Work Text:
month 0
It all starts at a team dinner.
Or maybe it starts before— months ago, in a conference room or a taxi or someone’s bed— but the thing happens somewhere between the fifth round of soju and the second plate of spicy pork, when everyone’s just drunk enough to get comfortable and a little too honest.
They’re packed around a long wooden table in a noisy, half-lit restaurant, the kind that smells like charred meat and chili oil. Every department’s squeezed in, laughing too loud, stealing bites off each other’s plates, sleeves rolled up and ties loose around their necks. Seungkwan is arguing with Jihyo over the best girl group of all time, Seokmin is four shots in and already singing along to whatever sad ballad is playing overhead, it is all normal.
Soonyoung’s grinning, flushed and full and surrounded by all his favorite people. Jihoon’s next to him, close enough that their knees are pressed together under the table— just barely.
Someone’s just started pouring round five when Seungkwan jabs his chopsticks in the air and says, “Okay, real question— who would survive if we were all dropped into a zombie apocalypse tomorrow?”
Chan groans. “Not this again.”
“No, I’m serious! We need a plan.”
“I’d die instantly,” says Seokmin, cheerful. “I’d trip over nothing and get eaten, but I’d look good doing it.”
Mingyu nods behind his cup, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars.
“Mina would live,” Jeongyeon says, pointing with her cup. “She’s quiet and observant. Probably knows how to make traps.”
Mina shrugs, unbothered. “I do.”
Jeonghan, serene as ever, sips his drink. “I’d form a cult and wait it out in a bunker.”
“That’s just what you already do for a living,” Momo deadpans.
The table bursts into laughter. Soonyoung’s laughing too, red in the cheeks, shoulders shaking. Jihoon huffs quietly beside him, more amused than he looks, poking at his food with his chopsticks.
Then Dahyun sets down her own, smirking as she leans across the table. “Honestly, I think Soonyoung and Jihoon would outlast all of us.”
That earns a few raised eyebrows.
“What, like— just because Jihoon’s secretly a weapon?” asks Sana. “‘Cause I don’t think Soonyoung has it on him.”
“No,” Dahyun says with a grin. “I just mean, they spend so much time together they basically share a brain. That kind of connection goes a long way.”
A few heads turn. Someone snorts into their drink.
“It’s true,” Tzuyu adds, amused. “I swear they spend more time with each other than with their actual teams.”
“Oh my god, remember the matching graphs?” Jihyo says, laughing. “Same font, same colors, same weird little arrow thing.”
“Coordination,” Soonyoung replies, raising his glass like it’s a defense.
“Telepathy,” Dahyun corrects, smirking. “Call it what it is.”
Seokmin snorts into his cup. “It was a terrible graph, though. Hyung made them in Comic Sans.”
“It was ironic!”
Everyone’s laughing. The air is warm with it, sticky with alcohol and shared inside jokes. Soonyoung laughs too, leaning a little more into Jihoon’s side, ready to say something dumb and deflective— probably something like, “Yeah, well, if the world ends, I’m sticking with him— he knows how to format a graph under pressure,” or “We’ve just been preparing for the zombie apocalypse, obviously. Making graphs saves lives.”
Before he can get a word in, Jihoon sets down his glass and says, cool and casual:
“Well, we’ve been dating for almost five months, so it makes sense we’d match.”
The table goes quiet for a second. Not silent— just that strange dip in volume that happens when everyone collectively thinks, Wait, what?
Soonyoung blinks.
He laughs, kind of. “What?”
Jihoon looks at him, confused. “We’ve been dating,” he says again, slower this time. “Since September?”
There’s a pause.
Soonyoung opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again. “I thought…” He shakes his head a little, like it’ll rattle the words into place. “What do you mean?”
Jihoon doesn’t say anything.
It’s only now, in the thick silence that follows, that Soonyoung realizes how still Jihoon’s gone. How his expression— usually so stoic when in public— is suddenly, unmistakably human.
His eyes drop to the table. His lips press together. And then he says, very quietly, “Oh.”
The chopsticks clink again. Someone coughs. Someone else pours a drink and pretends not to notice what just happened. The room goes on.
But Soonyoung doesn’t. He’s stuck in that one moment, heart frozen somewhere in his ribs. All he can think of is: when had it begun— this thing he didn’t know he was part of?
month -6
Lee Jihoon arrives at their Data & Analytics department on a random Monday at the beginning of August, and nothing about it feels significant at first.
There’s free coffee in the break room, and three people are loitering around the machine like it’s a sacred altar. Soonyoung is one of them, halfway through a jelly-filled donut he’s already regretting because of how sticky it is making his hands. He’s on slide deck duty this week, which means endless beige gradients, charts that refuse to align, and a desperate attempt not to weep in Arial font. The caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet, but the regret definitely has.
Then Seungcheol walks in, all energy and purpose, beaming like he just won a pitch.
“Hey, everyone! As you all know, we’ve got a new team member starting today!” His voice cuts through the mechanical whirr of the Nespresso machine. “This is Lee Jihoon. He’s joining Data and Analytics. Old friend of mine from uni.”
Soonyoung turns, mid-chew. Swallows. Blinks.
He vaguely remembered someone new was starting this week. He just didn’t expect them to look like that.
Lee Jihoon is… shorter than expected. Scowly. He stands like someone who’s already judged the entire floor plan and deemed it beneath him. His posture says don’t talk to me, but his face is all sharp lines and annoying symmetry— the kind of handsome that doesn’t even try. Crisp button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show clean, sinewy forearms that Soonyoung knows— knows— he has no business staring at before 10 a.m.
He looks like the type who’s going to silently destroy everyone’s code and then vanish into an Excel spreadsheet. Soonyoung is weirdly into serious people.
“Say hi,” Seungcheol prompts, elbowing Jihoon lightly. “And please don’t scare him off.”
Jihoon gives a curt nod. “Hey.”
Soonyoung would like to believe he’s smooth when meeting new people— especially cute ones. That he’s the kind of guy who tosses out a charming smile or a witty quip.
Unfortunately, reality has other plans.
He waves. Too enthusiastically. “Hi! Welcome! I’m Soonyoung. Strategy. Not data. But I respect data.”
Jihoon just stares.
Soonyoung’s ears burn.
Wonwoo, ever the smug spectator, sips his coffee like it’s vintage wine and adds, “He means well. He just doesn’t always sound like it.”
Jihoon raises a single unimpressed eyebrow. “Noted.”
Seungcheol grins. “You’ll fit right in. Don’t let Soonyoung’s energy throw you. That’s Wonwoo, by the way,” he gestures. “You’ll be working with him on onboarding. He’s slightly better.”
Jihoon gives a noncommittal hum and heads to his new desk— situated directly across the aisle from Soonyoung, because the universe has a sense of humor. Or maybe just a flair for unnecessary drama.
The Strategy team trails back to their corner of the office, still half-wired from morning sugar and the novelty of a new coworker. Seokmin plops into his seat with a stretch, Seungkwan— as always— takes unbearably long to adjust the height of his chair, and Soonyoung spins once in his before settling in with the last bite of his donut still in hand.
As Jihoon starts unpacking— just a laptop and a single, perfectly labeled notebook— Soonyoung leans toward Seungkwan across the divider, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Okay but like… he’s kinda cool, right?”
Seungkwan squints at him from behind his monitor. “You can’t already have a crush on him.”
“I don’t,” Soonyoung murmurs. “I’m just… intrigued. By his vibe. His aura.”
“He told you to leave him alone with his eyes.”
Soonyoung shrugs, still whispering. “Yeah, but, like… respectfully.”
“Hyung, you still have jelly on your face,” Seokmin chimes in, not bothering to whisper as he points at his own cheek for emphasis.
Soonyoung lets out a tragic, undignified noise. “The new guy saw me with jelly on my face?!”
Across the aisle, Jihoon doesn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitches just slightly.
Soonyoung decides, with absolute certainty, that he’s going to win this man over. He just doesn’t know what that means yet.
💻
A couple days later, Soonyoung strolls into the Strategy department meeting, five minutes late with a toasted bagel clenched in one hand and absolutely zero shame about it.
It is already spiraling into chaos.
Seungkwan is at the whiteboard, deep in an existential crisis with a dying marker and a funnel chart that looks like a child’s attempt at cubism. He’s sweating through his button-up. Seokmin, on the other hand, is doing slow, lazy rotations in a spinny chair like he’s a bored game show host waiting for his cue.
“We’re pivoting the pitch angle to emotionally-driven metrics,” Seungkwan announces, pointing at a triangle that is, in no mathematical universe, actually a triangle. “It’s all about the feeling now. We want the numbers to whisper to them. Move them.”
Seokmin spins by, dragging one foot for balance. “Yeah. Helvetica feels like security. Like… like a hug from capitalism.”
Soonyoung flops into his chair and takes a triumphant bite of bagel. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing but Seokmin assigning feelings to fonts again,” Seungkwan mutters, stabbing his marker against the board. It squeaks in protest.
Right then, the door creaks open, with the ominous slowness of fate. In steps Nayeon from HR. Clipboard in one hand. Iced americano in the other. Heels sharp enough to murder a man, and knowing her, she’s probably considered it. Her expression is the same as always: polite contempt. Like she’s just remembered she works in this office and is disappointed all over again.
She doesn’t knock or smile, she just walks in as if she’s charging rent.
“Kwon Soonyoung,” she says, voice clipped and high-glossed. She scans the room like everyone’s already failed a test they didn’t know they were taking. “You’re getting pulled.”
Soonyoung freezes, mid-chew. “Pulled?”
“Project Aurora,” she says, eyes already back on her clipboard. “Effective immediately.”
Seungkwan slowly turns from the whiteboard, eyes wide. “Aurora? The cursed one?”
Seokmin’s chair screeches to a halt. “The one that made Mingyu cry?”
Nayeon sighs, long-suffering. “Mingyu cries at PowerPoint transitions.”
From somewhere across the floor, a voice echoes, “They’re dramatic fades!”
Soonyoung frowns. “Wait— why me?”
Nayeon glances at him like the answer should be obvious. “Because Lee Jihoon requested someone less useless than his last partner.”
The whole room makes a collective oof noise. Even Seungkwan winces.
“Your name came up,” she adds, clicking her pen once like a gun cocking. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“But— Jihoon-ssi has only been here for a few days! How has he already deemed someone completely incompetent?” Soonyoung sputters, borderline panicked.
“Beats me.”
“I don’t even know what Aurora is,” he protests, and— okay, maybe he whines a little.
“Cross-department strategy build. Client-side data alignment. External stakeholder presentation. Big money. No room for Soonyoung-isms.”
“… Is that a real word?”
“It is now,” she says, turning to leave. Then she pauses, tosses her hair over one shoulder, and throws a final grenade over her shoulder: “Try not to fall in love with him or whatever. You always do that.”
“What—!”
But she’s already gone, heels clicking like punctuation marks of doom.
The room is quiet for exactly two seconds. But Seungkwan, as always, “You’re definitely gonna fall in love, hyung,” He says, deadpan.
“I’m not,” Soonyoung lies.
“You already like him,” Seokmin adds, propping his chin on the back of his chair. “You get all weird when he talks.”
“I do not get weird!”
Seungkwan gives him a slow, judgmental once-over. “You called him cool yesterday. Because he wears cuffed sleeves.”
“That was a respectful observation,” Soonyoung hisses.
“Your respect sounds a lot like horny.”
“Neither of you can accuse me of anything!” Soonyoung protests, jabbing a finger toward Seungkwan first. “You’re in love with Hansol from IT, and he’s— he’s weird and off-putting! He doesn’t even talk, he just blinks at you when you speak!”
Seungkwan scoffs. “It’s called being mysterious.”
Then Soonyoung swings to Seokmin. “And you— you are head over heels for Mingyu. Mingyu. Who cries at PowerPoint presentations!”
“I already told you I use dramatic fades!” Mingyu’s voice rings out again from down the hallway, indignant and far too present.
Seokmin flushes instantly, ducking his head. “You didn’t need to expose me like that, hyung…”
“You exposed yourself by sending him flowers with a pun about sans serif fonts,” Seungkwan adds helpfully.
“It was romantic!” Seokmin says, horrified.
Soonyoung just groans, grabs his laptop and his now-sad, half-eaten bagel, and rises like a man walking toward his own execution.
He’s going to be alone. With Jihoon. On a nightmare project. For weeks.
This is fine. This is totally fine.
“You have cream cheese on your cheek,” Seokmin says helpfully, pointing.
Soonyoung pauses. Then wipes. “Did I get it?”
“Nope.”
“Go to hell.”
“Have fun with your work crush!”
He is so doomed.
💻
The small meeting room on the 12th floor smells like whiteboard markers, recycled air, and faint dread— like every room where deadlines go to die.
Soonyoung’s already there, fifteen minutes early, perched at the far end of the oval table like he’s afraid of taking up too much space. His laptop is open, one tab displaying the Aurora slide deck, another playing lo-fi beats at a whisper-quiet volume. He’s half-attempting to refine the structure of their proposal, half-wondering how to rearrange his expression so he doesn’t look like a panicked intern pretending to understand Excel formulas.
He startles when the door opens.
Jihoon walks in like he owns the oxygen in the room— calm, crisp, iced Americano in one hand and a tablet in the other. His shirt sleeves are rolled with surgical precision. His gaze skims over Soonyoung once, unreadable.
“Hey,” Soonyoung says, standing up too fast and immediately regretting it. “Uh— I grabbed the Aurora deck from the drive and mocked up a rough flow. Like, just for structure!” His voice hikes up like he’s defending his honor. “You probably have a better version in your head. Totally fine to ignore it. Just— brainstorming, you know?”
Jihoon blinks, expression serene. “Okay.”
He sits.
Soonyoung, mildly mortified, sits too— carefully, like he’s afraid of making noise. Jihoon taps open the shared folder and starts skimming through the slides. Thirty seconds pass in silence. Maybe forty.
“This flow’s fine,” Jihoon says eventually. “We’ll need to rewrite the insight logic and include live data pulls from the Q3 tracker, but the structure works.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool. Logic. Streams. Love those.”
Jihoon finally looks up, deadpan. “Did you actually understand any of that?”
“Nope,” Soonyoung replies, unbothered. “But I respect it deeply.”
And for the briefest second, Jihoon’s mouth twitches. It’s barely there, more of a muscle spasm than a smile, but Soonyoung clocks it like a victory.
They dive into the real work after that.
And weirdly… it’s smooth. Jihoon is all sharp focus and surgical precision. His comments are specific, his questions clean. He edits slides like he’s conducting surgery. He says “hmm” like it’s a challenge, like he should prepare a better argument or pack up and go home.
But he listens. When Soonyoung suggests shifting the pitch angle to emphasize long-term brand value instead of short-term metrics, Jihoon pauses, considers it, then nods. “Let’s model both. Compare conversion ranges and retention projections.”
It’s not warm or flirty. It’s just… competent. Stunningly so.
And Soonyoung finds himself flustered over competence. But it doesn’t mean anything.
“So,” he says during a lull, scrolling aimlessly through their notes. “You really requested me for this?”
Jihoon doesn’t glance up. “I said I needed someone whose brain isn’t made of oatmeal.”
“… And that’s me?”
Jihoon sips his drink. “Word is you’re batshit crazy and way too loud, but you deliver.”
Soonyoung stares at him, scandalized. “Who said that? Wait— seriously. Who said that about me?”
Jihoon finally looks up, one brow arched. “Why, are you offended by the compliment?”
“I just— crazy, loud and capable?” Soonyoung leans back in his chair, stunned. “That’s like… a brand. I could put that in my LinkedIn bio. You realize no one at this company’s ever said something that nice to me and meant it, right? I’ve been here for two years.”
“I take it back,” Jihoon says immediately.
“Too late. It lives in my heart now.”
Jihoon shakes his head, refocusing on his screen. They fall into silence again— comfortable-ish, the kind that forms between two people who are still circling each other like curious cats but haven’t hissed yet.
A few minutes pass. Jihoon taps his pen against his tablet as he thinks. Soonyoung, supposedly working on phrasing for slide eight, watches him. Watches the way his fingers move, how the tendon flexes subtly in his wrist, how calm he looks when he’s focused.
He thinks he’s discovering some things about himself. Like how absolutely into forearms and hands he is.
“Soonyoung,” Jihoon says without looking up.
“Yeah?”
“You’re staring.”
Soonyoung jumps like he’s been caught shoplifting. “I— uh— what? No! I was just… admiring your pen. It’s very… ergonomical.”
Jihoon blinks slowly. “Ergonomical?”
Soonyoung slams his laptop shut. “Break time!” he announces, voice too high. “Gonna go, uh, hydrate. Not because I panicked. But because I care about wellness.”
Jihoon doesn't reply. Just sips his Americano and scrolls. Unbothered.
Soonyoung backs out of the room like he’s escaping a hostage situation, cheeks on fire.
💻
The next few weeks pass in a blur of emails, deadlines, and poorly labeled Excel sheets.
Soonyoung finds himself spending more time in the Data & Analytics corner of the office and random meeting rooms than with his own Strategy team, and though no one says it out loud, Seungkwan definitely gives him a few looks. Still, he tells himself it’s strictly work. Just work. Very serious, very professional work that just happens to be with a guy who wears button-ups like it’s a crime to leave a wrist uncovered.
The first week is awkward. Jihoon doesn’t talk unless he has to, and when he does, it’s usually to correct something Soonyoung’s done with all the tact of a sledgehammer.
“That’s the wrong metric,” he says one afternoon, peering over Soonyoung’s shoulder.
“I was testing you,” Soonyoung replies, without missing a beat.
Jihoon gives him a look. “No, I was testing you. And you failed.”
But then, slowly, it shifts.
By week two, Jihoon no longer sighs every time Soonyoung speaks. By week three, he’s occasionally waiting for Soonyoung to grab coffee before heading back to their desks. Once, he even smirks at something Soonyoung says, though he denies it immediately.
They still bicker. Constantly.
“This slide is cluttered.”
“It’s dynamic.”
“It’s a mess.”
“You’re a mess.”
“I know. Why do you think I’m on my fifth coffee of the day?”
But there’s a rhythm to it now. Like a pattern they’re both getting used to.
One night, nearly four weeks in, the office is mostly empty. Their shared presentation is due the next morning, and they’re still fine-tuning the final numbers. Jihoon sits in his usual spot, back straight, fingers flying over the keyboard. Soonyoung is half-curled in his chair, one leg tucked under him, holding a highlighter he hasn’t used in thirty minutes.
“You’ve got jelly on your sleeve again,” Jihoon says without looking.
Soonyoung glances down. “It’s pen.”
Jihoon snorts, just barely audible. “Sure it is.”
A few more minutes pass in silence before Soonyoung breaks it. “You know, this is kind of nice.”
Jihoon looks up. “Working late?”
“Working with you.”
That makes Jihoon pause. His expression doesn’t change much, but he blinks a few times like the words surprised him.
“I thought you found me difficult.”
“I do,” Soonyoung says, then grins. “But in a manageable way.”
Jihoon stares at him for a second. Then, to Soonyoung’s shock, he says, “You’re not impossible to work with either.”
Soonyoung sits up. “Wait, was that… a compliment? From you?”
“I’m regretting it already,” Jihoon mutters.
But there’s something in the way he says it— dry, sure, but not exactly cold. The kind of tone Soonyoung could get addicted to. His heart stumbles over itself, tripping into his ribs like it doesn’t know how to behave.
He opens his mouth, unsure of what to say next. A joke? A deflection? Maybe just an honest thank you?
