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The thing is.
It’s so easy to like Dongju. So, so easy.
Jonghyeon is a creature of restraint. If anything, he’s all about restraint. Rarely has he gotten what he wanted in life, and he has learned not to want for things in general. The few he did get, he worked for to exhaustion, moulded his life so it would tend towards that sole goal and entirely revolve around it.
Composure, control, they’re protection as well as a warning. They’re necessary for him to live as he intends. Yet sometimes, there is no fighting. Sometimes, people breach that carefully constructed shell, either step in and make a home there, or prod and prod until the protective membrane gives way. And there is no defending himself against that. Sure, he can pretend not to be affected, he can play at distance and play at being unruffled, but the truth is he’s never been a master of his own feelings. He has simply gotten used to the pain of those few cherished people leaving him behind for one reason or another, and he never dared chase after them.
Then came Dongju.
In his best rendition of a wrecking ball abusing a poor rotten building, Dongju had blasted through walls and continued running without a care for the dusty damage left in his wake. And damage there is. No matter how hard Jonghyeon tries to get up, to walk away, no matter how many times he tells himself to simply stop caring, he simply can’t.
Dongju is so easy to like, he thinks again, watching him roar with laughter with one of their colleagues, gathered around the barbecue for a precinct ‘night out’. He’s just glowing with contentment, in his element, surrounded by people and food and laughter and warm lighting poured over them.
But the line between like and more is so thin, Jonghyeon doesn’t even realise he has crossed it until he’s watching Dongju’s lips on a beer can’s rim, and thinking “wonder if the beer would taste the same in his mouth”.
He immediately startles at the thought, and spends the rest of the night having a quiet, difficult introspection as Dongju babbles away, but when he’s home and unable to sleep, the ceiling white and useless above him, he isn’t that surprised.
Again.
Dongju is so easy to like.
Jonghyeon is exhausted. Bone-tired, brain cells lying dead in a grave somewhere, exhausted.
The last two weeks have been an absolute administrative nightmare, overseeing the joint investigation of a serial killer by not two but three different teams, and all the files and processing evidence, all the journeys into provinces where a suspect might have… done something, Jonghyeon isn’t sure, he’s too tired to care.
Good thing is, they caught the guy. Bad thing is, it’s now his job to gather all that evidence and the files and the processes of investigation and the reports, sign off on them, etc, etc. The teams haven’t exactly been A+ on coordinating files as well, so he needs to double check and triple check everything not to have duplicates.
Anyway.
It explains why he drops in the middle of doing so.
He’s brought back to the surface by warmth, delicate and anchoring, wrapped around his nape and teasing the sides of his neck. Humming at the sensation, Jonghyeon lets his head roll into the touch, happy to be handled, to not have to think.
He wants -believes he easily can- go right back to sleep like this.
Through the haze, he hears a soft scoff. No, doesn’t hear. He feels the air leave, and that’s when his brain kicks in and he realises distantly his face is pressed into someone, someone’s soft belly.
And then, Jonghyeon finally realises.
Tensing all over, he blinks sleep away, tries best he can to come back to earth even as the presence over his nape squeezes and sends his thoughts reeling.
He takes a second to brace himself before he pulls back, the hand on his neck stopping his retreat very soon and leaving only inches between his face and… Dongju’s belly, where he had been nuzzling. Oh God.
“Dongju-ah ?” He says, and it sounds raspy, sleep heavy, not professional at all.
“Hey, hyung.”
Well to be fair, Dongju’s voice is way too soft to be professional either, so. Whatever.
With a little more strength this time, Jonghyeon pulls away and manages to dislodge Dongju’s hand. Despite feeling the loss immediately, he pretends it doesn’t matter.
He takes his glasses off his nose and onto the table, then presses his palms into his eyes in a desperate attempt to escape this bubble they’s somehow found themselves in. How curious, that his guard should be let down so easily.
“How long… what time is it ?”
“Half past 1 in the morning.”
