mingze
(...) mingze brushes the marble dust that his apron fails to catch and sets aside his point chisel. he doesn’t check the time but he knows everyone’s far into their working time. “here.” he slides over some basic sculpting items on top of a newer canvas apron. there’s nothing left to say then, especially with a deadline looming over all of them. it’s a small attempt at offering his condolences. some of the best relationships are the ones where the dynamic would challenge one another. it all feels odd to mingze, knowing what he knows and still choosing his silence above all. “do your best, i know it’s been different.”
there are two types of people minjun envies: 1) those that effortlessly win over others in everything they do. case in point: son jisoo. 2) those that don’t care about winning, they just go at their own pace and still excel at what they do. liu mingze happens to fall into this category.
he’s not sure which irks him more, the ability to get everything they want without having to try at all, or that air of superiority that comes with a person who doesn’t worry about anyone else exceeding them—as if they were too good to be surpassed, as if everyone else were too mediocre.
of course, that might not be what mingze really feels, but to someone like minjun who is so accustomed to the notion that he has to exceed his peers to be deemed good enough—that simply being good is not enough, he has to be better, to be the best—it’s hard to fathom a nonchalance like mingze’s.
their relationship, or lack thereof, is build on a rocky foundation of misconstrued beliefs and poorly made deductions based on the minuscule interactions they've shared in classes and meetings with the red and green club—mostly on minjun's end.
it didn't help that mingze possessed something, or someone, that minjun always thought of as his own (he held her like she belonged to him, kissed her like her lips were made for his, did everything but make her his); it was enough reason for minjun to decide that he didn't like this guy.
it could also be minjun's lack of empathy towards mingze's imprecise standard of the korean language, or just him finding an excuse to validate his hostile demeanour towards the other, jumping onto anything that made for good reason to dislike him, to make himself feel better about harbouring such negative feelings towards someone who had never done him wrong—quite the contrary, in fact.
maybe it was guilt. guilt for sleeping with his girlfriend, guilt for never offering him the slightest bit of kindness since his first day here (despite noticing him struggle with understanding their text at times, or finding his way around mugunghwa when he first got here), guilt for treating him as a competitor (for never telling him that he is a talented sculpture artist, or that he admires his art and everything it stands for), because all that nam minjun knows is competition.
or was it a void he needed to fill now that jisoo is gone? a void from the loss of a lifelong rival, competitor, and most of all, a friend. it seemed like mingze could easily fit into any one of these roles, even a friend. especially a friend. since he was a child, minjun was taught that all friendships came with competition. his parents with jisoo's parents. him with jisoo. could it be that he saw every potential friend as a competitor? could that be what mingze is to him—a potential friend?
minjun narrows his eyes at mingze's ambiguous response, allowing himself to interpret it as he wishes—whichever was easier to deal with. he pondered between 'is this his way of showing concern?' and 'was he patronising me?' before settling on the latter. it was easier that way.
he didn't need a reminder that he had been off his game lately, too distracted with all that was going on to work on his art. even turning up for class was a challenge of its own, much less be inspired enough to design a sculpture that would exceed his previous works, and more importantly, everyone else's.
he didn't need to be reminded that while he was grieving and navigating the changes in his life, other people were taking the time to work on their art, improving themselves and quite possibly, surpassing him. (even in death, jisoo was holding him back. even in death, it was easier to blame it on jisoo.)
"i've been busy." he retorts defensively. it's half true. schedule wise, he's had all the time he needed to read up on the professor's updates. mentally, it feels like he can't catch a break.
minjun says nothing, not even a word of thanks, and takes the materials in his hands. he was about to retreat into his own space and come up with something—an idea, concept, anything that shows he's still got what it takes—before their professor made it to his table, until mingze spoke again.
this time, it was harder to ignore. he raises a brow, contempt and disbelief encapsulated in a frown he paid no heed to hide. was that a threat? that he had to do his best or he'd outdo him? minjun scoffs, a snide remark finding its way past the tip of his tongue, slipping out before he could hold himself back. "don't get ahead of yourself. you're just an outsider."