Instead, he blurts, “Wanna split a Snickers?”
Jihoon sighs, reaches for the wrapper on Soonyoung’s desk. “Only if you stop talking for five minutes.”
Soonyoung watches him break the candy bar in half and hands over a piece. Their fingers brush, and it’s barely anything, but Soonyoung feels it in his stomach anyway.
He chews slowly, grinning into the chocolate.
Jihoon doesn’t look at him again. But he doesn’t move away either.
month -5
Things take an unexpected turn during Jihoon’s second month at the office.
Project Aurora is mostly wrapped, leaving Soonyoung and Jihoon to return to their respective teams. Soonyoung pretends not to be disappointed, but Seungkwan’s dramatic complaints aren’t nearly as entertaining— or as effective at keeping him on his toes— as Jihoon’s razor-sharp critiques. And Seokmin keeps pointing out whenever there’s food on his face, instead of silently judging him like Jihoon used to.
Neither of them have such impressive forearms, either.
It’s all-around very disappointing. Not that he’d ever admit it to his teammates-slash-friends. That would hurt their feelings and Soonyoung can’t deal with that.
Still, despite Aurora wrapping up, Soonyoung still sees Jihoon every day. Their desks are close enough that, if he cranes his neck over the divider, he can catch the top of Jihoon’s very distinct hair— and occasionally the sharp set of his eyebrows as he glares at Excel.
Soonyoung starts making a game of it.
It begins with a sticky note. A bright yellow square folded neatly into a frog (if he can even call it that), perched on the edge of Jihoon’s cubicle like a spy. Jihoon doesn’t react when he finds it, but the next morning, Soonyoung notices the frog is now balanced on top of his monitor, facing him.
A silent acknowledgment.
The next day, Soonyoung sends a doodle— a terrible sketch of Seungkwan mid-rant, complete with aggressive speech bubbles and a coffee mug labeled World’s Loudest. Jihoon doesn’t say anything, but Soonyoung catches him smirking behind his screen.
By the end of the week, their desks are a disaster of paper scraps and passive-aggressive messages:
“Have you ever used spellcheck in your life?” (Jihoon).
“Not when I have you <3” (Soonyoung).
“Stop being gross.” (Jihoon).
“Make me.” (Soonyoung, with a poorly drawn wink face).
Seokmin notices, of course. He peers between their desks one afternoon and mutters, “This feels like flirting, but I think you’re both too weird for me to even tell.”
Soonyoung snorts. “We’re just friends.”
Seokmin raises a brow. “Sure. If that’s what you call it.”
Still, Soonyoung doesn’t think much of it. He just likes making Jihoon smile. Or frown. Or roll his eyes and crumple a note into a ball before immediately smoothing it out to read again. It’s fun. Familiar. A little addictive.
Even when they’re swamped with separate projects, Jihoon still sends him the occasional note— a single word, underlined twice: Focus.
Soonyoung grins every time.
It is still, however, not the same as spending their evenings together. He misses the rhythm of working with Jihoon directly. The snappy banter. The way Jihoon used to sigh dramatically but still stay an extra hour to finish a slide deck with him.
Now their interactions are fleeting. A sticky note here, a dry comment across the floor. It’s not bad, not even cold— but it’s different. Less immediate. Less constant.
So when Seungcheol strolls over to their desks and announces they’re going out as a full team that Friday after work— his treat— Soonyoung feels the rush of joy hit him like a truck. Not because he’s excited to drink on the company card (though, okay, maybe a little), but because it’s a sanctioned excuse to see Jihoon again outside of “please fix your formatting.”
By Friday, Soonyoung’s practically vibrating. He gets more work done before noon than he has all week. He even resists the urge to check if Jihoon is in the lunchroom. (Okay, he checks once.)
“Hyung, you’re way too hyper about this,” Seungkwan says, eyeing him like a science experiment. “At least try to act chill.”
“Let him be, Seungkwannie,” Jeonghan from Legal chimes in, twirling a pen between his fingers. “He has a crush.”
“It’s always a crush, never a performance review,” Jeongyeon from Compliance adds dryly from the next desk over.
“I think it’s kind of cute,” Seokmin says, all sunshine and betrayal.
Soonyoung just scowls at all of them and mutters something about workplace harassment and not having a crush.
They end up at a cozy bar just a few blocks from the office— low lighting, warm wood paneling, and a decent playlist that’s just loud enough to feel fun without drowning out conversation. The tables are all long and communal, and by the time their group squeezes in, there’s barely any space left.
Which is exactly why Soonyoung has to shove— gently but with purpose— past three coworkers and someone’s elbow to claim the empty seat beside Jihoon.
“Hi,” he says, way too brightly.
Jihoon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t tell him to leave. Which could be considered progress.
“Wow,” Minghao from Marketing mutters from two seats away, “He really shoved his way in like it was life or death.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Soonyoung calls over his shoulder.
“I’m not jealous,” Minghao huffs. “I’m embarrassed for all of us.”
Soonyoung ignores him, turning back to Jihoon like he didn’t just hurdle half the Legal, Finance and IT teams to get here. “Do you drink beer?”
“I only drink vodka shots,” Jihoon replies.
Soonyoung gasps. “That’s just insane.”
“Alcohol tastes like shit. You can’t convince me otherwise.”
“Jihoonie, you just haven’t had a good drink!”
“Whatever you say, big boy.”
He grins and can’t help but think: God, I missed this.
It’s almost shocking how easily it all slips back into place— Project Aurora may be over, but the rhythm he found with Jihoon still lingers like muscle memory. It’s in the way they snipe and prod, sure, but also in the way Jihoon doesn’t actually move away when Soonyoung leans in too close to steal a fry off his plate. (He does glare at him, of course. But he doesn’t stop him.)
Across the bar, Dahyun from Finance and Chan from Legal are loudly debating whether mozzarella sticks count as a real dinner. Sana, the receptionist, is trying to invent a cocktail with Junhui from IT— judging by the color, it’s definitely a crime. Jihyo from Finance is threatening to strangle the waiter if another Chainsmokers song plays. Mina from Marketing and Tzuyu, their workplace psychologist, are busy taking selfies. At the end of the table, Jeonghan sips his drink like royalty surveying his court.
It’s a mess. A beautiful, chaotic, possibly HR-violating mess.
Soonyoung loves it.
He loves it even more when Jihoon doesn’t look annoyed, just vaguely tired in the way he always does. Comfortable. Present.
Soonyoung’s glass is mysteriously never empty, and after his third (fourth?) drink, he’s feeling a little floaty. He’s giggling at something Jisoo from Legal said, though he’s not entirely sure what it was, and at some point, he slouches so far into Jihoon’s space that his head is practically on Jihoon’s shoulder.
“You’re heavy,” Jihoon says, but makes no move to push him off.
“You’re warm,” Soonyoung replies, cheek squished against the fabric of Jihoon’s shirt. “And judgy. So judgy. I missed it.”
Jihoon pauses, fingers tightening slightly around his glass. “You’re drunk.”
“Noooo,” Soonyoung slurs. “I’m charming.”
“Alright,” Jihoon sighs, already reaching for his coat. “Come on, charming boy. Let’s get you home before you confess something you’ll regret.”
Soonyoung blinks up at him. “Like my feelings?”
Jihoon freezes.
Soonyoung giggles. “Kidding! Unless— wait, no, I am kidding. I think.”
“That’s it,” Jihoon mutters, slipping an arm around his waist to haul him up. “You’re going home.”
“You’re taking me?” Soonyoung leans heavily on him, smile lazy and eyes crinkled. “Wow. This is just like a drama. Do I get to pretend to fall asleep on your shoulder in the cab?”
“No need to pretend,” Jihoon deadpans, dragging him out of the bar. “You’ll be unconscious in five minutes.”
The cab smells like cheap vanilla, but Soonyoung barely notices. He’s too busy watching Jihoon rattle off his address— where he got it from, he’s not sure— to the driver like he hasn’t had two beers and a weird blue drink Junhui shoved into his hand.
Jihoon leans back with a sigh, crossing his arms. His cheeks are tinged a faint pink, whether from the alcohol or the cold night air, Soonyoung can’t tell. Probably both.
“You’re drunk too!” Soonyoung says, a little too delighted and fondly. “You always this bossy when you drink?”
Jihoon snorts. “I’m always this bossy in general.”
“But you’re so…” Soonyoung waves a hand vaguely in the air, his movements loose and exaggerated, “Light right now. Airy. Like a little balloon.”
Jihoon turns to look at him, unimpressed. “And you’re drunk.”
“I’m poetic,” Soonyoung corrects, then slouches further into the seat. He’s warm and comfortable and dangerously close to draping himself over Jihoon’s lap. “You’ve got a cute face when it’s pink. Like a peach.”
“You’re never drinking again.”
“I will. With you,” Soonyoung says, eyes fluttering shut. “All my drinks belong to you now.”
Jihoon doesn’t respond. He just shakes his head, mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like idiot, and shifts slightly so that Soonyoung’s head can rest more comfortably on his shoulder.
Soonyoung blinks awake just in time to feel the cab slow to a stop. Jihoon’s already moving, reaching for his wallet, and Soonyoung starts fumbling for his own out of instinct.
“I got it,” Jihoon says, firm but quiet.
“Wait, are you coming up?” Soonyoung mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.
Jihoon doesn’t answer. He just opens the door, pays the driver, and steps out without so much as a glance back— or a word to the cabbie that he’ll be returning.
For half a second, through the blur of streetlights and his own haze, Soonyoung notices. The quiet finality of it. The fact that Jihoon wasn’t planning to come back down.
Something stirs in his chest, sharp and sudden.
By the time he stumbles up the stairs and gets the door open, Jihoon’s already inside, standing awkwardly in the living room like he’s trying to remember why the hell he came here in the first place.
Soonyoung kicks off his shoes and straightens up, determined to rally. “Okay, water. I can get water. Or like, I think I have juice? Or beer, but that’s probably illegal right now. And— oh! We could watch something. Like a movie. I’ve been meaning to rewatch Spirited Away—”
“Shut up.”
It’s not angry. Not quite. It is sharp, though. Desperate in a way Jihoon usually isn’t. He looks like he’s about to walk back out the door or throw himself out the window— whichever’s faster.
He mutters something that Soonyoung barely catches— god, what am I doing— and then crosses the room in two quick strides.
And kisses him.
It’s not gentle. There’s no prelude. Just the sound of their breathing catching and Soonyoung stumbling backward into the couch, hands clutching blindly at Jihoon’s shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.
“Wait— Jihoon—”
“Don’t talk.”
His voice is ragged, breathless. As if it took everything in him just to say that.
And Soonyoung doesn’t. For once, he actually listens.
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and thrumming between them. Then Jihoon kisses him again, even harder this time, like he wants to bruise. Like he wants to be ruined and remembered for it.
Soonyoung lets himself fall, dragging Jihoon down with him onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and heat and disheveled confusion. Jihoon follows without hesitation, already too far gone to stop himself.
Everything else comes in fragments:
The scrape of Jihoon’s teeth against his jaw.
Fingertips trembling slightly as they slide under Soonyoung’s shirt, unsure if this is penance or something closer to a plea.
The sound Soonyoung makes— surprised, guttural— when Jihoon mouths at his collarbone like he’s starved.
“You’re drunk,” Soonyoung breathes, half a protest.
“You are, too.”
“Yeah, but—”
Jihoon shuts him up with a kiss, rough and biting. “If you say something stupid, I swear to god—”
“Okay,” Soonyoung says, dazed. “Okay.”
The rest of the night fades into sensation— heat, breath, and the way Jihoon’s body moves with a kind of urgency, as if he's forgotten how to hold back. There’s a soft thump when someone’s elbow hits the floor, Jihoon muttering under his breath— not out of frustration, but more like he's surprised by how badly he needs this, how much he’s giving in, and how far he's willing to go.
Soonyoung gives him everything he wants, and a bit more.
💻
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am!”
“There’s simply no way.”
“Well. There is.”
“There’s no fucking way Lee Jihoon willingly fucked you.”
Soonyoung turns scarlet. “Okay, rude. But also— technically? I fucked him. But yes. We fucked. Multiple times.”
Seungkwan and Seokmin both stare at him like he’s just announced the Earth is flat.
There’s a long pause. Then Seokmin blinks. “... Willingly?”
“Yes!” Soonyoung insists, hands on his hips. “Crazy, right? But it happened. Friday night. Then Saturday morning. Then kind of again Saturday afternoon, but that one started with an argument so I’m not sure if it counts.”
There’s a moment of horrified silence.
Then Seokmin, cautiously: “... So you’re dating?”
Soonyoung laughs. Loud, confident, maybe even a little smug. “No. God, no. We’re friends.”
Seungkwan narrows his eyes. “You’re saying you had sex all weekend with Jihoon and you’re just friends?”
“Yes!”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive!” Soonyoung says, throwing his hands up. “We’re bros! Buddies! Colleagues with occasional, recreational benefits. It’s not that deep.”
Seokmin gives him a look. “You literally just called Saturday morning sex ‘blissful.’”
“It was,” Soonyoung sighs, starry-eyed for half a second. “But that doesn’t mean anything! People can have great sex and still be friends. We’ve defined the relationship.”
Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “You talked about it?”
“No, but I can tell,” Soonyoung says confidently. “Jihoon’s not subtle. If he wanted something more, he’d say it. Or, I don’t know. Punch me. Something drastic. I’d notice.”
Seokmin tilts his head. “You do know that’s not how feelings work, right?”
“Guys. Please.” Soonyoung scoffs, waving them off. “I’ve known Jihoon for over a month, I’ve worked with the guy in close proximity. I would know if he wanted to date me. I’m not stupid.”
They both stare at him.
Soonyoung claps his hands once, decisive. “Anyway! We’re fine. Everything’s chill. Aurora’s done and we’re friends. End of story.”
Seokmin glances at Seungkwan. Neither of them say anything else.
💻
Getting assigned another project with Jihoon feels like fate.
Seungcheol personally calls them into his office to hand it over, smiling proudly like a dad sending his kids off to college. “You two killed it with Aurora,” he says, clapping a hand on Soonyoung's back. “Let’s see you do it again.”
Soonyoung beams. Jihoon just nods and mutters something about timelines and deliverables, but Soonyoung knows he's happy too. Probably.
It's a win all around. They work late again, hunched over laptops and takeout containers, throwing ideas back and forth until the office cleaners start giving them pointed looks. Jihoon gets this scrunched-up thinking face when he's deep in concentration, and Soonyoung finds it weirdly fascinating. Sometimes he even manages to impress Jihoon with an insight or two— not that he's keeping track or anything.
(He is absolutely keeping track.)
Outside of work, things are even better. They have... a rhythm now. A system. Hang out. Hook up. Maybe order some food if they're feeling ambitious. Fall asleep tangled up in either of their sheets. Wake up, pretend they weren't cuddling, and go about their day.
It’s easy. Comfortable. Exactly what friendship should be.
Soonyoung is genuinely proud of how mature he's being about the whole thing. He’s never had a friend like this before— someone he can work with, laugh with, fuck stupid, and still grab coffee with the next morning like nothing happened.
Honestly? He thinks he might be nailing this adult friendship thing.
They’re halfway through a late-night work session, laptops open, empty coffee cups scattered around them, when Soonyoung stretches with a groan and says it.
“We should go out sometime,” he says, casual, like he’s commenting on the weather.
Jihoon glances at him, wary. “Out?”
“Yeah, you know. Get some drinks. Or food. Or whatever,” Soonyoung waves a hand vaguely, eyes still on his screen. “Just us.”
Jihoon freezes.
Soonyoung doesn’t notice. He’s too busy poking at a typo in their shared document, brows furrowed in concentration.
“I mean,” Soonyoung adds, shrugging, “We’re always working or... you know. Other stuff.” His ears go a little pink. “Could be nice to just... hang out. Properly.”
“You’re asking me to hang out,” Jihoon says slowly.
“Yeah!” Soonyoung grins, still not looking at him. “It’ll be chill. No deadlines, no stress. We can just... do whatever.”
Jihoon swallows hard. "Whatever."
“Exactly!” Soonyoung beams. “We deserve a break. You especially. You’re, like, the smartest person I know.”
Jihoon opens his mouth— closes it— then nods once, stiff. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Let’s do it.”
“Awesome!” Soonyoung chirps, already mentally planning absolutely nothing because he thinks it’s no big deal. “I'll text you.”
Behind him, Jihoon sits perfectly still, staring at nothing.
💻
He lets Jihoon pick the restaurant, because he recognizes he might not have the better taste between them.
(Soonyoung once said his favorite wine was “the red kind,” and Jihoon hasn’t let it go since.)
When Soonyoung shows up, he’s in his usual button-up and slacks combo, hair still a bit windblown from walking, and wearing a bright grin that doesn’t quite match the mood lighting of the restaurant.
It’s nice. Too nice, maybe. There’s candlelight, cloth napkins and real silverware that clinks when it touches the plate, not the weird bendy kind.
He doesn’t realize it until he spots Jihoon already seated at the corner table, back straight and collar crisp. His hair’s been styled neatly off his forehead, and he’s wearing this sleek, tailored black shirt that Soonyoung’s never seen before. There’s something different about him tonight— something sharp but polished, almost cool. And he smells… expensive. Like cedarwood and perfume Soonyoung would never be able to pronounce the name of.
“Oh, fancy,” Soonyoung jokes as he slides into the seat across from him. “Are we closing a deal after this?”
Jihoon’s mouth twitches. “You said drinks. I figured you didn’t mean a dive bar.”
“I would never!” he says, clearly lying. Then pauses. “Well. Not never.”
The waiter appears with a knowing smile, handing them wine menus without asking. Jihoon takes his with a quiet thank-you. Soonyoung fumbles his open, blinking at the words like they’re written in code.
“Do you want me to order?” Jihoon asks dryly.
“Yes, please. I can’t read French.”
“It’s Italian.”
Soonyoung kicks him lightly under the table, and Jihoon lets out the smallest of laughs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in that restrained, Jihoon sort of way. Earnest.
They talk— about work, mostly, but the edges start to blur once the first glass is down. Jihoon relaxes a little in the candlelight. His tone is steady, but there’s something about the way he listens tonight that feels different— something attentive, almost fond.
Soonyoung, for his part, is just thrilled Jihoon agreed to hang out at all. He’s animated and expressive, gesturing too wide with his hands, completely unaware that this entire evening is shaping up to be something he will one day look back on and think: oh.
Right now, though, he just thinks: wow, Jihoon looks nice tonight.
“So,” Soonyoung says as the waiter pours them another round. “This is fun! We should do it again sometime.”
Jihoon lifts his glass, hiding a smile. “Yeah,” he says, soft. “We should.”
They end up at Soonyoung’s apartment that night, and he doesn’t think much of it—
Not when Jihoon lingers in bed the next morning, eyes soft around the edges and movements unhurried. Not when he doesn’t rush to leave like he usually does. Not even when he leans in and kisses him slow, outside of sex, for the first time since all of this began.
Soonyoung just smiles, kisses him back, and doesn’t think twice.
month -4
Soonyoung has learned a lot about Jihoon since their Friday night dinners became a thing.
At first glance, Jihoon comes off as way too difficult to understand, almost unreadable— polite, reserved, maybe even a little cold. A tough nut to crack. People at the office would probably describe him as quiet, someone who keeps to himself and gets his work done without fuss. But appearances are deceiving.
Jihoon isn't quiet. He’s just selective.
When it’s just the two of them, in the soft hush of a corner booth or walking side by side after the meal, Jihoon talks. About music, mostly— his passion, the thing that lights him up. But also about old dreams he gave up on, projects he wishes he had more time for, frustrations at work, childhood memories that sneak out when he’s had enough vodka.