“Oh,” he breathes out, frustration creeping up on him. “I need to review these…”
“It will wait.”
“Dongju…”
The grip is back at his nape, squeezing with an insistence that sends shivers down Jonghyeon’s spine. When he looks up at his colleague and friend, he’s reminded once again how stubborn the man is. Since he has known him, Jonghyeon has been aware of Dongju and his absolute, mad-inducing, infuriating stubbornness. He doesn’t back down, never yields, never kneels.
He probably knelt for Hana, in a different context.
Jonghyeon mentally slaps himself for that wild thought and chases it away with a firm shake of his head. Stupid. Word association, that’s all it is.
There’s nothing inherently worthy of thought about the idea of Dongju on his knees with a firm hand in his hair and his smiling lips busy…
Fuck. Fuck, maybe he needs to get laid.
“You’re literally falling asleep at your desk, hyung,” comes the reprimand that drags him back to the present. “These can wait until you’ve had one decent night of sleep. When did you go to your house last ?”
Jonghyeon blinks up at him. Dongju looks unfairly good from this close, less ragged than Jonghyeon has been lately, and bright like he shouldn’t be after a work’s day. It’s like he sucks in the sun during the day and lets it light him up from inside at night.
“I’m… not sure.”
“Wrong answer.”
Another squeeze, thumb digging insistently into the side of his throat.
“Let’s get you home, uh ?”
And Jonghyeon could protest -should protest, as to draw a line between them. While they’ve built something on trust, he also knows he can’t allow himself to get too close. To get comforted, and appreciated, and…
But he is tired, so very tired, and he cannot remember the last time someone cared enough to notice.
So he simply nods his approval, and is rewarded with a bright smile.
Unsurprisingly, Jonghyeon dozes off on the way, and is once more woken up by a hand on him -shoulder this time. He doesn’t have presence of mind to stop the immediate thought I could get used to waking up to this.
Groggy and ready to slip back into slumber as soon as the apartment door closes behind him, Jonghyeon makes quick work of his seatbelt and the door. The cool evening air wakes him up some, but just enough to be aware of what’s going on. He still feels mellow, limbs weighing heavier than usual.
“You good ?”
Dongju is leaning against the side of the car, looking for all intent and purpose like a drama protagonist, the kind that waits for his date to go inside before driving off, the kind that kisses you goodnight on your front door once, twice, walks away and runs back to do it a third time.
God, what is Jonghyeon even thinking right now ?
“Yeah. Thank you.”
The honesty in his nonchalant shrug is almost infuriating. Goodness incarnate.
“Of course. No problem.”
Jonghyeon isn’t used to being cared for, taken care of just because. He cannot even begin to count the number of nights he spent at the office during his career, working until he passed out and was woken up by the sun, or simply pulling an all-nighter to finish all the ongoing files. Besides the occasional (very rare) comments of a few superiors, a few colleagues once or twice, it was soon common knowledge not to bother.
And yet Dongju is beside him now, eyes crinkled by a smile soft on him, having driven him home, having taken the lead just to make sure Jonghyeon would sleep in a bed tonight.
It steals his breath away. That realisation that Dongju cares. Actually cares, not just in a life or death situation, where his inherent goodness and humanity wouldn’t ever allow him to ignore someone in danger, but in the mundane as well. He cares that Jonghyeon gets enough sleep; he cares that he doesn’t overwork himself; he cares that he eats well, and gets some fresh air, and isn’t sick, and isn’t lonely.
Friends, he thinks, reminds himself. Not for the first time, it seems too good to be true.
“Stay the night,” Jonghyeon says, doesn’t let himself cringe at the wording even though he gives himself a mental slap.
Dongju doesn’t dwell on it, simply smiles that big doofus smile that he has hated for so long (for not hating it).
“My Pjs ?”
“On the bed.”
With a small chuckle and easy composure, Dongju burrows the keys in his pocket and starts walking with him -leading the way, really.
Helpless, Jonghyeon follows.
