'm not going to drag myself down to that perspective."
You pause, unsure how the conversation lead even led to here. Minghao stares, looking progressively more bored with every word you say, but quite not fed up. Something in the way he sits so still in his certainty, it tells you he isn't the type to compromise amicably.
You... are that type of person. The main example being the fact that you only took up studying business because your parents have been pushing you towards this future since you first came out the womb. It's been ingrained in you to bend around others' will so long as it keeps you in a position of financial stability. The only way to climb the corporate ladder is by being flexible. By being 'understanding'.
By never being the problem.
"Okay," you exhale, defeatedly, "Okay! But the sponsors will glance at our stall, not understand it, and keep moving. When we can't raise any substantial funds for your department, don't blame me."
He sighs, mouth open like he wants to say more but can't quite find the words.
You rub your temples, "Are we going to agree on something, or just start calling each other names?"
"I'm not calling you names. I'm stating what I see."
"I'm not cynical, I'm being realistic!" You start to feel heat rise within you, and not to your cheeks like earlier. Who is he to say such things to you? Does he think that just because he's pursuing a creative career, he's... what? More human than you are?
It's not like you even chose this career!
You start to feel eyes on you, and turning around, the four or so other people in this pretentious cafe have tuned in to your most passionate conversation. The barista is pretending not to listen, but they've been cleaning the same table for the past five minutes. You shrink into your seat, not eager to cause a scene, but Minghao doesn't seem that keen on de-escalating the situation.
"You're making this more complicated than it should be. Forgive me, but I didn't get the impression that you cared about this project at all—I don't know why you're defending this so heavily."
Because somebody has to. Because careers aren't made or saved over of a pretty painting.
You don't say this. You just grip the side of your seat harder and swallow.
"You're right. I don't care about this."
Whatever image you had of Minghao before has been completely shattered. The rose-coloured glasses have been ripped off, tossed into an heavy-duty shredder and the fragments burned in an industrial waste incinerator. He's not cool or mysterious, he's judgemental. He's not passionately dedicated to his work, he's pretentious. He's not admirably confident in his way of thinking, he's ignorant.
There have been many silences between the two of you since you arrived, but none like this. None that feels this... final. Like tossing a book into the trash before finishing the first chapter. You're at a point now where you just want to give up and go.
You look away first, jaw clenched. It feels demeaning.
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After awkwardly ending the discussion and saying tense goodbyes, Minghao leaves before you do. You don't watch him as he goes. Instead, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the stares of the other cafe patrons. With eyes threatening to soak up with hot tears, you text Joshua.
are u free?
pls picj me up
Nearly instantly (to your surprise), he replies.
Okay. On my way
Is something wrong?
You don't reply. You'll explain it all in the car, if you can regain your composure in time.
You don't feel as confident as you did when you first walked through that cafe door (not that you were feeling that confident in the first place). Maybe it was shock from the suddenness of your first introduction, but his quiet confidence and curious allure has thinned into something uncomfortable. Whatever you thought he was, what you thought you could be around him, has folded inward, tangled with doubt. The version of Minghao you were faintly infatuated with feels distant, replaced with the image of a man who is so certain in himself, a man completely uninterested in meeting you where you stand.
Despite the quarrels between you and the person you initially believed you could fall for, your assignment is clear. Finish the powerpoint, fill it with random statistics, write your half-assed speech, done and dusted.
Then after that? Forget about Minghao.
You really should've just retaken this goddamn class.
do not copy / translate / repost without permission ! all works are written by a human ! dividers by @cursed-carmine