There’s a rhythm to the way Jihoon opens up: never all at once, never with warning, but steady and surprising, like a song Soonyoung didn’t realize he knew the words to until Jihoon was already halfway through the chorus.
Soonyoung, in return, listens. Of course he listens. How could he not? Jihoon is probably the most interesting person he’s ever met.
By the time their second project— second child, as Soonyoung insists on calling it, earning an eye-roll and a scrunched nose from Jihoon every time— wraps up, Soonyoung is sure of one thing: this time, he won’t have to rely on post-it notes or poorly folded origami to keep in touch. They’ve moved past that. The Friday nights will persist. Soonyoung knows it like he knows his own name— solid and certain, unshakable.
And he’s glad. Because somewhere between late dinners and long-winded rants about internal data processes, Jihoon became a fixture in his week. A constant. Someone he looks forward to.
Maybe a little too much.
It’s not like anything’s changed between them, not really. They still bicker about spreadsheets and tease each other over dumplings. Jihoon still pretends to hate Soonyoung’s taste in music, even as he taps his fingers in time with it. But there's something gentler now, threaded between the jokes and quiet glances. Something Soonyoung tries very hard not to name.
Instead, he shows up every Friday like clockwork, pretending this isn’t the highlight of his week.
“You’re late,” Jihoon says, barely looking up as Soonyoung drops into the seat across from him, cheeks pink and breath uneven. “Again.”
“I’m sorry!” Soonyoung pants, shrugging off his jacket. “Seokmin is going on his first date with Mingyu right now and had a full-blown existential crisis in the elevator. He needed a pep talk. You know how he gets.”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow, picking at the corner of the menu. “What did you say?”
Soonyoung grins. “‘If he doesn’t like you after five minutes, he’s dumb. If he doesn’t like you after ten, he’s not your type.’ Classic advice.”
“And wildly unhelpful, considering Mingyu would die for him.”
“Hey! Seokmin smiled through the panic. I call that a win.”
Jihoon snorts, finally glancing up. “I just think it’s rude that you picked the restaurant and still managed to be late.”
“You like it though, right?” Soonyoung gestures at the table. “I remembered you said you’ve been craving jjukkumi.”
Jihoon tries to hide it, but his mouth twitches into something dangerously close to a smile. “Fine. You’re forgiven. Is Seokmin ready for the date, at least?”
“Oh, god, no,” Soonyoung laughs, waving off the thought. “He spent fifteen minutes trying to decide if he should wear rings and another fifteen wondering if the rings made him look like he was trying too hard. But it’ll go great, right? When two people like each other as much as those two do...”
He trails off, tone light, but Jihoon’s expression shifts at that. Just barely— something brief and unreadable flickering behind his eyes before he hums, quiet and noncommittal. “Sure.”
Soonyoung tilts his head, watching him for a second too long.
He doesn’t press. He never does. Just reaches for the side dishes between them, lets the silence settle for a beat, and says, “Anyway. I hope they kiss. I have money riding on it.”
“You’re disgusting,” Jihoon says, but he’s smiling now— really smiling, the way he does when he thinks Soonyoung isn’t looking.
Soonyoung, unfortunately, is always looking.
Back at Soonyoung’s place, after a dinner of spicy jjukkumi— small octopus grilled with enough gochugaru to make Jihoon fan himself with his metal chopsticks— they kiss languidly by the kitchen sink.
It starts without urgency. Jihoon is rinsing out their shared bottle of soju, quiet and meticulous, and Soonyoung is leaning on the counter, still warm from the meal and just a little tipsy, watching the way Jihoon’s shoulders move. When Jihoon turns slightly, Soonyoung catches him. Tilts his chin and kisses him, soft and slow.
That’s a new thing. Kissing outside of sex. Kissing just to kiss. When neither of them are trying to get anywhere. When they’re full and tired and already planning to pass out before midnight.
Back in university, Soonyoung had an insatiable sex drive. He’d been the type to get distracted during lectures just because someone cute had nice hands. He’d once made out with someone behind the bio building because she complimented his sneakers. All of his friends called him hopeless.
But these days, Soonyoung has a job. A real, adult job. With calendar blocks and team calls and hours of screen time that burn out his brain by 6PM. He barely has the energy to fold his laundry, let alone get horny on command. It’s not that he doesn’t want Jihoon— it’s just that sometimes, most times, he wants him like this: easy, warm and close.
So they kiss for a while, slowly. Nothing urgent, just the press of mouths and the soft sound of Jihoon’s thumb tapping the edge of the sink behind him. Jihoon pulls back eventually and mumbles, “Your mouth is still spicy.”
Soonyoung grins. “Yours is worse.”
Jihoon hums. Then he moves toward the couch like it’s a routine, settling into his usual spot without asking. Soonyoung follows, flopping down beside him, blanket over both their legs. They end up watching some cooking competition neither of them pay attention to. Soonyoung doodles lazy shapes on Jihoon’s ankle where it’s propped up next to him, and Jihoon doesn’t swat him away.
This is what their Friday nights look like now. One of them picks the restaurant, the other pretends to complain about it. They split the check. They kiss like it’s nothing. They crash on Soonyoung’s couch because it’s easier than going home.
Soonyoung thinks about it a lot— how nice it is to have this. To be this. He knows not all friends are like this, but it feels right. Comfortable. Like whatever they have is theirs alone, not something that needs to be defined.
He looks over at Jihoon, who’s half-asleep with his arms folded across his chest and his mouth slightly open.
Soonyoung smiles.
He really, really loves their friendship.
💻
The following Monday, Seungkwan and Soonyoung both arrive fifteen minutes early.
It’s not something they coordinate or talk about. They just run into each other in the lobby at 8:43AM, both holding coffee cups, and grin uncontrollably without saying a word. Then they ride the elevator to the 11th floor, standing shoulder to shoulder in quiet anticipation. Soonyoung whistles a little tune. Seungkwan hums in harmony, because of course he does.
They reach their cubicles at 8:45AM sharp and sit like two very poorly disguised spies, eyes trained on the elevator down the hall.
Seokmin shows up five minutes later.
He’s always been the most punctual out of the three— an annoying morning person through and through. When he’s in a good mood, he brings them donuts. When he’s in a great mood, he brings the good donuts from the place two train stops away.
This morning, his hands are suspiciously empty. He drops into his chair with a heavy sigh and no greeting.
Soonyoung and Seungkwan exchange a look. One of those we are witnessing a crisis looks.
“You ask him,” Seungkwan mouths dramatically. Soonyoung shakes his head immediately and points back at him.
“I’m not tactful,” he mouths, shrugging.
“I can see both of you miming like clowns,” Seokmin says flatly, not looking up from his monitor.
“Seokmin-hyung!” Seungkwan blurts, laughing way too loudly. “You look… great today! So well-rested! Did you get a haircut?”
Seokmin does not, in fact, look great. Now that Soonyoung takes a proper look, he sees the dark circles, the unbrushed hair, the general aura of don’t talk to me unless you want to die. He does not look like a man who spent the weekend in post-coital bliss with Kim Mingyu from Marketing. He looks like a man who spent the weekend staring at his ceiling fan, contemplating the futility of love.
“No,” Seokmin mutters. He puts his headphones on and starts typing like the keyboard said something offensive.
Soonyoung and Seungkwan look at each other again.
“Crisis confirmed,” Seungkwan whispers.
They spend the next few minutes exchanging increasingly dramatic glances over the wall of their cubicles. Seokmin hasn’t taken off his headphones once, and his typing is loud and erratic, like every keystroke is personally offending him.
Seokmin is a happy person. The happy virus, they call him, half-mockingly— but even mockery has its limits. The nickname stuck because it’s mostly true. He has that golden retriever energy, the kind that made it hard to stay in a bad mood around him. He’s the type of person who whistles in the mornings and brings extra snacks just in case someone forgot lunch. Seeing him like this— sullen, hunched, perhaps even haunted— sets off alarm bells in both Soonyoung and Seungkwan’s heads.
When Jihoon arrives at 9:00AM sharp, he doesn’t even say hello. He just raises an eyebrow at Soonyoung from across the aisle, already reading the room.
Soonyoung coughs once, not-so-subtly, and jerks his head toward the break room— the one with the good coffee machine and passive-aggressive Clean Up After Yourself sign taped to the sink. Jihoon follows his gaze, nods once. Seungkwan is already halfway out of his chair.
Five minutes later, the three of them are huddled around the coffee machine like they’re planning a corporate coup.
“What happened?” Soonyoung stage-whispers, eyes wide. “I thought the pep talk went great! I was so inspirational. I made him repeat affirmations in the mirror!”
“Maybe that’s why it went bad,” Jihoon deadpans, reaching for a paper cup.
“I’m serious!” Soonyoung insists. “He was nervous, sure, but he was excited. He even packed mints and a portable cologne spray. You only do that when you like someone.”
“Could’ve been a miscommunication,” Seungkwan offers, frowning. “Or a bad restaurant. Maybe Mingyu said something dumb. He does have a talent for putting his foot in his mouth.”
“Or maybe,” Jihoon says slowly, “Seokmin said something dumb. He’s not exactly a romantic prodigy.”
“No,” Soonyoung says, offended on his friend’s behalf. “Seokmin’s a perfect date. He’s funny and polite and so good at listening. Mingyu would have to be insane to ruin that.”
They all sip their coffee at the same time, solemnly.
“This is going to be a long week,” Seungkwan sighs.
Before anyone can reply, the door to the break room swings open.
“Hey guys!”
All three of them flinch like they’ve been caught doing something illegal. They whirl around.
Mingyu strolls in with his usual Monday confidence, tall and infuriatingly pretty, holding a coffee mug that reads “World’s Okayest Employee” in sparkly blue font. He’s dressed immaculately, hair artfully tousled, not a single hint of emotional turmoil anywhere on his face.
Huh. Interesting.
“Mingyu-yah, how was your weekend?” Soonyoung asks, all sugary sweetness.
Mingyu grins as he places his mug beneath the coffee machine. “Amazing! Thanks for asking!”
“How did the date with Seokmin go?” Seungkwan jumps in, casual as anything.
Mingyu’s face lights up even more, if that’s even possible. He practically glows. “Oh, it went great!”
Jihoon’s coffee stops halfway to his lips.
“Great?” Soonyoung echoes slowly.
“Yeah!” Mingyu nods, unbothered. “We had dinner at that Italian place near the river— Seokmin picked it, said he’d always wanted to try it. We shared dessert, talked for hours… He even walked me home.”
Seungkwan blinks. “And?”
“And we kissed,” Mingyu says, grinning like a schoolboy. “It was really nice.”
A beat of stunned silence. Jihoon is the first to recover.
“That’s… great,” he says flatly.
Mingyu, oblivious to the tension, hums as he pours cream into his mug. “I think I really like him,” he adds, dreamily. “He's so warm. I felt like I could tell him anything.”
Soonyoung is about to respond— something supportive, maybe— but Mingyu’s phone buzzes on the counter. He checks it, gasps. “Oh shoot! I forgot I have a sync meeting in two minutes. Wish me luck!”
“Good luck,” Jihoon mumbles automatically. Seungkwan gives him finger guns. Soonyoung offers a faint smile.
As soon as Mingyu’s gone, the room is quiet again.
“So…” Jihoon says eventually.
“Why does Seokmin look like he got dumped?” Seungkwan finishes.
Soonyoung frowns, chewing his lip. “I think we’re missing something.”
“Obviously,” Jihoon sighs. “I just hope whatever it is, it’s fixable.”
They reconvene at Soonyoung’s desk because his cubicle is in the corner and has the best visibility of Seokmin’s, who is mysteriously missing.
“We’re missing something big,” Jihoon says, crouched awkwardly beside Soonyoung’s chair, arms crossed. “There’s no way Mingyu’s lying. He’s too dumb to lie that well.”
“Agreed,” Seungkwan says. He’s perched on Soonyoung’s filing cabinet like a cat. “And he looked happy. Like he just got laid and listened to a podcast about emotional intimacy back-to-back.”
Soonyoung squints toward Seokmin’s desk. “But Seokmin looks like he got ghosted and then watched a true crime documentary or something.”
Jihoon frowns. “Do you think it was the sex?”
“What, like, bad sex?” Soonyoung grimaces.
Seungkwan gasps. “Seokmin gives great sex energy. How dare you.”
“I didn’t say he didn’t!” Soonyoung hisses. “I just— what if something happened? What if he was nervous? Or—”
“Or it was too good and now he’s spiraling?” Jihoon offers.
They all pause.
“Shit,” Soonyoung says. “That actually tracks.”
“You think he liked Mingyu too much and now his brain is short-circuiting?” Seungkwan asks.
“I’ve done that,” Jihoon says, a little too fast. Both Soonyoung and Seungkwan turn to stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I mean, I’ve heard of people doing that.”
“Right,” Seungkwan says, suspicious. “Anyway, we need to get Seokmin to talk. Or at least smile. He hasn’t smiled once today and I don’t know how to handle that from a man who made a spreadsheet of his favorite smiles last month.”
“Maybe we ambush him at lunch,” Soonyoung suggests. “Box him in at the table.”
Jihoon nods. “Divide and conquer. One on either side, one in front. He can’t escape.”
“You guys are freaks,” Seungkwan says. “Let’s do it.”
The rest of the morning passes with minimal productivity. Soonyoung spends most of it pretending to work— clicking around a deck he’s supposed to revise for a client pitch and halfheartedly rearranging bullet points while keeping an eye on Seokmin.
Technically, he’s part of the strategy team, which means he’s supposed to be coming up with smart, insight-driven plans based on client needs and market trends. In reality, it mostly means he builds slides and tries to make words like “synergy” and “ideate” sound meaningful.
Jihoon, one cubicle over, types furiously in a spreadsheet that looks way too complicated to be legal, and Seungkwan gets in a very heated call with a vendor that ends with him saying “bless your heart” in the tone of a death threat.
By noon, Seokmin has spoken exactly three words (“Morning,” “No,” and “Whatever”) and sighed at least seventeen times. It’s time.
Lunch is a quiet, tense affair in the break room— just the three of them hunched around the low table like corporate war generals. Theories have already been floated, analyzed, dismissed, and revived. There was the “Mingyu was too pretty and Seokmin short-circuited” theory. The “they kissed and Mingyu said something stupid immediately after” theory. And, of course, Jihoon’s personal favorite: “maybe Seokmin got in his own head, and that’s all it took.”
Regardless, one thing is clear: it’s time for action.
“We can’t keep speculating,” Jihoon says, poking at his triangle kimbap without much enthusiasm. “We need data.”
“Agreed,” Soonyoung says, halfway through a banana milk. “This is the execution phase.”
Seungkwan leans back in his chair. “So here’s the plan. Mingyu always does his 4PM lap around the office, right? Stretch, flirt, hydrate. I’ll catch him then. Just casually bring up the weekend.”
“Casual,” Jihoon repeats. “Not like you’ve spent all day obsessing over it.”
“Please, I’m very chill,” Seungkwan says. “Cool, calm, beautiful.”
“You’re twitching,” Soonyoung points out.
“Excitement.”
Jihoon sighs and turns to Soonyoung. “You’ll talk to Seokmin?”
Soonyoung nods. “At the coffee machine around 3:30. That’s when he usually makes his mid-afternoon desperation run.”
“And me?” Jihoon asks.
“You keep being scary and observant. It’s working for you,” Seungkwan says.
Jihoon rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree.
They eat in relative silence after that, heads tilted slightly toward the door like watchdogs, waiting for either of the subjects to walk in.
At 3:29PM, right on schedule, Seokmin slinks toward the break room like he’s hoping no one will notice. Too bad for him— Soonyoung is already waiting, leaning against the counter like a plant.
“Hey,” Soonyoung says, all breezy and natural. He gestures to the machine. “Fresh batch. Smells like actual coffee today instead of burnt despair.”
Seokmin grunts. He grabs a paper cup. He does not make eye contact.
Soonyoung tilts his head. “So. How’s your Monday?”
Another grunt.
“You know, I don’t mean to alarm you, but it kind of feels like your soul has left your body and you're just haunting the eleventh floor now. Just wanted to check.”
Seokmin sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, good,” Soonyoung says cheerfully. “I was worried you did. But since we’re not talking about it, I’ll just say this: Mingyu looked pretty chipper this morning.”
Seokmin’s hand twitches on his cup. Soonyoung notices.
“Like, very chipper,” he adds. “Said the date went great. Sunny disposition, glowing skin, the whole thing.”
Silence. Seokmin stares at his coffee like it’s personally offended him.
Soonyoung lowers his voice. “So if something went wrong, it wasn’t on his side.”
“I know,” Seokmin mutters finally. “That’s the problem.”
Soonyoung leans against the counter, softer now. “You want to walk me through it?”
There’s a long pause. Seokmin’s jaw works. Then—
“I panicked,” he admits. “We had dinner, and it was great, and then we went back to his, and we kissed, and that was also great, but— afterwards, he said something about wanting to take me out again next week, and I just— I don’t know. I froze up. I made some dumb joke, said something about not getting ahead of ourselves. He looked... surprised. Not upset, just surprised. But now I keep thinking maybe I messed it all up.”
Soonyoung lets that sit for a moment.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You didn’t mess anything up. You got scared, that’s all. It happens. Mingyu doesn’t strike me as the ‘one strike and you’re out’ kind of guy.”
“I know. I just— he really likes me. And I really like him. Which is terrifying.”
“Yeah,” Soonyoung says with a small smile. “It is.”
They stand there for a bit. The coffee machine gurgles behind them.
“So what do I do?” Seokmin asks eventually.
“Talk to him,” Soonyoung says. “Tell him the truth. If he’s as into you as he looked this morning, I don’t think you’re out of the running.”
Seokmin exhales, half-laughs. “You give pretty good pep talks.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve had practice.”
He thinks of Jihoon. Friday night dinners. Lingering kisses. The feeling of maybe, maybe, maybe.
But he just claps Seokmin on the back and says, “Go on, lover boy. Don’t let the coffee get cold.”
When Soonyoung’s back at his desk, he waits until Seokmin settles in, headphones on and tapping along to whatever lo-fi playlist he’s pretending not to cry to today. Once the coast is clear, he swivels his chair slightly and catches Seungkwan’s eye across the cubicle wall. With the utmost seriousness, he raises his thumb in the air like a covert agent confirming a completed mission. Seungkwan visibly perks up and nods once.
Then, Soonyoung glances to his left and nudges Jihoon with his elbow. Jihoon doesn’t look up from his monitor, but his fingers pause just a beat too long on his keyboard, and then he tips his head in a small, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment.
For a moment, their tiny triangle buzzes with silent victory.
The following morning, when Seokmin walks in at 8:50AM sharp, he’s holding a white paper bag stamped with a red logo they all recognize immediately.
“Oh my God,” Seungkwan gasps, half out of his chair. “The donuts?”
“The good donuts,” Soonyoung confirms in awe, rising to meet him at the lounge.
These aren’t your average break-room pastries. These are the fancy, too-expensive, once-a-quarter treat-yourself donuts from the shop two stops away that opens at 7AM and sells out by 10. The kind with real vanilla bean in the frosting and bacon crumbles on the maple glaze. A peace offering. A celebration.
Seokmin doesn’t say anything, just drops the bag on the counter and starts making himself a coffee. But he looks... lighter. Less haunted.
Seungkwan beams and punches Soonyoung in the arm. “God, we’re good at this.”