Official events are far from his cup of tea -Jonghyeon doubts it’s anyone’s cup of tea, really- but even he can admit they did a splendid job with decorations.
The rented ballroom is the upper floor of a luxurious hotel, crystal chandeliers hanging overhead giving a magic glow to the red and gold room, bathing the scarlet roses with sunlight and reflecting the guests’ most splendid jewellery.
An hour in, and Jonghyeon considers most of his job done, having gone from table to table and group to group, shaking hands and smiling wide when complimented for his work and his brother and his father, finding swift excuses to slip away to more compliments and more small talk. Only when he feels on the verge of tightening his bowtie til death does him apart with this party does he speed-walk to the impressive open bar.
“Whisky, neat, please,” he almost pants out to the professional amusement of the bartender.
Almost as soon as it finds his hand, the whisky is half-gone. Another minute and he’s dry.
A glass of champagne slides into his vision field, startling Jonghyeon into looking to his right. A woman sits there on the stool as if it’s a CEO chair, back straight and head tilted just seductively enough to catch one’s eye and show they have her attention. The darkness of her shoulder-length hair melts into the black fabric of her lavish dress and echoes the glittering makeup carefully spread around her eyes.
“You look as depressed as I feel,” she greets him with a smile on her glossy mouth. “Want to drink the official business away ?”
Jonghyeon chuckles and clinks his newly acquired drink against hers.
“Let’s try.”
Her name is Mijoo, and after barely a minute of conversation he can already tell he likes her. She’s a forensic scientist at Muak-dong, has a dog but no partner, hates her boss, and is shameless in her advances. It doesn’t take long for Jonghyeon to make up his mind.
She’s fun, and she’s clever and sharp and just mean enough to be a turn-on.
And look, Jonghyeon knows this will probably-most definitely- not make his feelings go away, but he’s also scared shitless. So he’ll take his chance on getting the frustration and overbuilt sexual desires out of his system with a random person, because he doesn’t want to introspect and confront the fact that he’s already halfway in love with the most idiotic idiot to ever grace him with his presence.
Speaking of the devil.
“Hyung,” Dongju cuts Mijoo mid-laugh, the word sounding sharper than usual as he slides beside his coworker, hand curling over his shoulder.
For a moment, Jonghyeon is struck dumb at the sight of Dongju in official dress.
Still, it’s Dongju, so the vest has already been discarded somewhere else he’ll spend half an hour trying to remember, his white shirt is rolled up to the elbows messily in a way that’ll leave too many wrinkles to count, and his collar has two buttons open, looking much too indecent for the event. He would look irresistible, were it not for the vicious expression ill-suited to his features.
“I’ve been looking for you. Good evening, Miss ?” He turns and greets her, smiling with all his teeth.
To her credit, though Mijoo looks justifiably startled, she quickly recovers and, with eyes narrowing the slightest bit, presents her hand for a shake.
“Kang Mijoo.”
“Yoon Dongju,” he shoots back like a reproach, giving her open palm too short a squeeze.
Mijoo’s eyebrow raises in obvious curiosity while Jonghyeon’s own brow pulls down with displeasure. Dongju is not a hostile person. Quite the contrary, although events such as this one tend to fray his good nature and sharpen his edges. Maybe he’s sick of the night already.
“You’ve seen the chief ?” He asks, turning his body just so he’s more open to his partner.
“Yes.”
No addition comes forth. Now it’s starting to annoy Jonghyeon a bit, coming in and interrupting so rudely, without regard for his interlocutor. But Kang Mijoo is clearly well-versed in deescalation.
“I take it you two work together ?”
“Yes,” Dongju says. “We’ve been partners for months.”
“Please join us for a drink then. You look like you need it.”
Jonghyeon chuckles and gestures towards the bartender. When he turns back, Dongju is sending back a glare that steals the good humour from him.
“You’ve done your rounds ?” Mijoo takes it upon herself to keep the conversation going. “Jonghyeon and I indulged only when it was proper.”
“Indulged ?”
“In drinks,” she clarifies, though Jonghyeon isn’t sure there was any miscommunication to clear.
Champagne is placed on the counter next to Jonghyeon’s own drink, and Dongju doesn’t waste time in reaching for it, his elbow brushing against Jonghyeon’s stomach as he does. His lips look plump over the rim, bubbles kissing his upper lip as he tilts the glass and swallows. Distantly, he remembers that a part of him had been planning on going home with Mijoo -discreetly, of course. The idea itself was kicked away by Dongju sliding in. Now he has to keep his eyes from catching on the sharp line of his collarbone, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he takes another sip, the crease between his eyebrows that should not be there.
“Do you two know each other ?” He finally inquires with a gesture between them.
“It’s been an hour,” Jonghyeon says and remembers to smile at her.
“An hour is pretty long for small talk.”
“What would you know about small talk ?” He snorts back.
“I’m great at small talk !”
“Not for work you’re not.”
Dongju scowls at him, and the easy back-and-forth settles Jonghyeon some. Familiarity. That’s good.
“I mostly interact with dead bodies,” Mijoo adds onto their little banter, “so I don’t really have what you’d call a knack for it.”
“Now that’s false modesty,” Jonghyeon retorts.
She has been as skilled with her words and advances as she probably is with a scalpel. Mijoo studies him for a moment, long lashes blinking at him slow and syrupy, then turning to Dongju, and back to him.
“I wouldn’t be opposed, you know ?”
“Opposed ?” Dongju says, and he’s bordering on snappy which betrays how close he is to making a stupid mistake.
Jonghyeon frowns at his profile.
“You’re both very attractive young men. Two is better than one, yada yada.”
Oh God.
Oh God.
Dongju is just blinking at her like an imbecile and she’s smugly smiling back so it falls on Jonghyeon -why, why does it always fall on him to clean up Dongju’s messes ? - to explain.
“Oh, we’re not… that’s not a…,” he clears his throat, “a proposal.”
“I know. I’m the one making the proposal.”
Dongju’s jaw falls open, silent and useless. Her smile widens.
Jonghyeon sure knows how to pick them.
“And thank you, we’re… very flattered,” he says with much diplomacy, though Dongju doesn’t seem flattered in the slightest and his own stomach is threatening to push the scotch back up through his mouth. “It’s just not on the table.”
“Why not ?” She asks with a tilt of her head, sounding genuinely curious.
“Yeah, why not ?”
The actual fuck ?
“Pardon me ?” He snaps at Dongju, his hand having tightened so hard on his glass he finds it prudent to put it back down.
“Why ? Am I not your style ? Not fancy enough ?”
Venomous words and tone that have nothing to do in Dongju’s kind, almost naive mouth. Jonghyeon is at a loss.
“What the fuck, Yoon Dongju ?”
“Ohhh, I see,” she says, and before either of the men can wave his hands in innocence and beg to clear up the miscommunication, she’s gone with a wink and a grin that will haunt Jonghyeon to the end of his days.
Which, if the way Dongju is glaring murderous intent at him is any indication, might come sooner than expected.
“What was that ?” He asks, low and way more diplomatic than Dongju’s behaviour deserves.
“Sorry, did I interrupt your little pick-up session ?” He snarls as he slams his glass down, the veins running over his hands prominent with anger.
“Why are you being gross ? And hostile ?”
“I’m not hostile. And you are gross, fawning all over her, almost drooling on the…”
“I’m not the one who suggested a threesome.”
That gets Dongju red as a tomato.
“Neither am I !” He snaps back.
“Well, with how offended you were when I denied it, you might as well have offered.”
“That’s not… That wasn’t…”
“What, did you want me to tell her yes, to go up to her room together ?” He snorts dismissively.
But the provocative words don’t have the intended effect, at all. At the resounding silence, Jonghyeon can’t help but look, and the sight takes his breath away. Dongju is just staring at him, eyes opening and closing uselessly on aborted answers, his expression a little lost as he blinks.