Jihoon picks one out without comment, takes a bite, and somehow manages to get a smear of frosting on the tip of his nose. It’s so small, barely noticeable, but Soonyoung can’t look away. His stomach flips violently at the sight— ridiculous, because it’s just sugar on skin, but all he can think about is leaning over and licking it clean. His mind supplies the sensation before he can stop it: the softness of Jihoon’s skin under his tongue, the faint sweetness of vanilla, Jihoon’s inevitable look of shock that might melt into something else if he’s lucky.
Instead, Soonyoung grips his coffee cup tighter, nearly crumpling the cardboard sleeve. Jihoon wipes the frosting away with the back of his hand, utterly oblivious. He doesn’t even notice the way Soonyoung’s ears burn, or how hard he’s staring.
Seungkwan is still chattering, Seokmin is stirring his coffee, the office hums around them like nothing’s out of place. But Soonyoung feels like he’s standing on the edge of something dangerous. Something he wants to fall into so badly it hurts.
month -3
“You know, we could ask for a raise,” Soonyoung says lazily.
Jihoon hums.
“We’ve made the company a lot of money! First Aurora, then Nebula, and now Atlas. And we both know we’ll probably get assigned together again soon.”
“I’ve been at the company for three months, I can’t exactly ask for a raise now.”
“You are essential to the company. Wonwoo used to be the only one able to understand data.”
“Still, three months.”
Soonyoung hadn’t realized it’s been three months of him knowing Jihoon. It feels simultaneously too long and too short. By now, he knows Jihoon almost as well as he does his own team, who he’s been working with for over a year. He definitely knows him better than anyone else from another team.
Jihoon takes another sip of his coffee, eyes on his screen, fingers moving over the keyboard in quick, sure motions. Soonyoung lets himself watch for a beat too long, until Jihoon glances up and raises an eyebrow.
“What?” Jihoon asks.
“Nothing,” Soonyoung says quickly. Then, because it’s impossible to stop himself: “Just thinking how the projects wouldn’t have worked without you. Or me, I guess. But mostly you.”
Jihoon snorts. “Don’t start getting sentimental on me on our third project.”
“Too late,” Soonyoung grins, leaning back in his chair. “You’re stuck with me now. Three months in, and this is a long-term partnership.”
Jihoon shakes his head, but there’s a tiny, reluctant curve to his mouth. “We’ll see.”
Soonyoung decides that’s basically a verbal contract.
A few hours earlier, Seungcheol had congratulated them on finalizing Project Atlas, even inviting them to “dine on the company’s dime” once they were done wrapping up. Now, instead of basking in that glory, they’re stuck finalizing the presentation and cleaning up the meeting room they’d been living in for the past few months.
Doing presentations with Jihoon is… difficult. For one thing, all of Jihoon’s decks are visually boring— monochromatic, serious, with exactly one acceptable font and absolutely no animations. It’s the complete opposite of Soonyoung’s style, which thrives on dramatic slide transitions, gradient backgrounds, and at least three colors from opposite ends of the spectrum.
He slouches in his chair, flipping between their current slide and his own (rejected) version of it. “You know, if we added just one swoosh effect—”
“No.” Jihoon doesn’t even look up from his laptop.
“Not even a big one. Like… a gentle swoosh.”
“That’s still a swoosh.”
Soonyoung groans, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Fine. But if the board falls asleep halfway through, that’s on you.”
“They’ll be awake,” Jihoon says dryly, typing something at lightning speed. “Because our content is good. Not because you threw confetti on every bullet point.”
Soonyoung is about to fire back when he catches it— just the smallest twitch of Jihoon’s mouth, like he’s holding back a smile.
Maybe one day he’ll convince him to use a single transition, but he’s okay being denied stuff by him for now.
Hours later— long after they were supposed to be out the door, but finally satisfied with the presentation— they find themselves slumped in their chairs, staring at each other over the now mostly-empty meeting room.
“So… dinner?” Soonyoung asks, stretching his arms above his head. “Seungcheol’s treat. Could be nice.”
Jihoon makes a face. “It’s already late. And we’re both going to that team dinner on Friday anyway.”
“Yeah, but that’s with everyone. This would be—” Soonyoung hesitates, twirling his pen, “— a well-earned victory feast. Just the two of us. No polite small talk with Nayeon. She’s scary.”
Jihoon smirks faintly. “And yet, you sound way too tired to even stand up right now.”
He isn’t wrong. Soonyoung feels like he could melt into the chair and sleep there. “… Fine. Friday it is.”
They pack up their things and leave the building together, the late-autumn air smacking them in the face the moment they step outside. Their breaths cloud instantly, puffs of white in the dim streetlight. By the time they reach the station, Soonyoung’s hands are buried deep in his coat pockets and his teeth are clenched to keep from chattering.
“God, it’s cold,” he mutters.
He’s always been bad at dressing for cold weather— used to running warm, even in winter. But lately, he’s been feeling it more. Maybe he’s getting old, because now a mid-November night wind is enough to make him feel like his bones are icing over.
“You didn’t bring a scarf,” Jihoon tsks, giving him a once-over that’s far too judgmental for someone who’s also wearing sneakers in this weather. “Wait here.”
Before Soonyoung can ask what he means, Jihoon disappears into the little convenience store by the station entrance. A few minutes later, he comes back holding a thick, navy scarf.
“Jihoon—”
“Hold still.” Jihoon steps close, looping the scarf snugly around his neck. His fingers are quick and a little rough, but when he tucks the ends in and gives them a final pat, Soonyoung feels a strange, concentrated warmth that has nothing to do with the wool.
“There,” Jihoon says simply, like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just casually short-circuit Soonyoung’s entire night.
It’s stupid, really. It’s just a scarf. But Soonyoung can’t help smiling into it, breathing in faint traces of store-fresh fabric and the lingering scent of Jihoon’s hand cream. His chest feels warmer than his neck does.
He catches Jihoon glancing at him out of the corner of his eye on the escalator down to the platform— like he’s making sure Soonyoung’s still wearing it properly, or maybe just checking that he’s warm enough.
The scarf will probably live in Soonyoung’s bag from now on, ready for the next time he forgets. Not because he’s careless, but because he knows Jihoon will notice.
💻
Soonyoung considers himself a good friend.
He remembers people’s favorite drinks, sends memes at 2AM, buys snacks when someone’s stressed, and never forgets to check in after a long meeting. He’s not perfect, but he pays attention. He’s thoughtful. That’s why his teammates like him— because he cares.
Which is why it feels like a slap in the face when, sitting in the after-office lounge on a Friday night, he hears Seungcheol raise his glass and say, “Happy birthday, Jihoon-ah.”
The clink of glassware rings out, and Jihoon nods, looking completely unbothered.
Soonyoung freezes mid-sip. His mouth goes dry. Birthday? Today? Jihoon’s birthday is today?
He whips his head toward Jihoon, who is sipping calmly, like this is no big deal, like it isn’t a fundamental betrayal. “What?” Soonyoung blurts, louder than intended. “It’s your birthday?”
Jihoon blinks at him, then shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?!” Soonyoung repeats, setting his drink down with too much force. “When were you planning to tell me? Tomorrow? Next year? On your deathbed?”
Seungkwan snickers into his glass. Seungcheol just raises his eyebrows, clearly entertained. Jihoon, meanwhile, looks maddeningly relaxed, which only makes Soonyoung sulk harder.
“Unbelievable,” Soonyoung mutters, slumping back in his chair. He crosses his arms, looking away like a child who’s just been denied candy. “I thought you cared about me.”
Jihoon finally sighs, setting his drink down. “I do. I just don’t like making a big deal out of it. That’s all.”
Something about the way he says it— soft, almost defensive— knocks some of the air out of Soonyoung’s sulk. He peeks at Jihoon, whose expression is carefully neutral but whose ears are suspiciously pink.
“Oh,” Soonyoung says, voice smaller now. “Well… still. You should’ve told me.”
Jihoon’s lips twitch. “Why? So you could throw me a parade?”
“Yes,” Soonyoung says immediately, dead serious. “Exactly that. With banners. And balloons. And cake. At least cake.”
Jihoon huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously kind to you,” Soonyoung insists, leaning forward again, his sulk melting into something more earnest. “And now I’m offended you robbed me of the chance to prove it.”
Jihoon looks at him for a long moment before turning back to his glass. But he’s smiling now, faint and reluctant, like maybe the idea of cake and balloons doesn’t sound so bad.
Soonyoung sulks dramatically, arms crossed, while the others at their table try (and fail) not to laugh at his outrage.
“Don’t be so sensitive, Soonyoung-ah,” Jeongyeon says, smirking over her glass. “Not everyone plans their life around you knowing their birthday.”
“I would have though!” Soonyoung protests, indignant. “I would’ve gotten him something! I would’ve—”
“— written him a song and danced it in the break room?” Nayeon teases.
“Shut up,” Soonyoung grumbles, but his ears turn red.
Across the table, Dahyun leans toward Seungkwan, stage-whispering, “Imagine not telling your supposed favorite colleague it’s your birthday.”
Seungkwan gasps, clutching his chest like he’s heard a scandal. “Cold-blooded.”
Jihoon only rolls his eyes and mutters, “You’re all annoying.”
But the corner of his mouth betrays him, twitching upward. He doesn’t dislike the noise around him, the way everyone is chattering, clinking glasses, and poking fun. It keeps the spotlight off him, which is all he wanted anyway.
Still, when the night winds down, Jihoon is more than a little relieved to slip out of the restaurant with Soonyoung at his side. The air outside is sharp with November chill, and they walk shoulder to shoulder toward the station, their footsteps echoing against the quiet street.
“So,” Soonyoung says, after a block of silence. “Birthday boy.”
Jihoon hums.
“What do you want?”
Jihoon glances at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—” Soonyoung kicks a pebble down the sidewalk, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “— what do you want for your birthday? Like, if you could have anything. A gift. An experience. Whatever.”
Jihoon scoffs lightly. “I don’t need anything.”
“Wrong answer.”
Jihoon side-eyes him. “There’s no wrong answer.”
“There is when you’re talking to me,” Soonyoung insists, grinning at him. But the grin doesn’t fully mask the seriousness underneath. “Come on. I don’t like the idea of you just… slipping by without anyone noticing. You deserve better than that. So tell me.”
Jihoon falters for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity. He looks ahead again, watching their breath fog in the cold air. His instinct is to brush it off, to keep it light— but the weight of Soonyoung’s gaze makes it harder than usual.
After a pause, he says quietly, “I just… like when people remember me. That’s enough.”
Soonyoung slows his steps. His chest feels tight, not in the bad way, but in the way where he wants to grab Jihoon by the shoulders and shake him until he believes he’s worth remembering a thousand times over.
“That’s easy, then,” Soonyoung murmurs. “I’ll remember you every time.”
Jihoon laughs under his breath, like it’s ridiculous, but his ears are burning. “You’re such a sap.”
“Maybe,” Soonyoung admits, nudging Jihoon’s arm with his elbow. “But think about it, okay? What you want. Because I’m getting you something, whether you like it or not.”
Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. But his lips curve, small and reluctant, and that’s all the answer Soonyoung needs.
Finally, he says, almost too quiet for the night air to catch: “Something small. Something only you’d think to give me.”
Then, after a beat— Jihoon smirks, faint but wicked— “Or sex. Both work.”
Soonyoung chokes on a laugh, shoving him lightly with his shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mm,” Jihoon hums. “You asked.”
That night, Soonyoung gives him the best blowjob he’s ever given. He takes his time, careful and deliberate, letting Jihoon unravel beneath him until there’s nothing left but ragged breaths and the tight curl of his fingers in Soonyoung’s hair. His jaw aches by the end, and he swallows even though he doesn’t usually, because Jihoon deserves it tonight.
When Jihoon finally opens his eyes again, cheeks flushed, the slow smile he gives Soonyoung makes the tension in his jaw feel like nothing at all. It’s soft, it’s rare, and it’s worth everything.
A week later, when they’re back in the office, Soonyoung drops something small on Jihoon’s desk without saying a word. Jihoon blinks down at it— a secondhand book of handwritten sheet music, worn and dog-eared from decades of use. Not famous scores, but old folk songs, student compositions, things passed from one musician to another. Jihoon had once mentioned, in that offhand way of his, how he loved the history of music being preserved through scribbles and margin notes. He probably thought no one was listening.
Inside the cover, in Soonyoung’s messy scrawl:
Happy birthday, a little late. From your the sap.
Jihoon doesn’t say thank you out loud. He just looks at Soonyoung across the office, long and steady, until Soonyoung squirms under the weight of it. And then Jihoon’s lips curve again— that same small, reluctant smile.
The kind Soonyoung would do anything to earn.
month -2
Soonyoung loves December. It might be his favorite month of the year, even though that’s cliché.
Despite how bad he dresses for the weather, he loves when the cold starts to bite a little— not yet the kind that makes people miserable, but sharp enough to remind him of how alive he is. He loves the way nights stretch longer, how the streets glow with string lights, how cafés smell faintly of cinnamon even if he’s only passing by. He loves the holiday bonus that shows up in his paycheck, yes, but even more than that, he loves the excuse December gives everyone to slow down, to gather, to look for reasons to celebrate.
Most importantly, he loves Christmas.
He loves everything about it: the corny songs, the predictable movies, the ridiculous sweaters. He loves the rituals— hanging ornaments, wrapping presents badly, watching snow fall outside the office windows and insisting it’s magical even when it turns into slush by morning. Christmas makes him feel like a kid again, like the world is a little softer and kinder just for a while.
So when the office announces that this year they’ll be doing Secret Santa, Soonyoung nearly vibrates out of his chair. He watches the slips of paper being folded and dropped into a bowl, his knee bouncing with anticipation as the bowl makes its way around the table. Drawing names is always the best part— half thrill, half terror, and entirely fun.
He claps his hands once, beaming. “Okay, let’s go! Fate, don’t fail me now.”
The bowl comes to him, crinkling with the weight of folded slips. He digs his hand inside dramatically, shaking it around like he’s about to pull a lottery ticket. A couple of people groan at his antics, but he doesn’t care— this is important.
He unfolds the paper under the table, heart racing for no reason other than the thrill of the game.
Lee Jihoon.
Soonyoung’s face lights up instantly, his grin so wide Junhui from IT nudges him suspiciously. “You look way too happy,” he whispers. “What’d you get?”
“None of your business,” Soonyoung shoots back, tucking the paper into his pocket like it’s classified intel.
Inside, though, he’s buzzing. Jihoon! Of all people! The possibilities unravel in his head at once— music-related gifts, something practical for his desk, maybe something warm since Jihoon is always scolding him for forgetting scarves. Or… something more personal. Something that would make Jihoon look at him the way he did last Friday night, soft and a little amused, like he wasn’t expecting Soonyoung to get it right but was glad he did anyway.
By the time the bowl has made its way back to the front, Soonyoung already has a page-long mental list. And the thought of Jihoon unwrapping a gift from him— chosen carefully, deliberately— makes his chest feel like it’s glowing.
Jihoon notices right away, of course.
Soonyoung’s practically vibrating at his desk, typing with a grin that keeps slipping out every few seconds. It’s distracting. Annoying, even. Jihoon squints at him over his monitor.
“You look suspicious,” he says flatly.
Soonyoung blinks, all faux innocence. “Suspicious? I look festive. It’s December, Jihoon-ah. The spirit of Christmas is in the air!”
“If you say so,” Jihoon mutters, clicking back to his spreadsheet.
Soonyoung leans over their shared partition. “Who’d you get for Secret Santa?”
“Not telling you.” Jihoon doesn’t even look up.
“What? Why not?”
“Because it’s secret Santa. That’s the whole point.”
Soonyoung huffs, slumping dramatically in his chair. “But I told you I was excited!”
“That doesn’t mean I have to tell you anything.”
“You’re cruel.” He drapes himself halfway across the partition, staring at Jihoon with the most pitiful expression he can muster. “Come on, give me a hint.”
“No.”
“A tiny one?”
“No.”
Soonyoung groans and drops his forehead onto the divider, making Jihoon’s pen rattle. “You’re the worst coworker I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks,” Jihoon says dryly, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.
It doesn’t escape Soonyoung’s notice. And that tiny, reluctant smile makes him grin all over again, brighter than ever.
Soonyoung gives up on Jihoon (for now) and swivels in his chair, rolling over to where Seungkwan and Seokmin are sitting.
“So,” he starts, casual in the way someone not casual at all might be, “Who’d you guys get for Secret Santa?”
Seungkwan doesn’t even look up from his computer. “Oh my god. You’re unbelievable. Didn’t you just pester Jihoon about this?”
“Yes, but he’s heartless. You, on the other hand, are full of Christmas cheer.”
“I’m full of deadlines,” Seungkwan snaps, furiously typing. “Let me work.”
Soonyoung pouts and swivels toward Seokmin instead. “What about you, Seokkie?”
Seokmin immediately flushes, his ears turning pink as he ducks his head. “Uh. N-No one. Doesn’t matter.”
Soonyoung narrows his eyes. “... Oh my god. You got Mingyu, didn’t you?”
Seokmin’s blush deepens, which is answer enough.
Soonyoung gasps, clutching his chest in delight. “This is perfect. You have to get him something sexy. Like yourself in lingerie. Or—” he waggles his brows, “A leash.”
“Hyung!” Seokmin yelps, covering his face.
Seungkwan slams his hands down on the desk. “Can you not? Some of us are trying to keep our jobs.”
Soonyoung just laughs, spinning back toward his desk with a mischievous grin, already plotting.
God, he loves December.
💻
The streets are buzzing with Christmas energy— lights strung up on lampposts, shop windows decorated with fake snow and garlands, and the faint sound of carolers down the block.
Soonyoung tugs on Jihoon’s sleeve as they step into the mall. “Come on, come on, we have so much to get through. I need at least five presents, maybe six, depending on how greedy my sister is this year.”
Jihoon exhales like a man who’s already regretting life choices. “Remind me why I agreed to this.”
“Because you care about me,” Soonyoung chirps, looping his arm through Jihoon’s before he can pull away.
Jihoon shoots him a look but doesn’t shake him off.
They weave through the crowd together, Soonyoung practically bouncing at every store window while Jihoon walks with his usual steady pace, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. When they pass a stall selling hot chocolate, Soonyoung stops abruptly, nearly yanking Jihoon with him.
“Two, please,” he tells the vendor before Jihoon can protest. He hands Jihoon one of the cups, grinning. “Fuel for the shopping marathon.”
Jihoon sighs, but he accepts it. His ears are pink.
For a while, they walk in comfortable silence, Soonyoung pointing out silly sweaters and overly sparkly decorations, Jihoon pretending not to laugh. But eventually, Soonyoung’s smile wavers, just a little.
“So…” he starts carefully, “You’re going home for Christmas?”
Jihoon hums. “Yeah. Flying out tomorrow. I’ll work from home until New Year’s.”
Soonyoung tries to cover his disappointment by slurping loudly from his cup. “Right. So I won’t see you for, like, forever.”
Jihoon glances at him sideways. “It’s just a few weeks.”
“A few weeks is forever,” Soonyoung insists. His voice dips quieter, more earnest. “I’m gonna miss you.”
Jihoon stops walking for half a second, startled, before nudging him forward with his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”
But there’s the smallest curve to his lips, and it feels like Christmas lights flicking on inside Soonyoung’s chest.
They’ve been wandering the mall for over an hour, and Jihoon has reached his limit.
“I need a break,” he mutters, tugging his scarf tighter. “You keep going. I’ll be in the record store.”