“Yoon Dongju,” he starts in shock, doesn’t continue because what can he say ? He doesn’t even understand what’s happening.
“I… Hyung, I…”
“Here you are,” the District attorney interrupts them, inserting himself between them so abruptly Dongju takes a step back. “Kim Jonghyeon, how good to see you again. I’ve been looking for you, to congratulate you on the handling of that terrible murder case last month, truly a well-rounded…”
With fleeing eyes and a barely audible excuse, Dongju takes his leave.
Distraught as he is, Jonghyeon pains to see him go without explanation or platitude as to his state of mind.
His own mind is fucking reeling, unable to be reined in by the dull one-sided conversation. It doesn’t hold a candle to the idea of even the mere possibility of Dongju agreeing to a goddamn threesome.
While the idea itself is preposterous, it’s not even the principle of the thing that strikes him. It’s the fact that Jonghyeon was part of the equation; that proposal, the ensuing reaction, all of it had to do with Jonghyeon. He’s not dumb enough to believe Dongju had somehow wanted to go home with Mijoo himself. Besides, there is the addition of multiple glaring factors: Dongju’s uncharacteristic, sudden, and ungrounded hostility and clear dislike of Kang Mijoo, who was charming and perfectly polite all night; his atrocious behaviour aiming to drive a wedge between Jonghyeon and her, as well as draw Jonghyeon’s attention to himself; and finally, his outrage at the idea of him shutting down the frankly ludicrous proposal.
It’s dangerous, entertaining hope. Jonghyeon has long learned it can lead to the most disastrous of consequences. And yet.
Warmth has caught fire in his lower belly, done no service by the alcohol drunk.
Jonghyeon bravely endeavours to ignore it for the rest of the night.
Though Dongju always runs headfirst into situations, he’s surprisingly good at avoiding discussions he doesn’t want to have. To be fair, Jonghyeon doesn’t want to have that conversation either. He’d rather stay very far away from it, which explains why three days crawl by, long and thick with tension and things unsaid.
But he also has trouble not thinking of it as he lays in bed, desperately trying to sleep, as he undresses for a shower, as he dresses for work, as he drives to the precinct, and every damn hour of the day. He feels like a teenager, and he hates it.
What he hates even more is Dongju’s obvious avoidance. So obvious, in fact, that people have started prodding at them, asking questions. He has questions himself, so he pretends not to know what they’re talking about and not to notice the tension in Dongju’s every muscle as soon as they’re in the same room.
Have mercy on him, Jonghyeon wants to punch the guy.
Which he can’t do, because the asshole has decided to come up with every possible reason under the sun to avoid their usual sparring sessions. And that, that is what spurs Jonghyeon to run headfirst into the biggest peril of his life.
They have Tuesday and Wednesday off, so he takes advantage of that -if it goes wrong, he’ll need a whole day of wallowing and ice-cream to be up for work on Thursday. He goes home on Monday night, doesn’t sleep a wink, goes for a jog at 6:30, washes up, dresses in black jeans and a deep blue T-shirt, as casual as he can, and forces himself not to change a hundred times before leaving his place.
The drive to Dongju’s isn’t long enough to quash his anxiety, so he stops for coffee on the way. The first drink finished, he then gets a second cup for himself, and another -an abomination of sugar and cream, a coffee travesty- for Dongju, and while he’s there, might as well bring some muffins with him.
With his lifestyle, Jonghyeon is pretty sure Dongju rarely eats homemade breakfast. He probably gobbles 8 eggs and calls it a day.
Step by step is the best way to think about his next actions, and so that’s what he does. Still, it feels too short a time passes until he stands at Dongju’s door.
He has only been here a few times, to help with Dongju’s health despite the latter’s vehement protests, up to when he realised Jonghyeon always brought food, and the protests ceased. His heart is a mad rabbit bouncing in his chest, and he has to swallow a few times before he can even think to ring.