Soonyoung pauses mid-step, a knit reindeer sweater already halfway lifted from the rack. He blinks, then beams. “Perfect! I’ll go get you after I’m done, so you don’t get lost.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes, but he disappears into the shop, the bell above the door jingling softly behind him.
The second he’s gone, Soonyoung bolts.
He makes a beeline for a small boutique he’d spotted earlier— tucked between a candle shop and a music store, warm light spilling over displays of fountain pens, leather notebooks, and sleek little gadgets. The kind of place that screams Jihoon without even trying.
Soonyoung runs his hand over the shelves, mind racing. He wants something thoughtful, something that says I know you, something that isn’t too much but is still just for him. His gaze lands on a beautiful, compact pair of noise-cancelling headphones in a matte black finish. Stylish. Practical. Perfect for someone who spends half his life hiding in music.
Soonyoung doesn’t hesitate. He buys them on the spot, stuffing the box deep into his shopping bag. It is way over the price limit they had set for Secret Santa, but no one needs to know, right?
He heads back to the record store.
Through the glass, he spots Jihoon standing in an aisle, flipping through sheet music with his head bowed, completely absorbed. The sight makes his chest squeeze in that annoying, wonderful way.
Soonyoung pushes the door open and calls lightly, “Miss me?”
Jihoon doesn’t even look up. “Not even a little.”
But there’s the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth, and Soonyoung can’t stop grinning all over again.
💻
The office’s little break room had been decorated within an inch of its life.
Tinsel on the whiteboards, a paper Christmas tree taped to the fridge, someone had hung mistletoe over the microwave (Jeonghan swore it wasn’t him, which of course means it was). Everyone is crammed in with Santa hats and cups of cheap hot chocolate, chattering as Sana prepares the bowl with the names to draw.
They’d decided to do it popcorn style: each person has to stand up, hand over their gift, and everyone else tries to guess who their Secret Santa is based on clues they provide.
“Alright,” Seungcheol, as CEO slash self-declared Santa, announces. “Who’s brave enough to go first?”
Sana rings the desk bell Chan had given her in advance and giggles. “Me!”
The exchange kicks off — Jeongyeon shrieking at her rhinestone calculator, Dahyun nearly crying laughing at Seungkwan’s meme calendar, Mingyu actually hugging Seokmin for the apron (“You knew I needed this!”), Seokmin bright red for about ten minutes afterward. The gifts are chaotic but thoughtful, everyone laughing and teasing as they go.
Soonyoung receives a tiger shaped and patterned stress ball from Tzuyu, which deeply moves him. She’s usually very serious, and knowing she knows Soonyoung even a little bit— even if it is, perhaps, her job— makes him feel seen.
Then it’s Soonyoung’s turn. He goes last, which is torture for someone who’s jumping out of his seat in excitement to hand over his gift.
“So… my person is someone who works very hard, who never takes breaks, who acts like he hates Christmas—”
“I do hate Christmas,” Jihoon mutters from the corner.
“— and who really needs a little more peace and quiet in his life.” With a dramatic flourish, Soonyoung pulls out a neatly wrapped box and hands it across the room to Jihoon. “Merry Christmas, partner.”
Jihoon squints, suspicious, but carefully tears at the paper. As soon as the headphones box appeared, the whole room erupted.
“Wait, wait, aren’t those like… three times the budget?” Mina gasps.
“Matte black?!” Hansol leans forward. “Those are fancy.”
“Typical Soonyoung,” Seungkwan groans. “Rules are just vague suggestions to you, huh?”
Jihoon stares at the box, blinking. His first instinct is to protest, it’s clear in his face— too expensive, too much, way past the agreed limit— but when he looks up, Soonyoung is watching him with such open delight that he seems to decide against it.
“… Thanks.” The tiniest smile tugs at his mouth.
“You’re welcome,” Soonyoung says softly, eyes crinkling, as if the whole rowdy office has faded away.
Of course, the moment doesn’t last long.
“Honestly, Soonyoung,” Jihyo laughs, sipping her hot chocolate. “You’re gonna ruin next year’s Secret Santa, everyone will think we need to buy Apple Watches or something.”
“I vote we ban him,” Jeonghan declares. “Exile.”
“Seconded,” Seokmin chimes in from behind Mingyu’s shoulder.
Soonyoung only shrugs, unapologetic. “What? It’s Christmas. And he deserves it.”
Jihoon ducks his head quickly, ears burning red.
The party thins out slowly, after they finish the gift exchange. People gather their coats, some heading off to late dinners, others trailing toward the bar down the street. The tinsel on the floor is already unraveling, the hot chocolate pot nearly empty.
Soonyoung stays behind, waiting for Jihoon to stand up first. He doesn’t until everyone is finally gone, making them the only two left.
“You’re still here?” Soonyoung asks, lazily picking the last cookie off the tray from the snack bar. He wanders closer, hat tilted, cheeks pink from laughter.
Jihoon gives him a look. “You’re still here too.”
“Obviously. I was waiting for you.”
That makes Jihoon blink, caught off guard. “Why?”
Soonyoung grins, leaning against the table right beside him. “Because I wanted to see if you actually liked it.”
Jihoon glances down at the box, then back up. “… It’s too much.”
“So?”
“So,” Jihoon repeats stubbornly. “There was a budget. You broke it.”
Soonyoung shrugs. “Worth it.”
Jihoon scoffs, but Soonyoung could se his ears turning warm. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing.”
Jihoon’s head snaps up, glare sharp— but Soonyoung just laughs, eyes crinkling, softer than the teasing words.
“Listen,” Soonyoung says after a pause, his voice quieter now, gentler. “You work harder than anyone here. You never let yourself rest. If this makes your life even a little better… then I don’t care about the rules. I just wanted to get you something I knew you’d like.”
Jihoon looks down quickly, once again, fingers curling against the sleek cardboard edges. “Thank you.” It comes out barely audible, but Soonyoung hears it anyway.
The silence stretches, not uncomfortable this time.
Then Soonyoung bumps his shoulder lightly against Jihoon’s. “You’re welcome. Don’t get used to it though— next year you’re getting socks.”
Jihoon huffs, but the corner of his mouth betrays him with the smallest tug upward.
By the time they finally step out of the building, the streets are quiet and slick with frost. The air is sharp enough to sting, and Soonyoung immediately hunches deeper into his scarf— the one Jihoon had given him not long ago.
Jihoon, of course, doesn’t even look cold— he bounds down the steps with his coat, looking serious, like part of a hallmark movie.
Soonyoung smiles at the image, puffing little clouds of breath into the night sky. “Man, I love December,” he says, stretching his arms wide like the city belongs to him.
Jihoon rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. He seems comfortable enough, walking by his side in the cold.
At the corner, they stop. The air between them turns quieter, heavier, like they both know this is where they’d split for a while.
“So…” Soonyoung rocks on his heels, grinning but a little hesitant. “I guess this is it. Merry Christmas, Jihoon-ah. Don’t forget about me when you’re hiding in your parents’ house until New Year’s.”
Jihoon snorts. “Don’t count on it.” His voice isn’t sharp, though. Too soft. Too fond.
Soonyoung tilts his head, smile lopsided. “I’ll text you. Every day. Annoy you until you come back.”
Before he can add another joke, Jihoon leans forward and kisses him. Just like that. Quick, almost clumsy, barely more than a brush— yet deliberate enough that Soonyoung feels it everywhere at once.
By the time Jihoon pulls back, Soonyoung is frozen. His grin slips, his eyes wide. He can’t move, can’t breathe. They’ve kissed before— plenty of times— but never like this. Never out here, in the cold street, coats on, no bed or darkness to hide in.
Jihoon’s face twists. “What?” he mutters, defensive already.
“We’ve never done that before,” Soonyoung blurts, his breath fogging the air.
Jihoon frowns. “We have—” He cuts himself off, realization flashing across his face before he looks away, ears turning pink. “Shut up.”
But Soonyoung can’t. He’s still staring, lips parted, the corners tugging up again— slower this time, gentler, like the smile belongs only to Jihoon.
“It’s just Christmas,” Jihoon says, scowling at the ground. “Don’t make it weird.”
Soonyoung laughs, soft and incredulous, his chest tight with something he can’t name. “Too late.”
The city hums around them, cars passing, people walking, but for a moment it feels like they’re the only two awake.
💻
Soonyoung’s mom has this uncanny, almost terrifying ability: one look, and she just knows.
When he was twelve, he tried to sneak into the house after breaking a neighbor’s window with a baseball— she took one look at him and said, “You’d better go apologize before dinner.”
When he was sixteen, he got dumped after his first real relationship, and he hadn’t even opened his mouth before she sighed, “She wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”
When he was twenty, stumbling home after one too many drinks with his friends from university, she just raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Hangover soup tomorrow morning.”
It had never failed. Not once.
So when he steps into his childhood home the day before Christmas, dragging his suitcase behind him, he knows he’s doomed.
“Hi, Mom,” he says, wrapping her in a quick hug. The familiar warmth of home wraps around him instantly— her perfume, the faint smell of pine and soy sauce from the kitchen, the hum of carols playing from the radio.
But the second they pull apart, her eyes narrow just slightly, and then soften.
“You’ve met someone,” she says.
Soonyoung blinks. “What?”
Her smile is small, knowing. “You like someone.”
His throat goes dry. “Mom, what does that even mean? I don’t like anyone.”
But the betrayal is instant— before he can shove the thought away, an image flickers across his mind: Jihoon, standing outside the office in his scarf, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes downcast right before he’d leaned in.
Soonyoung’s ears burn. He crosses his arms like a shield. “You’re making things up.”
His mother just hums, completely unconvinced. “Mhm. If you say so.” She pats his cheek, already turning toward the kitchen. “Wash up, dinner’s almost ready. And tell me about her later. Or him.”
“Mom!”
But she’s gone, leaving Soonyoung gaping in the hallway, his heart hammering way too fast for comfort.
Christmas passes by quietly, in the way it always does. He spends his days lounging in his childhood home, catching up with his sister, laughing over old photo albums, and eating until he thinks he might burst. His mom cooks as if she were feeding an army— spicy stews, braised short ribs, plates of perfectly fried pancakes— and Soonyoung happily lets himself be spoiled.
Still, no matter how many servings of kimchi she sets in front of him, his mother wouldn’t let go of her theory.
“There’s someone special in the city, isn’t there?” she asks, more than once.
Soonyoung rolls his eyes so often it’s starting to hurt. “There’s not.”
But she just smiles knowingly, like she’d already won, and it makes his skin crawl with something he can’t name.
The truth is, she’s wrong. She has to be wrong. He doesn't like Jihoon.
They’re… friends. Well, sort of friends. Friends who bicker. Friends who sleep together. Friends who had kissed outside the office which made his chest feel like it was collapsing in on itself, but that’s irrelevant.
He isn’t about to explain that to his mom. She doesn’t need to know about his sex life— especially not the confusing, undefined, maddening thing that exists between him and Jihoon.
So instead, he smiles, stuffed another dumpling into his mouth, and changed the subject.
Still, every night when he lays down in his old room, surrounded by posters he’d never taken off the walls, the thought tugs at him anyway. His mom seems so sure, and she’s never been wrong before.
Which begs the question: if she is right, and he does like someone— why was Jihoon the only person who came to mind?
By the time the week winds down, he’s itching to get back to the city, to noise and motion and— though he won’t admit it out loud— the chance of seeing Jihoon again after New Year’s.
Soonyoung makes a mistake, though. He makes the mistake of agreeing to spend New Year’s Eve with Seokmin and Mingyu.
He should have known better.
Somewhere around the second round of snacks and the third dumb party game, it dawns on him that he’s essentially third-wheeling two people who aren’t even dating.
Which is ridiculous.
Absolutely, cosmically ridiculous.
Seokmin and Mingyu kiss like they’re in high school— clumsy and constant, sneaking pecks between sentences, grinning into each other’s mouths— and yet, if anyone asks, they would both say oh, we’re just friends.
It’s absurd. Two people so unbelievably into each other that the room tilts toward them, and still not making it official.
Soonyoung sits on the couch, arms crossed, watching Seokmin feed Mingyu a chip like he can’t possibly lift his own hand, and wants to scream.
Mostly because it’s like watching his own life played back at him, except worse, because these two guys actually like each other.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Seokmin teases, catching Soonyoung’s glare.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” Soonyoung shoots back.
“You’re judging us.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m just—” He gestures vaguely, exasperated. “— witnessing this circus.”
Mingyu laughs and leans into Seokmin’s shoulder, unbothered. “You’re just jealous.”
Soonyoung scoff. “Of what? Your inability to define a relationship?”
The room goes very still. Mingyu blinks at him. Seokmin’s ears turn red, but he doesn’t deny it— he just ducks his head and mutters something like, “We’re… figuring it out.”
Soonyoung groans into his hands. “God, it’s literally painful watching you two. You’re so disgustingly obvious. You’re worse than—” He cuts himself off.
Worse than me and Jihoon.
He swallows hard, shaking the thought away.
Seokmin, of course, notices. “Worse than who?” he asks, suspicious.
“No one.” Soonyoung jumps up, heading toward the fridge for another beer. “Forget it.”
Behind him, Mingyu is whispering something into Seokmin’s ear, and Seokmin’s laugh follows him into the kitchen— bright and giddy and in love.
Soonyoung cracks open the can, takes a long sip, and tells himself he isn’t sulking. Not about Seokmin and Mingyu. Not about Jihoon. Definitely not.
When the clock hits midnight, fireworks burst outside the windows, and everyone shouts the countdown together. Mingyu whoops, Seokmin laughs, and then— of course— they kiss.
Soonyoung claps half-heartedly, but the sound gets swallowed up by the fireworks and the way Seokmin leans in like he’d been waiting all year for this moment.
A heavy feeling settles in his chest. He should be happy for them— one of his best friends finally getting what he wanted, even if he won’t admit it out loud. It should be heartwarming. Romantic.
Instead, it feels wrong. It feels like something is digging under his ribs, sharp and insistent.
He slips away before they can notice, pushing the sliding door open and stepping out onto the balcony. The freezing air bits at his skin, stinging his cheeks, but he welcomes it. At least the cold is an explanation for the tightness in his chest.
Almost without thinking, he pulls out his phone. His thumb hovers, then moves on its own. Next thing he knows, the line is ringing.
Jihoon picks up almost instantly. Like he’d been waiting for it.
“It’s barely been a minute in 2025, Soonyoung,” he says flatly, no greeting.
Soonyoung’s lips curve, fond despite himself. “Happy New Year, Jihoon-ah.”
There’s a pause. Then, softer: “Happy New Year.”
“You at home?” Soonyoung asks, leaning his elbows on the railing. “Or any crazy parties in Busan?”
“No parties. I’m home.” Jihoon’s voice is quiet, but not tired. “With my family. They’ve all gone to bed, though. They waited for the clock to hit midnight and called it a night.”
Soonyoung smiles at the thought— Jihoon tucked away in his room, light low, probably still awake out of stubbornness more than celebration.
“Bet you didn’t even bother with a countdown,” Soonyoung teases.
“I didn’t need to. I knew you were going to call.”
Soonyoung blinks, thrown off. “What made you so sure?”
“I can always count on you to bother me.”
“Yah! I just escaped this insane party I’m at to come call you!”
“Insane party? You’re probably third-wheeling for Mingyu and Seokmin. C’mon.”
Soonyoung sighs dramatically. “You’re right. I’m sick of them.”
Jihoon hums, unbothered. “That’s because you hate being left out. You always need someone to look at you, to keep you company. Otherwise you get restless.”
That shuts him up for a beat, his heart stumbling at the certainty in Jihoon’s voice. Because it’s true— more true than Soonyoung wants to admit.
“… Well,” he manages eventually, voice quieter, more tentative. “Guess you know me too well.”
“Of course I do,” Jihoon says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.
Soonyoung tips his head back against the railing of the balcony, warmth curling through him despite the winter chill.
They don’t say much after that. They don’t need to. Just quiet breaths and the faint crackle of fireworks through the speaker, and the feeling that— even miles apart— they aren’t really alone.
When Soonyoung finally slips his phone back into his pocket and goes inside, the sight of Seokmin and Mingyu still making out on the couch doesn’t even phase him. He doesn’t feel like he’s missing out on something, anymore.
month -1
Soonyoung doesn’t even bother hiding it. The second Jihoon opens the door, he’s on him— kissing him like it’s been years, not two weeks. His hands are everywhere, tugging at Jihoon’s hoodie, dragging him closer until there’s no space left between them.
Jihoon stumbles back with a sharp exhale, letting himself be walked into the couch. If he notices how desperate Soonyoung is— how his kisses are sloppy, how his hands shake with need— he’s kind enough not to mention it.
Instead, he sinks into the cushions and lets Soonyoung climb on top of him, lets him take until he’s breathless.
“Missed me that much?” Jihoon murmurs against his lips, voice low and smug, even as he tilts his chin up to be kissed again.
Soonyoung groans, grinding down against him. “You have no idea.”
Jihoon’s smirk falters when Soonyoung bites down on his lip, hard enough to make him gasp. That’s all the invitation Soonyoung needs— he kisses Jihoon's jaw, down his throat, sucking marks with a single-mindedness that makes Jihoon’s breath catch.
Clothes come off in a tangle. Soonyoung’s fingers are clumsy with urgency, tugging Jihoon’s shirt over his head, shoving his sweatpants down. He doesn’t even bother folding his own clothes, just kicks them aside until skin is pressed to skin.
Jihoon lets him, patient in the way only Jihoon can be— watching with hooded eyes, lips parted, until Soonyoung is rutting against him like he’s lost his mind.
“Fuck, Soonyoung,” Jihoon groans, nails digging into his shoulders. “Slow down.”
“I can’t,” Soonyoung admits, breathless, forehead pressed to Jihoon’s. “I need you, I—”
Jihoon, ever cruel in his softness, flips them with startling strength, pinning Soonyoung down. His palms press into Soonyoung’s chest for a beat, keeping him there, before sliding lower— claiming, teasing.
He straddles him, rolling his hips slow and deliberate against Soonyoung’s cock, grinding in a way that makes Soonyoung choke on a sound and buck up shamelessly.
“Then let me take care of it,” Jihoon says, voice rough now— like it costs him something to hold it steady.
The first kiss is harsh, all teeth and hunger. Jihoon licks into his mouth, swallows every gasp, every whimper Soonyoung can’t hold back.
He barely remembers Jihoon prepping himself, given how desperate he is for it. He does remember Jihoon sinking down onto him in one long, dizzying slide.
Soonyoung’s head falls back, a strangled sound tearing out of him. Jihoon doesn’t give him time to breathe— he sets a pace that’s merciless, grinding down hard and riding him like he’s punishing them both, like he’s trying to wring every ounce of desperation Soonyoung came in with.
Soonyoung clings, hands scrabbling at Jihoon’s thighs, his waist, anywhere he can hold on, desperate to anchor himself. Jihoon just takes and takes, snapping his hips forward, fucking himself down onto Soonyoung until he’s dizzy with it.
Soonyoung, for once, doesn’t fight it. He lets Jihoon see him unravel, lets him see every stuttered breath and broken moan, every ounce of surrender.There’s no winning here— only giving in.
By the time they come, Soonyoung’s body is trembling, head tipped back, voice wrecked from moaning Jihoon’s name. Jihoon collapses against him, chest heaving, and for a long while the only sound in the apartment is their ragged breathing.
Soonyoung presses a weak kiss to Jihoon’s temple, like he can’t help himself. Jihoon doesn’t call him out on it.