Barely ten seconds pass, and then the door opens on a rumpled, blinking Yoon Dongju.
“Ah, hyung,” he startles, eyes wide like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What- What are you… I was just leaving,” he comes up with on the spot.
Jonghyeon raises both eyebrows as high as he can, gives a pointed look to Dongju’s sweatpants and socked feet.
“Where were you going ?” He entertains. Maybe it’s mean.
“Ah, you know, just… errands. Errands to run.”
“Mmh.”
Without dignifying that with a better answer, he pushes his way inside. He has the time to make it all the way to the kitchen before he hears the door close, and then some more time until Dongju takes hesitant steps to him.
The sullen expression stubbornly pulling his features down doesn’t bode well for Jonghyeon, but he came here for a reason, and he will fulfil it. Even if it damages their friendship.
God, let it not damage their friendship.
With a decided shake of his head, Jonghyeon puts muffins and coffee cup down on the kitchen table.
While Dongju cannot for the life of him hide his restlessness -a finger tapping on his bicep there, a shift of his weight here, fleeting eyes and downturned pout- his appearance still oozes familiarity in a way that makes Jonghyeon catch his breath with want.
Waking up to Dongju’s dumb face, going to sleep with his insufferable snores pressed into his ears, knowing the lines crossing his palms with the certainty of lovers. Bickering over the breakfast table, bickering in the car, pushing him off the couch, throwing a pillow over his face with annoyance. Reminding him to go grocery shopping, curling around his body in a bed that would be theirs, brushing his teeth right beside him with the weight of a hand on his hip.
In this moment, he wants it so fucking bad he feels his throat tighten and his fingers clench around the coffee cup’s plastic.
“Here,” he says, and presents the cup to Dongju.
This last takes a hesitant step forward, as if any moment Jonghyeon will throw it at his face and run out laughing. He’s ridiculous.
Eventually, Dongju grabs the cup and sniffs it suspiciously.
“I got your usual atrocity.”
“Hey,” he exclaims defensively, “it’s good.”
“Sure,” Jonghyeon easily confesses, relieved to have him talk at last. “Sit.”
With stilted movements that speak of Dongju’s dread, he sits at the table, and only when he’s seated does Jonghyeon take his own spot on the other side. He pushes the paper bag towards Dongju, who peeks into it and cries out in delight.
“Not blueberry, right ?”
Jonghyeon rolls his eyes.
“Chocolate.”
“Yesss,” he says, buries it in a huge bite.
Dongju is one of those eaters who fills up his cheeks and looks like a hamster, and Jonghyeon has long given up pretending it isn’t cute. The puffed cheeks, the consequently pouting lips, the way he can’t stop himself from trying to speak through it anyway. Awful table manners. Jonghyeon is done for.
“You have any plans for today ?” He asks, just to see Dongju hurry to swallow and take a sip of coffee before starting to say that no, he doesn’t, I mean, yes he does, depends, does Tv and takeout counts as a plan ? But if Jonghyeon wants to do something, actually, he might not be free because… well. Anyway, isn’t the weather great ? The ajhumma down the street actually predicted rain but it doesn’t look like it.
Jonghyeon simply nods along and looks at him, his heart impossibly full even as anticipation almost makes him shiver. But this, this is simple. This feels right. And he wants more of it. As Dongju’s stream of words slowly petters out, Jonghyeon laces his fingers together on the table and leans forward just a bit, fixing his gaze on him.
“What if I had said yes ?” He asks.
“Uh ?”
“What if I had said yes to Kang Mijoo ?”
It’s a low blow that Dongju clearly didn’t expect. Jonghyeon takes a little bit of pleasure in the resulting recoil, the slow blinks, the red crawling up his throat.
Again, his jaw opens and closes. Jonghyeon can see it in his eyes, how he’s pondering circumventing the topic altogether. He can also see the resignation settle heavy on his shoulders when Dongju gives up. A heavy, trembling sigh precedes the long-awaited answer.
“It would have killed me,” he breathes out, “having you only when shared.”