They’re tangled in the sheets, bodies still slick with sweat, Jihoon half-sprawled across Soonyoung’s chest. His hair sticks damply to his forehead, and Soonyoung resists the urge to brush it back, too aware that he’s already been too much tonight.
For a while, there’s only silence— Jihoon’s breathing evening out, Soonyoung’s heart still racing. It feels different this time, heavier.
“How was Busan?” Soonyoung asks quietly, his voice rough but careful, like he’s afraid to break the moment.
Jihoon hums, eyes still closed. “Cold. My mom wouldn’t stop feeding me. My dad kept asking me about Excel commands.” A pause, then softer: “It was nice, though.”
Soonyoung smiles without meaning to, tracing absent circles on Jihoon’s back. “I’m glad.”
Jihoon finally lifts his head, resting his chin on Soonyoung’s chest to look at him. The room is dim, city lights filtering faint through the curtains, and Soonyoung thinks it’s unfair how beautiful Jihoon looks like this— soft, unguarded, still flushed from him.
“You?” Jihoon asks.
Soonyoung hesitates, then shrugs. “The usual. My mom kept asking if I had someone in Seoul.” He laughs, but it comes out thin. “She was so sure I was hiding someone.”
Jihoon’s lips twitch, but instead of teasing, he just says, “She’s not wrong.”
The words land heavy between them. Soonyoung’s breath catches, and when he finally looks at Jihoon, he’s already looking back— steady, unreadable, but not pulling away.
Soonyoung doesn’t bother trying to joke it off. He swallows, nods a little, and says, “No. She’s not.”
Jihoon studies him a second longer, then settles back down against his chest, as if that answer was enough.
Soonyoung holds him tighter than he means to, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding with something that feels terrifyingly close to hope.
💻
Going back to the office is, quite frankly, a pain in the ass.
Deadlines from last year still cling stubbornly to every inbox, new projects pile up, and corporate memos drone on about the new year, new opportunities. By January 6th at 11 a.m., Soonyoung is already running on fumes.
The one thing keeping him from collapsing into his chair permanently is the conference in Osaka that Seungcheol has assigned him and Jihoon to.
Apparently, Aurora, Nebula and Atlas had been some of their biggest projects of the year prior, and now all three are getting showcased on an international stage. The company wants a strong pitch presence— people who know the products inside and out— and no one fits that description better than the two of them. Finally, all the late nights and coffee-fueled sprints are paying off.
They’re set to leave the second-to-last week of January, and just thinking about it makes the endless emails and meetings slightly more bearable.
“Hyung, you love me, don’t you?” Seungkwan pouts from across the desk, eyes wide and innocent. “You will bring me some Tokyo Banana, right? You can’t just go to Japan and not think of me.”
Soonyoung groans, rubbing at his temples. “Seungkwan, we’re going for work, not a shopping spree. But… fine. One box. Maybe two. Don’t get used to it.”
Seungkwan grins like he’s just won the lottery. “Yes! I knew it! You’re the best, hyung. Don’t forget, okay? Not even for a second.”
Jihoon, who’s been quietly sorting through their itineraries, glances up with a smirk. “You’re negotiating snacks before the plane tickets are even booked?”
Soonyoung shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s called motivation. If he’s happy when we come back, maybe the office won’t feel entirely like hell.”
By the time their departure day finally rolls around, Soonyoung’s already half-exhausted from the prep. Packing prototypes, presentation slides, all the tedious logistics that made this trip possible— it’s a miracle he even remembered to toss clothes into his suitcase. Jihoon, of course, looks disgustingly put-together, like the trip is just another line item on his schedule rather than the culmination of five months of back-breaking work.
“Passport?” Jihoon asks, before they’ve even left the lobby of their building.
Soonyoung pats his bag, affronted. “Yes, mom. I’m not five.”
Jihoon arches an eyebrow. “That’s not what Seungkwan said when he begged me to check your things this morning.”
Soonyoung groans, dragging his suitcase toward the waiting cab. “He’s acting like I’d leave the country without my ID. Which— by the way— I only did once. In college. And it was a field trip, not international travel.”
Jihoon hums, unconvinced, and slides into the backseat.
At Incheon, everything feels like a blur of queues and announcements. Jihoon handles check-in like a seasoned pro, fingers flying over the kiosk touchscreen, while Soonyoung goes on and on about the things he has to buy. He specially mentions Tokyo Banana, or Seungkwan would kill him.
“You do realize,” Jihoon says slowly, “That we are not going to Tokyo, right?”
Soonyoung freezes. “... Osaka doesn’t sell Tokyo Bananas?”
Jihoon just blinks.
“Oh my god,” Soonyoung mutters, palming his face. “He’s going to kill me.”
“You know you could,” Jihoon suggests dryly, “Not indulge him in the first place.”
“That’s literally not an option,” Soonyoung grumbles, hauling his bag through security.
The flight is mercifully short, though Soonyoung spends half of it bouncing in his seat, rambling about the presentations, about how big the convention center must be, about how they’re finally going to get noticed outside of Seoul. Jihoon pretends to be asleep for most of it, earbuds in, but Soonyoung knows he’s listening. He always is.
When they finally land in Osaka, the winter air hits them with a sharp bite, though it is not nearly as cold as Seoul. The city also feels alive in a different way— bright signs, chatter in Kansai dialect, the hum of trains overhead. Even dragging their luggage to the hotel feels like an adventure.
Soonyoung presses his nose to the cab window like an overeager kid. “Can you believe this? We actually made it. Aurora, Nebula and Atlas in an international conference.”
Jihoon glances at him, lips tugging upward in the faintest smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still have to present.”
Soonyoung beams, unbothered. “Still. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
For a second, Jihoon doesn’t answer. Just watches the blur of neon outside the window, something unreadable in his eyes.
The hotel lobby is warm, sleek, and humming with the quiet bustle of late check-ins. Soonyoung rolls his suitcase across the marble floor, trying not to look as travel-worn as he feels. Jihoon, naturally, looks untouched by the six-hour ordeal— calm, efficient, passport tucked neatly away as he handles the front desk like he’s done this a hundred times before.
Soonyoung half-listens as Jihoon checks them in, more focused on the dizzying chandelier overhead, the faint jazz playing from hidden speakers, the way this suddenly feels less like a business trip and more like some… getaway. Which is ridiculous.
“Room 1708,” the receptionist says in practiced Japanese-accented English, sliding the keycards across.
Jihoon nods, thanks her politely, and leads the way toward the elevators.
By the time they’re outside their door, Soonyoung’s already fantasizing about sprawling across crisp hotel sheets and forgetting about work until tomorrow. Jihoon swipes the card, pushes the door open, and flicks on the lights.
And that’s when Soonyoung freezes.
Because there, in the middle of the room, is not two beds, not even the polite twin beds you expect from a business booking—
It’s one. Big. Bed.
“Oh,” Jihoon says casually, stepping inside. He doesn’t even blink. Just sets his bag down by the closet like nothing’s wrong.
Soonyoung, meanwhile, is short-circuiting. “Wait— wait. What the— there’s— why is there only—” He gestures wildly at the bed as if pointing it out will make it split in two. “Jihoon. There’s one bed.”
Jihoon glances over his shoulder, utterly unbothered. “Yeah. Guess they mixed up the booking.”
“Guess they—?!” Soonyoung’s voice cracks. “Jihoon-ah. That’s not a small detail!”
Jihoon sits on the edge of the mattress, testing the bounce like he’s doing a consumer review. “It’s fine. We’ve shared before.”
Soonyoung almost chokes. “Shared—?! That’s— no— that was different.”
Jihoon tilts his head. “How?”
Soonyoung’s brain launches into frantic mental gymnastics. Because yes, technically, they’ve shared a bed before. Many, many times. Except those times were preceded by heated kisses and stripped clothes and the kind of sex that left the sheets a mess by morning. This— this is different. This is business. This is a conference. This is not one of those times.
So why does his heart feel like it’s trying to escape his chest?
“Because,” Soonyoung blurts, dragging his suitcase to the corner like it’s a shield, “This is… professional. Colleagues don’t… share beds.”
Jihoon lies back on the pillows, utterly unconcerned. “You and I both know we’re not normal colleagues.”
Soonyoung blinks. He has no comeback for that.
The silence stretches, heavy with implication. Jihoon closes his eyes, arms folding behind his head, looking like he owns the entire situation. Soonyoung swallows hard, trying not to think about how familiar this feels. How easy. How dangerous.
He tells himself it’s just one night. Just one bed. Just work.
He doesn’t quite believe it.
The bathroom fan hums as Soonyoung splashes water on his face, staring at his reflection like it might talk him down. He looks tired, sure, but mostly he looks… cornered. By a bed. By Jihoon. By the fact that he can’t stop replaying Jihoon’s words in his head.
When he comes out, Jihoon is already in bed, one arm thrown carelessly over the duvet, hair damp from his shower. The bedside lamp casts a warm glow across his face, and he looks so at ease that Soonyoung has to grip the doorframe for balance.
“Lights?” Jihoon murmurs, eyes half-lidded.
“Right. Yeah. Lights.”
Soonyoung flicks the switch, plunging the room into near-darkness, save for the city glow sneaking past the curtains. He crawls into the bed like it’s a minefield, careful to keep a safe zone of mattress between them. Except the mattress dips under his weight, and suddenly that distance feels… not so safe.
He lies stiffly on his back, staring at the ceiling. Jihoon shifts, the sheets rustling softly.
“You’re tense,” Jihoon mutters, voice already thick with sleep.
“I’m not,” Soonyoung hisses. “I’m… resting.”
Jihoon hums like he doesn’t believe him, then goes quiet. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, steady and soft. Soonyoung closes his eyes, telling himself he’ll fall asleep soon too.
He doesn’t. Not for a long while.
Morning comes too early, as it always does. Soonyoung wakes to the faint warmth of Jihoon’s shoulder brushing his, the sheets tangled between them. For a second, it feels alarmingly natural— like this is just how it is. He bolts upright before the thought can settle.
By the time they’re downstairs, Jihoon is crisp and efficient in a blazer, conference badge clipped neatly to his lapel. Soonyoung is trying to match the energy but feels a step behind, hair refusing to stay flat, tie slightly askew. Jihoon doesn’t comment, just reaches over and straightens his lanyard without looking. The casual familiarity of it makes Soonyoung’s pulse spike.
The conference itself is a blur of glossy banners, booths lined with eager startups, and industry veterans in tailored suits. Aurora and Atlas have their slot in one of the afternoon showcases, which means the morning is free to network.
Jihoon dives in like a fish in water— introducing himself to executives, shaking hands, pulling business cards out of thin air. Soonyoung trails behind, smiling when he remembers, chiming in when prompted. Mostly, he watches Jihoon work the room with a quiet confidence that’s more intimidating than any keynote speaker.
At one point, they pause by the coffee station, Jihoon checking their schedule on his phone. Soonyoung takes a sip of bitter conference brew and blurts, “You’re good at this.”
Jihoon looks up, brow raised. “At what?”
“At… people. Talking to them. Making them like you.”
Jihoon blinks, then snorts softly. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Soonyoung frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the one who had half the office following you around during Aurora just because you bought them coffee. Don’t act like you’re not good with people.”
Soonyoung stares at him, thrown off balance by the casual praise. Jihoon doesn’t even seem to notice, already moving on to double-check their presentation notes.
Soonyoung— god help him— feels his chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with work.
Their slot comes up faster than Soonyoung expects. One second, Jihoon is fussing with the projector cable, the next, they’re standing side by side in front of a room full of suits.
Jihoon handles the hard numbers with his usual precision, calm and collected as if he were reciting a grocery list. Soonyoung balances him out, leaning into the storytelling, cracking a small joke that earns a ripple of polite laughter. Somehow, their rhythm clicks— Jihoon’s sharp edges meeting Soonyoung’s warmth, making the pitch feel effortless.
When they finish, the applause is steady and approving. Jihoon gives a small bow. Soonyoung beams like they just won the lottery.
By late afternoon, the conference halls blur together in a haze of chatter and too-strong coffee. Jihoon shuts his notebook with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere that’s not here.”
That’s how they end up shoulder to shoulder in the crush of Dōtonbori, neon lights bouncing off the canal. Soonyoung insists on trying everything from takoyaki to melon bread, dragging Jihoon from one food stall to the next. Jihoon complains halfheartedly but still eats, cheeks puffed out as he chews while Soonyoung laughs at him.
They pause by the famous Glico running man sign, tourists all around them taking photos. Soonyoung raises his phone. “Come on, let’s take one too.”
Jihoon groans but doesn’t move away, letting Soonyoung tug him into frame. The photo comes out blurry, their smiles crooked but genuine. Soonyoung saves it without hesitation.
Later, when they’re walking back to the hotel, Jihoon quietly admits, “It was… fun.”
Soonyoung grins, warmth settling deep in his chest. “Yeah. It was.”
Once they finally enter their room, Jihoon drops his bag by the desk and immediately collapses onto the bed, groaning. “I’m never walking again, though.”
Soonyoung laughs, toeing his own shoes off. “That’s a shame. We still have one more day.”
“Guess you’ll have to carry me.” Jihoon rolls onto his back, eyes closed, voice soft with exhaustion but teasing.
It makes something warm bloom in Soonyoung’s chest. He’s used to Jihoon being sharp, withholding, bristly at the edges. But here, sprawled out on hotel sheets with his hair mussed and his guard down, Jihoon looks… comfortable. With him.
Soonyoung busies himself making tea with the little kettle, mostly to distract from the way his thoughts are spiraling. He sets a cup on the nightstand, nudges Jihoon’s arm. “Drink some before you fall asleep.”
Jihoon cracks an eye open, blinking up at him, then pushes himself upright just enough to take the mug. Their fingers brush, and the tiny contact sends Soonyoung’s pulse skittering.
“Thanks,” Jihoon says simply, sipping.
They sit there in companionable silence, the city lights flickering outside their window. Jihoon eventually leans sideways, head tipping against Soonyoung’s shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And Soonyoung freezes. Not because he doesn’t want it— god, he wants it too much— but because this feels like a line crossed into something softer, something dangerous.
He swallows, staring straight ahead. Friends do this, he tells himself. Friends share beds when traveling. Friends lean on each other after long days.
But then Jihoon hums, almost content, eyes slipping shut. And Soonyoung thinks: no. This doesn’t feel like friendship at all.
💻
The next morning, Soonyoung wakes up with a crick in his neck and Jihoon’s arm draped over his waist. He nearly levitates out of bed. Somehow, Jihoon’s the picture of calm, sitting at the desk scrolling through the presentation slides like nothing’s unusual.
“Morning,” Jihoon says, glancing over briefly. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t move.”
Soonyoung makes a strangled noise, grabs his suit jacket, and disappears into the bathroom before he can combust. Friends, he repeats in his head, friendsfriendsfriends. Totally normal to wake up like this, so domestic and everything. Totally normal.
At the conference, Jihoon is a machine— composed, sharp, giving perfectly timed answers when industry people stop them at their booth. Meanwhile, Soonyoung keeps second-guessing every glance, every brush of their hands when they reach for the same brochure. He tells himself it’s just him being weird, that Jihoon doesn’t think twice about it.
But then, between panels, Jihoon leans in close to murmur, “You’ve got something on your tie,” and fixes it for him with steady fingers. Soonyoung’s ears burn hot enough to rival the projector lamp overhead.
By the time the day ends, he’s not sure what exhausted him more: the endless networking, or surviving eight hours next to Jihoon while pretending last night— and this morning— didn’t happen.
On their last night in Osaka, neither of them wants to look at another conference badge or branded tote bag. Jihoon suggests they get away from the hotel again, and Soonyoung jumps on the idea like it’s oxygen, tugging his coat tighter as they step into the cool evening.
The streets of Dōtonbori pulse with life, just as they did the night before— neon signs flicker and glow, the river shimmering beneath them like liquid light. Food stalls crowd every corner, hawking takoyaki, okonomiyaki, and skewers sizzling on grills. The smells mix— sweet, salty, fried— and Soonyoung inhales it all, feeling a strange sense of freedom, like the city is letting them escape the last week of corporate chaos.
Jihoon walks beside him, quiet, taking in the neon-streaked reflections on the water. There’s a softness in his gaze that makes Soonyoung’s chest tighten, a pull he’s only just beginning to understand. Without thinking, he buys them both taiyaki, warm from the stand, the sweet smell curling up between them.
“Too sweet,” Jihoon mutters after a bite, his lips twitching. But he doesn’t hand it back— he eats it all, slow and deliberate, and Soonyoung finds himself laughing, a little breathless.
They wander until they reach a bridge, leaning over the railing. Boats glide past, their lanterns bobbing like fireflies on the river. The air is chilly, nipping at their cheeks, but it’s bearable. Soonyoung shifts closer, and when their shoulders brush, Jihoon doesn’t move. He just stands there, quiet, steady, the warmth of him radiating through the small space between them.
Soonyoung looks at him. Really looks. The slope of his nose, the faint pink in his cheeks, the way his mouth twitches when he’s holding back a smile— it all presses in, and suddenly the world narrows down to this. To Jihoon. To the thrum of the river below and the lights around them.
And then it hits him, sudden and violent and impossible to ignore.
Oh. Oh.
He’s in love with him.
It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. His chest aches and flutters all at once, a strange, dizzying weight that makes his knees feel weak. And yet— he doesn’t panic. Instead, he feels lighter, as if this realization has been waiting for him all along, tucked beneath layers and layers of oblivion. He’s been here before, close to the edge, but now— now it’s real.
Jihoon catches him staring, brow slightly raised. “What’s up with you?” he asks, voice quiet, teasing but not unkind.
Soonyoung swallows, a rush of warmth bubbling through him. He smiles, helpless, giddy, and the city hums around them, neon lights reflecting in his eyes. “Nothing,” he says softly, turning back to the river.
For the first time, he allows himself to feel it fully. To let the fear and the fluttering and the ache sit beside the relief and the wonder.
Maybe being in love isn’t so bad after all.
💻
“So… what do you think?”
Seungkwan and Seokmin exchange a long, slow look. The silence in the small conference room is thick enough to be its own punchline.
Soonyoung leans back in his chair, completely oblivious. “I think it’s fine? It’s, uh… pretty normal, right?”
Seokmin’s eyes widen. “Normal?” he says slowly. “Hyung… you can’t be serious.”
“What do you mean?” Soonyoung asks, tilting his head like he’s genuinely confused.
“What he means is—” Seungkwan explodes, slamming a hand on the table and making Soonyoung jump. “You’re fucking clueless! You’ve been sleeping with the guy for months, acting like you’re just friends—”
“We are friends!” Soonyoung interrupts, completely earnest.
“— and now you want us to pretend we believe you only just realized your feelings?!”
“I… did just realize?” Soonyoung frowns. “I mean… I thought we were just friends. We hang out. We sleep together sometimes. Isn’t that normal for friends?”
Seungkwan groans, burying his face in his hands. “No! Absolutely not! You’ve been doing everything but literally screaming your feelings and somehow still thinking this was normal friendship behavior!”
Seokmin exhales, rubbing his forehead. “Hyung… you really didn’t notice?”
“I didn’t! I mean… I knew I liked spending time with him, but…” Soonyoung shrugs, blinking innocently. “I didn’t think it meant anything more?”
Seungkwan flails his hands, nearly tipping his chair. “We have suffered! Months! We’ve been watching you, helpless, while you— while you—”
“— did what exactly?” Soonyoung asks, genuinely curious.
Seungkwan groans again. “Were clueless. Fucking cluelessly… existing!”
Soonyoung tilts his head. “Oh… okay.”
Seokmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re killing us, hyung. This is— God, it’s exhausting just being in the same room while you figure this out.”
“Wait,” Soonyoung says softly, leaning back. “You mean… I have liked him all this freaking time?”
“Yes!” Seungkwan shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “Finally! You’re catching up! Welcome to the club of human feelings, hyung!”
Soonyoung just nods thoughtfully. “Huh. Okay. Cool. Got it.”
He has not gotten it. His brain is still trying to grasp all these concepts. Liking, loving, being in love. It’s nerve-wracking, now that the original wave of comfort and newness is gone.
Seokmin groans audibly. “We are emotionally destroyed.”
“So… let me see if I understand. Sleeping together, hanging out late, always messaging each other… that was bad?”
Seungkwan throws his pen across the table. “Not bad! Just— just do something about it!”
Soonyoung blinks. “Oh… okay. I’ll… try?”
“You better,” Seungkwan sniffs. “Also don’t think that I forgot for a second how you didn’t bring me any Tokyo Banana.”
“Seungkwan-ah, I was in Osaka!”
The meeting— if it can even be called that— finally grinds to a close a few minutes after. Seungkwan slumps dramatically against his chair, muttering something about emotional trauma and Tokyo Banana, while Seokmin sighs and starts gathering his papers like he’s bracing for a natural disaster.
Soonyoung stands slowly, feeling like his brain has been run over by a truck. He nods vaguely at both of them. “Thanks for the advice?” he says, unsure.
“Advice?!” Seungkwan snaps, pointing a finger at him. “That was an intervention, hyung!”
“Sure, whatever,” Soonyoung mutters, rubbing his temples. “I need coffee.”
He walks to the break room and flicks on the coffee machine mindlessly, staring blankly as dark liquid drips into his mug. His hands tremble faintly, and for a moment he just leans against the counter, replaying Seungkwan’s yelling, Seokmin’s disappointed sighs, and the sudden, crushing realization: he actually likes Jihoon. Like, really likes him. Loves him, even.
“Soonyoung?”
He jolts like he’s been caught stealing. Jihoon’s voice is calm and casual, exactly like every other day— and somehow that makes his chest seize up. He turns, and there he is: Jihoon, leaning against the opposite counter, sipping coffee, looking perfectly normal. Perfectly unbothered.
“You okay?” Jihoon asks, brows pulling together just slightly as his eyes flick to Soonyoung’s mug. “You look… jumpy. Want me to—”
Soonyoung’s brain short-circuits. His pulse spikes, his grip on the mug nearly slipping. Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s right here. He has no idea. He’s right here and I’m in love with him. What the hell do I even—
He opens his mouth, nothing comes out, then closes it again. Jihoon, mercifully— or cruelly— just hums to himself, taking another sip.
Soonyoung leans harder on the counter, pretending to examine the swirling surface of his coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe. Inside, though, it’s chaos. Every twitch of Jihoon’s mouth and every tilt of his head sends sparks up his spine.
“You’re being weird,” Jihoon says finally, frowning at him.
“No I’m not!” Soonyoung blurts, way too fast.
“You haven’t even said hi to me. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up!” His voice cracks. “Everything’s fine.”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow, skeptical.
The coffee machine hisses and groans, but Soonyoung barely notices. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears, all he can see is Jihoon standing there, so ordinary, so impossible. And now he knows. Now he knows, and it’s going to ruin him.
Jihoon shrugs, unconvinced but too tired to press. “Well. If you pass out, I’m not catching you.”
Soonyoung laughs— loud, nervous and definitely too much— and nearly spills his coffee. Jihoon’s eyes narrow again, but he doesn’t say anything, just pushes past him to leave.
As Soonyoung’s left alone, clutching his mug like it’s a life preserver, he whispers under his breath, “Oh God. I’m screwed.”
💻
It’s the last day of January.
Soonyoung hasn’t manned up.
It’s not for lack of trying, exactly. Or maybe it is— confessing to his coworker, his friend, the one he’s only just realized he’s actually in love with, wasn’t exactly on his bingo card of 2025. And now that he knows, now that it’s all crystal clear in his own head, everything is suddenly heavier, sharper and more urgent. He can’t be blamed for stalling.
Jihoon acts exactly like always. Calm. Collected. Unaware. He talks about projects, dryly jokes about deadlines, nudges Soonyoung to grab lunch, and even flops onto the office couch beside him like it’s nothing. As if the last month— no, the last weeks— of Soonyoung’s emotional torment never existed.
It’s torture.
Every time Jihoon laughs, every time his shoulder brushes Soonyoung’s, every little casual glance— so small, so ordinary— feels like a punch to the chest. Soonyoung’s stomach flips, chest tightens, hands shake just a little when he reaches for his coffee mug. He wants to tell Jihoon everything. Wants to blurt it out and see if maybe, somehow, there’s a chance. But his brain short-circuits at the thought. Words stick in his throat.
He’s been pretending for months that they’re “just friends,” even sleeping with Jihoon without ever acknowledging the why behind it. And now… knowing the truth, that he actually, completely, unavoidably loves him? Everything feels too big, and he has no idea what to do with it.
Soonyoung sighs, staring down at his desk like it can somehow swallow the mess of feelings swirling inside him.
He knows he should act. He wants to act. But the closer he gets to the words, the more ridiculous it all feels. How can he confess feelings he didn’t even know he had until a few weeks ago? How can he risk the comfortable friendship they have— or what passes for friendship, given the late nights, the teasing, the touches?
And yet… he can’t stop thinking about Jihoon. About how he looks when he’s focused on a screen, the curve of his mouth when he smirks, the warmth in his shoulder when it brushes against Soonyoung’s. The thought of not saying anything is unbearable.
Soonyoung leans back in his chair, burying his face in his hands. His chest hammers, stomach twists, and he mutters under his breath: “God… why does being in love feel like this?”
He knows the answer, kind of: it’s because being in love with Jihoon— really, truly having fallen for him— is confusing, terrifying, exhilarating, and exhausting all at once. Soonyoung is completely, hopelessly lost in it.
He decides to set a deadline for himself. A week from now. He does perform better under pressure, after all.
It actually works out. They have their monthly after-office dinner— the first Friday of every month, Seungcheol’s tab— which always ends up with a little too much sake and laughter that borders on reckless.
Soonyoung’s plan is simple: they go to dinner, have fun, get a little drunk, go back to his place— a safe space in case his heart gets shattered— and finally, finally, tell Jihoon how he feels.
One more week. He can wait a week. It’ll be fine.
month 0 (again)
Soonyoung did not know Jihoon was such a fast walker.
“Jihoon-ah! Wait!”
He should have known, honestly. A man this athletic is bound to be quick on his feet, but right now it feels less like a casual stroll and more like Soonyoung is trying to chase down a runaway train.
“Jihoon!”
Jihoon doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t slow down. Just keeps moving like Soonyoung’s voice is something he can outrun.
“Leave me alone.” The words are cold, clipped— so unlike the Jihoon Soonyoung is used to that it makes him falter for a beat.
“I just wanna talk!”
That finally gets Jihoon to stop. He spins around so sharply it’s almost startling, his eyes flashing.
“About what, Soonyoung? You want to pour more salt in the wound? Call me an idiot to my face?”
The air between them feels sharp enough to cut. Soonyoung blinks, thrown off-balance. He’s never seen Jihoon like this— prickly, defensive, almost daring him to say the wrong thing.
“I’m just… confused. I’m sorry.” The words come out smaller than he intends, and the apology hangs there, fragile, waiting to be accepted or crushed.
Jihoon’s mouth twists, like he can’t decide whether to scoff or laugh. “Confused,” he repeats, flat. “You didn’t look confused when you were—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Forget it.”
“No, I—” Soonyoung steps closer before he can stop himself. “I didn’t know. About the… dating thing. I thought we were just—”
“Just what?” Jihoon’s voice spikes, low but biting. “Killing time? Passing the weeks until you found someone better?”
Soonyoung feels the words like a punch. “That’s not— I never thought that.”
“Then what did you think?” Jihoon asks, and it’s not rhetorical. His shoulders are squared, his chin tilted like he’s bracing for an impact.
“I thought…” Soonyoung hesitates, realizing how thin the ice is under his feet.
What did he think, though? It’s all tangled up on his mind. He used to think all of this was just friendship, up until very, very, recently.
He knows it’s not, anymore… but the fact that Jihoon was under the impression they’ve been dating for months is fucking with his mind.
“I thought we were… figuring it out. Slowly. I didn’t want to push you.”
Jihoon laughs once— short, humorless. “Right. You didn’t want to push me, so instead you just… forgot to tell me you didn’t think we were actually together.”
It’s such a clean hit that Soonyoung can’t even defend himself. He just stands there, cold air biting at the back of his neck, wishing he could rewind the last five minutes.
Jihoon shakes his head and turns away, his footsteps steady against the pavement.
Soonyoung doesn’t move. His legs feel locked, rooted to the spot as if following would make the gap between them even wider. The street noise around him blurs into something distant, muffled.
He watches Jihoon’s back grow smaller with every step until he disappears around the corner, scarf trailing slightly in the wind.
It’s only then that Soonyoung blinks, realizing the air has gone icy in his lungs. He shoves his hands into his pockets, not for warmth, but because he has no idea what else to do with them.
For the first time in months, he walks home feeling completely hopeless.
💻
Soonyoung would like to say he had a relaxing weekend, but by the time Monday rolls around he’s even more tangled up than before.
When did it all start? Was it the first time they kissed, or the hundredth? Was Jihoon keeping track the whole time while he was… what? Pretending? Playing? No, that wasn’t it. He hadn’t been pretending. So then what were they?
It makes him all the more anxious to wonder about the impact of his own stupid actions. Does Jihoon still like him? Or is it too late already?
The one thing Soonyoung knows for certain is that he can’t leave things the way they are. He has to make it right, no matter what it takes.
So he shows up at the office ten minutes early, clutching a pastry he knows Jihoon likes and Jihoon’s exact coffee order balanced in his other hand. He sets them carefully on the edge of Jihoon’s desk and lingers there, trying his best to look remorseful— pitiful, even. A kicked puppy, or something like that.
When Jihoon arrives, though, he doesn’t so much as glance in Soonyoung’s direction. Not at the pastry, not at the coffee, not at him. He just hangs up his coat, sits down, and opens his laptop like Soonyoung isn’t even there.
“Jihoon—” Soonyoung starts.
Silence. Jihoon clicks into his inbox.
Soonyoung tries again. And again. Every attempt is met with the same wall of nothing, Jihoon's laser-sharp focus is on anything but him. It’s like he’s been erased from Jihoon’s world entirely, and the thought makes Soonyoung’s stomach twist.
By 10AM, Soonyoung is sweating. He’s tried a soft “Good morning,” a too-bright “Did you sleep okay?” and even a whispered “I got you coffee,” but Jihoon hasn’t so much as twitched in his direction.
By noon, the pastry still sits untouched at the corner of Jihoon’s desk. Seokmin eyes it every so often, but he doesn’t dare move it. “I think it’s fossilizing,” he murmurs to Seungkwan, who’s been following the disaster like it’s a soap opera.
Soonyoung, meanwhile, is in full-blown improv mode. He drops a pen on Jihoon’s desk (“Oops, clumsy me”), offers a piece of gum (“You like mint, right? You always— uh, never mind”), even tries humming one of Jihoon’s favorite songs under his breath. Nothing. Jihoon remains an immovable, silent wall.
By mid-afternoon, Seokmin and Seungkwan exchange glances every time Soonyoung slinks back to his chair after another failed attempt.
“This is painful,” Seungkwan whispers.
“It’s kind of impressive,” Seokmin whispers back. “He’s like… resilient. Like a cockroach.”
At one point, Soonyoung even crouches by Jihoon’s desk, whispering urgently, “Jihoon, please, I’ll do your reports for a week, just say something.” Jihoon simply clicks his mouse, scrolling, stone-faced.
By 5PM, the office has thinned out, and Soonyoung’s shoulders sag in defeat. He slumps at his desk, staring at Jihoon’s still-untouched pastry like it’s a gravestone.
Seungkwan gives him a sympathetic pat on the back. “Hyung… I don’t think it’s working.”
Seokmin winces. “Maybe… just give him space? It’s only been a few days.”
Soonyoung doesn’t argue. For once, he’s too tired. He grabs his coat, steals one last glance at Jihoon’s profile— sharp, unshaken, still not looking at him— and leaves the office with the heavy weight of failure pressing down on his chest.
Weeks pass. Nothing changes. Jihoon ignores him at work, keeps things curt and professional when absolutely necessary, and otherwise behaves as though Soonyoung doesn’t exist. At first Soonyoung tries every trick in the book— jokes, snacks, dramatic sighs— but eventually even he runs out of steam.
By the third week, he doesn’t bother anymore. He still looks at Jihoon every morning, still wants to say something, but the words never make it past his throat.
His coworkers notice. Seokmin notices the way he’s quieter at lunch. Seungkwan notices the empty chair across from him at team drinks, where Jihoon would normally sit.
It takes one particularly miserable Thursday night— Soonyoung bailing early, shuffling home alone— that finally pushes Seungkwan over the edge.
“You’re being pathetic,” Seungkwan declares the next morning, slamming his coffee down in front of Soonyoung. “You’re in love with Jihoon, right?”
Soonyoung blinks. “Well, yes.”
Seokmin, softer, chimes in. “You can’t just… stop trying, hyung. If you care about him, figure out what went wrong. Don’t you think Jihoon’s waiting for you to take this seriously? For once?”
“You told me to give it a few days!”
“Hyung, it’s been weeks. I think you need to put in some actual, adult effort into this. Show that you truly care and not that you’re just trying to get on his good graces.”
The words sink in deeper than Soonyoung expects. Because the truth is— he does care. He can’t stop caring. Even when he tried to give up, it gnawed at him anyway.
That night, lying in bed, staring at his ceiling, Soonyoung feels the weight shift inside him. He’s tired of silence. He’s tired of losing Jihoon without even knowing what he’s fighting for.
By Monday, he’s decided: whatever it takes, he’s going to try again. Properly this time.
month 1 (or 8?)
Soonyoung books the company’s biggest conference room. Not for a client presentation, not for a strategy session— no, this is for something far more urgent and important.
It’s for Jihoon. Specifically: Operation Win Jihoon Back.
By the time Seungkwan and Seokmin push through the heavy glass doors, the room looks like a war zone. Every inch of the massive whiteboard is covered in neon marker scrawls, arrows looping across entire sections, phrases circled, underlined, then crossed out and rewritten with panicked addendums. A crude stick-figure sketch of Jihoon frowning sits in one corner with “CURRENT MOOD” written underneath.
Some of the notes read:
- STEP 1: APOLOGY (again?? but better??)
- STEP 2: Prove Not Dumb Boyfriend Material → ???
- STEP 2B: Do Not Be Annoying (triple underlined, circled, then immediately contradicted with “but he likes when I’m funny??”)
- STEP 3: GRAND GESTURE (flowers?? playlist?? interpretive dance?? no interpretive dance → wait maybe??)
- STEP 4: CONFESSION??
- STEP 5: Eternal Happiness 💕 (optional: cat??)
Color-coded sticky notes litter the table: “BUY NICE COFFEE,” “LOOK SERIOUS BUT NOT TOO SERIOUS,” “AVOID WORDS: bro, lol, swag.” There’s even a timeline drawn on the wall in green marker, labeled Jihoon’s Anger Level Over Time, with a shaky downward arrow that abruptly plateaus at “still mad.”
Soonyoung waves dramatically at the board. “Behold! The roadmap to fixing my entire life!”
Seungkwan just stares. “This looks like a conspiracy theorist’s wall. Are you trying to get Jihoon back or hunt for Bigfoot?”
Seokmin tilts his head, squinting. “Why is ‘Do Not Be Annoying’ pointing both to ‘Flowers’ and to ‘Interpretive Dance’? Shouldn’t those be, like… mutually exclusive?”
Soonyoung frowns, tapping the marker against the board. “No, see, that’s the genius of it. If I bring flowers while doing interpretive dance, it cancels out the annoying part.”
Seungkwan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hyung, nothing about that cancels anything. That’s just— you embarrassing yourself for free.”
But Soonyoung only grins wider, a little manic, a little desperate. “Exactly. That’s love.”
They’re in the middle of a heated debate about whether apology cupcakes carry more emotional weight than an apology mixtape (“cupcakes are tangible!” “mixtapes are timeless!”) when the conference room door clicks open.
Jihoon steps inside, because of course he chooses the worst moment to do so.
Three heads snap toward him in unison, like guilty meerkats caught raiding a picnic. For one precious, terrible second, the world holds its breath.
Jihoon’s gaze drifts over the chaos: the sprawling web of arrows, the triple-underlined “DO NOT BE ANNOYING”, the phrase “ETERNAL HAPPINESS 💕” scrawled in bold red marker, and—most damning of all—the grumpy little doodle of his own face surrounded by hearts.
He blinks. Once. Twice. Slowly.
“… What the hell is this?”
Seokmin makes a strangled sound that could be a gasp or a death rattle. Seungkwan, quicker on his feet, immediately jabs a finger toward Soonyoung. “It was all him!”
Soonyoung drops the marker like it’s radioactive. “It’s— it’s a brainstorming session!” His laugh comes out high and nervous. “Totally normal! Just… company culture! Synergy!” His voice cracks on the last word.
Jihoon raises one eyebrow, deadly flat. “So synergy involves drawing my face on a board and writing ‘don’t be annoying’ in all caps?”
“Okay, but—” Soonyoung flails, gesturing wildly at the whiteboard like it’ll defend him. “In my defense— uh— this isn’t as crazy as it looks!”
Seungkwan leans back in his chair and mutters, not quietly enough, “It looks exactly as crazy as it is.”
Jihoon crosses his arms. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look mad— just unimpressed. Which is, somehow, so much worse. “You booked the biggest conference room in the building for this circus?”
“Yes!” Soonyoung blurts. Too loud, too fast. He winces, then rushes on, softer, almost pleading. “Because… you’re worth it.”
The words hang there, echoing back at him like he just shouted them into a canyon.
Seokmin’s mouth falls open. Seungkwan slowly swivels in his chair to gape at him, like did you really just say that out loud? Jihoon doesn’t move, or blink. His expression is unreadable, carved out of stone, and Soonyoung feels his face ignite like a furnace.
“I mean,” he stammers, backpedaling furiously, “Worth the… uh… dry erase markers. And the… synergy.”
The silence is suffocating. Jihoon finally exhales— one long, heavy sigh— turns on his heel, and walks out without a word.
The door closes behind him with a click.
Soonyoung collapses into a chair, head in his hands. “I’m doomed.”
Seungkwan reaches over to pat his shoulder with mock sympathy. “On the bright side, you finally admitted it out loud. Kind of. To us. Not to him.”
“And hey,” Seokmin adds cautiously, “He… talked to you?”
Soonyoung groans, tipping backward until his chair bangs against the whiteboard, smearing half of ETERNAL HAPPINESS 💕. He knocks his forehead against the table once, twice, as if that might knock some sense into him. “What am I gonna do?”
There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the faint hum of the office air conditioning. Then Seokmin clears his throat, cautious but deliberate. “I think you might be missing a bit of the point, hyung.”
Soonyoung lifts his head. “What do you mean by that?”
Seokmin leans back in his chair, tapping a pen against his notebook. “It’s just… your relationship— or whatever it was— started because you two were forced to work together, right?”
Soonyoung nods, blinking. Seungkwan hums from across the table, a sound that seems like comprehension… or plotting, he’s never quite sure which.