All those hopes Jonghyeon desperately tried not to let take shape, all those fears that kept him awake, he lets it go with a pained, choked noise at the back of his throat as he surges forward.
Lips clash against lips, too abrupt and clumsy to be a real kiss, more like an aggression until, the shock passed, Dongju welcomes it. As he tilts his head, he moves his lips in such a way that makes Jonghyeon almost shake with barely held-back desire. He can’t really help that the kiss turns hungry, turns deep, because Yoon Dongju is not a person that does anything by half and as soon as he’s decided to accept this, he’s going all the way, no second-guessing.
One of them knocks Dongju’s coffee over. They startle apart as he hurries to straighten the thankfully mostly empty cup.
Their eyes meet again, and Dongju beams in the whiteness of the morning pouring through the window.
“Come here,” he urges. “Hyung, come here.”
Jonghyeon does, of course he does, rounding the table and cupping Dongju’s face between his palms. It amazes him, for a moment, how Dongju is already reaching up for him as he leans down, but the thought is quickly chased away with how thoroughly he’s being kissed.
Hands on his hips, broad and possessive, a pulse beneath his own palm, muscles shifting under his fingers as Dongju kisses and kisses and kisses him, and Jonghyeon opens wide when his tongue licks at the seam of his lips.
A hint of teeth, hot breath crushing over his cheek, the taste of chocolate on his tongue; the slide into something slower, something belonging to this random Tuesday morning in Dongju’s small kitchen, no expectation and no obligation laying before them, just the goal of discovering each other as perfectly as they can.
“Good morning, detective !”
“Kang Mijoo,” Jonghyeon startles mid-stride into the empty corridor, quickly recovers. “What are you doing here ?”
“They needed me for the transfer of a cold case they’re reopening,” she explains as she comes closer and stops a foot away. “Lucky to run into you.”
“I’m the lucky one. How is the horrible boss ?”
“Same old,” she laughs. “How is the chief ?”
“Same old,” he shrugs.
“I saw your coffee machine on my way. Boy, you really weren’t exaggerating, uh ? It even smelled like gasoline.”
“It holds the official record for worst coffee of Seoul.”
A sudden loud exclamation turns both their gazes towards the end of the corridor, the entrance of the building, where a man is arguing with… Yoon Dongju, of course, who shouts back with just as much vitriol, hands coming to his hips like a grandfather scolding his grandchildren. The argument goes on for a minute during which neither Jonghyeon nor Mijoo talk, and seems resolved just as fast as it started, the man hightailing it out of there with Dongju’s warning finger resolutely pointing at him. When he turns around, his eye catches Jonghyeon’s. The grin that lights his whole face up does something to Jonghyeon’s heart, like it’s missing a step, and another. Dongju addresses him a wide wave, his entire arm moving with it. Never anything by half.
Jonghyeon shakes his head fondly, and keeps his gaze on his boyfriend -boyfriend- until he’s gone around a corner.
Low chuckling snaps him back to Earth. Mijoo has her head tilted in amusement much alike the first time they met. An elegant brow raises his way, the tease perceivable even before she speaks.
“My offer still stands.”
Jonghyeon laughs, passes a hand over his neck with too much embarrassment burning his cheeks. There’s a hickey there, under the protection of his collar, from this morning, because it’s been exactly a week since they’ve started dating, and his ridiculous excuse of a boyfriend woke him up with a pillow to the face as ‘not to waste any time on this special day’, to which Jonghyeon had said he could have woken him up another way, and had had the pleasure of seeing the mischievous glint light in Dongju’s eyes before he started gnawing on his neck and moving downwards.
He had actually made breakfast, and printed pictures of them together (the one they sent to Min Juyeong now hanging proudly on their fridge), and was an absolute menace all the way to work.
Jonghyeon looks up again, can feel the width of his smile sitting oddly, unfamiliar, on his face.
“Thank you, but I think we’re good.”
“Yeah,” she smiles, “you look it.”