Seokmin continues, voice calm, measured. “What if… what you need is to be forced to work together again?”
Soonyoung pauses, his mind clicking into overdrive. Forced proximity. Of course. It’s brilliant. If he can engineer a situation where he and Jihoon are stuck in the same project, even just for a little while, Jihoon would be forced to speak to him. Forced to interact. No running away, no casual detachment. It’s the perfect setup. His heart flutters just thinking about it.
“Oh. My. God.” He can feel a grin spreading across his face. “Seokmin… I could kiss you right now.”
Seokmin blinks, blushing faintly. “Oh… please don’t. I— sort of have a boyfriend right now.”
Soonyoung and Seungkwan freeze simultaneously, the words hitting like a thunderclap.
“A what?” Seungkwan explodes, arms flailing.
“Since when?!” Soonyoung practically screeches, spinning toward Seokmin.
“Just… a few weeks ago,” Seokmin admits, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t want to rub it in your face, hyung, that’s why I didn’t say anything.”
It makes sense, of course. Mingyu and Seokmin finally formalizing their relationship is… expected. Healthy, even. But it also throws Soonyoung off entirely. They’d started dating after whatever tenuous, fumbling thing he and Jihoon had begun, which means this— this stable, acknowledged connection— is exactly what he could have right now if he had been slightly more observant and plenty less stupid
Despite the pang of regret, he’s genuinely happy for his friend.
“Seokmin-ah,” he says, trying to sound casual, a small, warm smile tugging at his lips. “I’m happy for you. I really am. There was no need to keep it a secret before.”
Seokmin exhales in relief, his shoulders relaxing visibly. “Thanks, hyung,” he says softly, smiling back.
That day, when he sees Seokmin and Mingyu walk away from the office building, hand in hand, acting obnixiously in love, he thinks that maybe things will be okay.
💻
“Soonyoung-ah… you’re putting me in an awkward position.”
Seungcheol scratches the back of his neck, his tie slightly crooked, a small frown creasing his forehead.
“Boss! Come on! I’m a loyal employee. Have been here for years. I work hard. I’ve made you a lot of money!”
Normally, Soonyoung wouldn’t throw his accomplishments at his employer. He’s not like that. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
Seungcheol exhales, long and deliberate. “Yes, I agree with all of those things— but Jihoon and I go way back. I am quite literally forced to stand by him. And, not to diminish you, he’s also made me a lot of money.” He licks his lips, uncomfortable. “Besides, between you and me, he made me promise I wouldn’t put you guys on a project together again.”
“What—”
“Believe me. I was equally as disheartened. You guys are amazing together!” Seungcheol waves a hand as if to punctuate his own despair. “Maybe just… try to make things better outside the office. That way you’re happy, he’s happy, and I’m happy because I don’t have to worry about office drama. Alright?”
Soonyoung huffs, frustration prickling at his skin. This is not what he had planned. Seungcheol was supposed to cave! He loves money! He’s supposed to be easily swayed by promises of profit! Instead… this. He had rehearsed the confrontation in his head a dozen times, but none of the scenarios had included Seungcheol actually standing firm.
Before Soonyoung can muster another protest, the door swings open without a knock. Of course— it’s Jeonghan. Only Jeonghan would dare barge in on Seungcheol without warning.
“Seungcheollie, I need you to sign this— oh, Soonyoungie, didn’t know you were here,” he says, eyes skimming over a neat stack of documents.
Jeonghan is as impossibly perfect as ever. Soonyoung can’t help but notice it— despite the sterile office lighting, the stiff suits, the hum of the copier, Jeonghan seems… out of place, like he belongs somewhere more elegant, more alive. And yet, he belongs here too. Somehow. He was one of the first people to welcome Soonyoung warmly into the company, and for that, Soonyoung has always carried a soft spot for him.
“Jeonghan-hyung,” Soonyoung says, bowing slightly.
“What brings you here?” Jeonghan asks, his smile radiant, almost like sunlight spilling into the dim office. “Haven’t seen you on our floor in a while.”
“He’s just leaving,” Seungcheol says nervously, glancing between the two of them, like he knows this interaction might get… complicated.
Jeonghan frowns slightly, tilting his head. “I wasn’t asking you,” he says pointedly, eyes locking onto Soonyoung. “So?”
“Oh, I was just… asking for something from the boss. Nothing major,” Soonyoung mutters, feeling suddenly small.
Jeonghan tilts his head again, expression curious. “Mhm. And what was the request?”
Soonyoung pauses, heart thudding.
He knows Jeonghan has a soft spot for him. He’s said it himself, many, many times. So… would it be ethical to use him against Seungcheol?
Ethics, schmetics. This is about survival. And love.
Seungcheol hasn’t said no to Jeonghan ever. Not once. Not even in situations that should be impossible. Like the time Jeonghan convinced him to wear a ridiculous dog costume for a client presentation— just because Jeonghan said it would “boost morale.” Or the time Jeonghan got him to switch the entire office seating arrangement on a Friday afternoon, claiming it would “maximize productivity energy flows.” Or when Jeonghan made him organize a spontaneous karaoke night for the whole company at 10 PM on a Tuesday because he “felt like singing.” Every single time, Seungcheol caves, face pale, tie askew, muttering something about responsibility, and then goes through with it anyway. It is both impressive and terrifying.
Soonyoung doesn’t actually know what their relationship is. He’s not sure he wants to. But… maybe this can work in his favor.
“I just wanted to work on a new project with Jihoon,” he says carefully, leaning a little forward, eyes bright. “You know… we’ve always worked really well together. And, well… we killed it in Osaka, but— I’m sure you know what’s happened between us.”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, clicks his tongue knowingly. “Of course I know. I’m sure you guys will work it out with the help of a new project, right, Seungcheol?”
They both turn to look at Seungcheol, who’s frozen mid-breath, eyes wide, like a man trapped in his own office nightmare.
He can’t say no. He just… can’t.
“Yes, yeah, of course. New project. Will send new details to you later, Soonyoung-ah,” he says, voice slightly higher than normal, beads of sweat forming at his temple.
Soonyoung can barely contain his triumphant grin. God bless Yoon Jeonghan.
💻
Soonyoung gets to the conference room on floor twelve a full thirty minutes earlier than necessary.
He tells himself it’s not desperate— he’s just being prepared. But the truth is, he can’t help it. He’s about to work with Jihoon again. Working with Jihoon had become his favorite part of the job months ago: the spark of ideas, the quiet banter, the rare moments Jihoon lets himself laugh. Now, though, it’s more than that. This isn’t just about working together. This is phase one of Operation Win Jihoon Back.
The room feels almost serendipitous. It’s where everything began— where they first sat across from each other, both as coworkers and as something else, something undefined, something that spiraled into nights out and mornings in and Soonyoung’s heart being scrambled beyond repair.
He straightens the chairs. Lays out pens. Even rehearses a few lines under his breath. By the time Jihoon pushes the door open, Soonyoung is practically vibrating with anticipation.
Jihoon doesn’t even glance at the tidy setup, though. His expression is cool and controlled, as he drops his laptop bag onto the table.
Before Soonyoung can say anything, Jihoon cuts him off.
“I don’t know what the hell you did to Seungcheol to get us another project together,” he says flatly. “But let’s make this clear. We’re here to work. We’re efficient, we finish, and then we leave. Got it?”
Soonyoung swallows, but doesn’t panic. He was ready for this. He even drafted an entirely new plan!
(Step One: Do not argue. Nod a lot. Smile if possible.)
So he nods furiously and beams, “Got it!”
Jihoon squints at him, clearly unconvinced.
(Step Two: Do not look like you’re waiting for praise.)
Soonyoung clutches his notebook, flipping it open to a page covered in circles and arrows that only he could understand. He’s already added a new bubble in the corner: “Jihoon spoke to me (!!!)”
“... What’s that?” Jihoon asks suspiciously, eyeing the page.
Soonyoung slams it shut. (Step Three: Do not let Jihoon see the plan until step nine.)
“Nothing,” he says brightly, maybe too brightly. “Just brainstorming.”
Jihoon sighs, muttering something Soonyoung can’t quite hear before settling into his seat.
Soonyoung, meanwhile, is buzzing.
(Step Four: Have him sit next to you. That’s a lot of progress.)
He sneaks a sideways glance. Jihoon is already pulling up the files Seungcheol sent them. His focus is sharp and ruthless— like a scalpel. He doesn’t even notice how close their elbows are.
Soonyoung notices. He notices everything.
“So,” Jihoon says, eyes fixed on his screen. “Halcyon. A full-scale data migration system. High-stakes. Two months. No room for error. You’ll handle the client-facing comms, I’ll build the framework. Clear?”
“Crystal,” Soonyoung chirps.
(Step Five: Repeat step one. Be agreeable. He loves that, right?)
Jihoon hums, typing at an alarming speed. “Good. Then let’s not waste time.”
And just like that, he’s off— rattling through requirements, timelines, dependencies, naming acronyms Soonyoung has never even heard of. His voice is quick, efficient and, worst of all, detached.
Soonyoung nods along furiously, jotting down bullet points that quickly deteriorate into:
- Jihoon = very smart
- Jihoon’s hair smells nice (focus!!!)
- Halcyon = golden days??? (us???)
“Are you actually keeping track of the sprint milestones?” Jihoon asks without looking up.
“Yes,” Soonyoung lies.
(Step Six: Don’t get caught.)
The hours crawl by. Jihoon works like a machine— eyes locked on the screen, fingers clattering with mechanical precision. Soonyoung, meanwhile, cycles through every trick in the book.
First, coffee.
“I already had one.” No glance or hesitation, just stone cold rejection.
Second, a fun fact— something nerdy, trying to be charming. “Did you know Halcyon comes from a Greek myth about a bird that calmed the seas?”
He had researched that, just for Jihoon. He doesn’t even blink.
Third, subtle contact: the press of his knee nudging against Jihoon’s under the table. Jihoon slides his chair an inch away, expression unchanged.
By the end of the day, the whiteboard is covered in neat diagrams and tidy bullet points, the evidence of Jihoon’s relentless efficiency. He snaps his laptop shut with finality, the sound sharp as a gavel.
“Good.” His voice is clipped, professional. “That’s day one.”
Soonyoung, desperate, latches onto any scrap of warmth. He grins. “Yeah! Productive. Fun. Just like the old days, huh?”
Jihoon looks at him then, dead-eyed, flat enough to kill a man. “We’re not here for nostalgia, Kwon. See you tomorrow.”
The surname hits harder than it should. Cold and formal. A wall built out of just one syllable. Jihoon doesn’t even wait for a response— he just shoulders his bag and strides out, leaving the room hollow in his absence.
Soonyoung slumps in his chair, staring at the door like it personally betrayed him. He drags a hand down his face, then flips open his notebook and scrawls the only honest recap he can manage:
Day One, Halcyon: Jihoon – 1. Me – 0.
He hesitates, then adds in all caps, underlined twice:
HE’S IMPOSSIBLE.
And softer, almost like a confession, he squeezes into the corner of the page:
God, I missed him.
💻
Day two is basically equally as bad.
Soonyoung tends to overcompensate when he’s in trouble— which he very much considers himself to be in right now— so he shows up armed like he’s preparing for battle. Three different coffee options balanced precariously in a tray, a freshly curated playlist he spent way too long naming last night, and several colored markers that he does not, under any circumstances, take out of his house. His secret weapons.
It’s all futile.
Jihoon doesn’t even blink at the coffees, just picks one silently and sets it aside without so much as a sip, which is slightly better than what had gone down the day before, but still not good. He doesn’t ask about the playlist either, and when Soonyoung finally offers, almost pleading— “Want me to put on some music?”— Jihoon gives him a flat, unimpressed look before returning to his laptop. The markers don’t even make it out of Soonyoung’s bag.
The rejection doesn’t just sting, it gnaws. How can he not care? He’s trying. He’s trying so hard. The effort buzzes under his skin like an itch, and Jihoon’s cool detachment feels like water thrown over all of it.
At one point, he starts to get genuinely pissed off. His hands twitch where they rest on the table, every instinct in him begging to snap, to demand Jihoon acknowledge him, anything. But then— like a bucket of cold water— it hits him again. Jihoon’s face from that night, the drop in his expression when he realized Soonyoung wasn’t taking them seriously, wasn’t taking him seriously. That look of disappointment so sharp it still wakes Soonyoung up sometimes.
He takes a deep breath, teeth sinking into his cheek. He can’t let that happen again.
So he swallows the irritation, forces his voice light, steady, non-combative. He nods along with Jihoon’s clipped sentences, holds his tongue when Jihoon cuts him off, takes the smallest scraps of conversation as victories. Patience. Patience. And then some more patience.
It’s exhausting, but worth it. Everything now is for Jihoon. Every ridiculous peace offering, every time he bites back his temper, every ounce of restraint— he tells himself it’s just the groundwork.
If he can just prove he’s serious, Jihoon will have to see it. Eventually.
💻
Day three shows a slight improvement. Only a minor thing, but it feels monumental to Soonyoung.
They’re forced to stay late at the office, thanks to a stubborn system bug that eats through hours of progress and leaves them back at square one. It should make Soonyoung feel dread— most people would be cursing under their breath, ready to call it a night and sulk— but instead, what he feels is joy. Pure, unadulterated joy at the chance to sit across from Jihoon for a few more hours, to watch his impassive little frown deepen under the fluorescent lights.
By this point, after all these months of orbiting Jihoon, Soonyoung has collected an arsenal of knowledge. Tiny things most people wouldn’t notice, or wouldn’t care to. He knows Jihoon hates artificial vanilla but loves the faint sweetness of caramel. He knows Jihoon works in silence during the day but hums— so quietly it’s almost inaudible— when it gets late and his guard drops. He knows Jihoon always claims he doesn’t snack, but by midnight his hand will wander toward whatever food is within reach.
Most importantly, Soonyoung knows Jihoon loosens up at night. When exhaustion takes over, Jihoon’s edges soften just enough that the mask slips, and Soonyoung gets glimpses of the real him. The Jihoon who laughs at dumb jokes without meaning to. The Jihoon who frowns less like he’s annoyed and more like he’s just tired. The Jihoon who, if only for a little while, forgets he’s supposed to be ignoring Soonyoung.
So when the clock creeps past eleven and Jihoon finally sighs, leaning back in his chair, Soonyoung pounces on the opportunity. Not literally— though the temptation is there— but with something small. A quiet, ridiculous observation about how they’ve basically rewritten half their code just to end up right back where they started.
And, miracle of miracles, Jihoon lets out the tiniest laugh. Barely a breath, barely audible, but it’s real.
Soonyoung files it away like a victory. Proof of progress. Step Seven in his convoluted, ever-expanding plan: Wait until he’s tired. He’ll crack eventually.
💻
When he tells Seokmin and Seungkwan about the progress he’s made, they seem… unimpressed, to say the least.
They decide to get fried chicken after work, a rare indulgence lately. Between Soonyoung’s mess and their own busy schedules, the three of them haven’t had much time together. Honestly, they all know they’re too codependent for their own good— Seokmin’s apartment feels wrong without Soonyoung sprawled on the couch, Seungkwan insists meals taste worse when they don’t eat them together— but none of them are particularly interested in fixing that. If anything, they prefer it this way.
“So, Step Seven is completed!” Soonyoung announces joyfully, lifting his glass of soju like he’s at an award ceremony. “What do we think?”
Seokmin and Seungkwan exchange a long look. That kind of here he goes again look.
“Hyung,” Seokmin starts, with that soft, careful tone he always uses when he knows Soonyoung isn’t going to like what comes next. He joins his hands, like he’s about to pray. “Maybe we should… rethink this whole thing.”
Soonyoung tilts his head, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
“What he means,” Seungkwan cuts in immediately, rolling his eyes, “Is that you suck at this. Why did you even make a list with steps? Who does that?!”
Soonyoung sputters, nearly choking on his chicken. “What’s wrong with my steps?”
“I think,” Seokmin says gently, putting on his trademark thinking face that always drives Soonyoung insane, “That you might be going about this the wrong way. You’re treating it like a project deadline, instead of what it really is— trying to get Jihoon-hyung back.”
“I am not!” Soonyoung argues instantly, slamming his glass down. “I’m just… I’m just taking it seriously, okay? I really need it to work!”
“Hyung,” Seungkwan mutters, leaning on the table with a dramatic sigh. “You are trying to rationalize love like it’s a math equation. That doesn’t mean it’s going to go any faster. You’re expecting way too much, way too soon.”
Soonyoung whines, slumping against the table like a scolded child. “But he laughed! At one of my jokes! That’s huge!”
“That’s… a basic human interaction,” Seungkwan deadpans.
Seokmin hums, nodding. “Yeah. Honestly, Jihoon-hyung might’ve just been delirious from exhaustion.”
Soonyoung throws his arms up. “You told me to take this seriously. You guys are supposed to be supporting me!”
“We are,” Seungkwan says flatly, reaching for another piece of chicken. “That’s why we’re telling you to stop being pushy and pathetic.”
“Exactly,” Seokmin agrees brightly, like he’s just solved world hunger. “Honesty is support.”
Soonyoung groans, pressing his forehead against the table. “The worst friends in the world. That’s what you are.”
There’s a small beat of silence, just the sound of grease crackling in the fryer behind the counter and Seungkwan licking sauce off his fingers. Then Seokmin says, quieter, “We do think it’ll work, hyung.”
Soonyoung’s head shoots up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan admits reluctantly, like it pains him to give Soonyoung hope. “If you stop with the step-by-step nonsense and just… let things happen naturally. Jihoon-hyung isn’t a system you can debug.”
“He’s a person,” Seokmin adds, ever the peacemaker. “And he already cares about you. That part’s not broken.”
Soonyoung blinks at them, a little dazed, like they’ve just handed him the cheat code he’s been searching for. “So… no more steps?”
“No more steps,” they say in unison.
Soonyoung groans again, shoving a chicken leg in his mouth. “You guys are killing me.”
Seokmin grins. “That’s love.”
💻
Changing his mindset about Operation: Getting Jihoon Back isn’t easy.
First, he has to scratch the plan entirely. Which— unsurprisingly— he’s not a fan of. The plan was his roadmap, his scaffolding, his perfectly color-coded masterpiece. He’d spent an entire night hunched over his desk with his set of special markers, carefully outlining the steps that would lead to his and Jihoon’s inevitable reconciliation. Each stage was given a neat little heading in blue, with bullet points in green, and important reminders in pink. It looked like something he could’ve submitted for extra credit in an elective course on “Love & Project Management.”
And now… he has to throw it away.
The markers, fine. He’ll use them again. But the sheet— the sheet is sacred. The sheet was the plan. No matter how many times Seokmin and Seungkwan said “burn it,” he couldn’t quite bring himself to. Instead, he folds it up, tucks it under a pile of old notes, and pretends that counts as discarding it. But in the back of his head, he still knows each step by heart.
By the time Day Four of the project rolls around— a Monday, cruel as Mondays always are— Soonyoung feels jittery, almost nauseous. He tells himself he doesn’t need to be prepared, that maybe his friends are right, maybe it should just happen naturally. But he’s also pretty sure he’s not mentally capable of enduring a full workday next to Jihoon without some kind of framework. Without a checklist, how is he supposed to measure progress? How is he supposed to know if he’s winning Jihoon back, or just wasting oxygen in Jihoon’s vicinity?
Still, he forces himself to show up.
That day, they work efficiently. Almost too efficiently, which feels like another form of torture. Jihoon focuses on the project like a laser beam, scribbling notes, adjusting things on his laptop, testing out lines of melody, while Soonyoung sits there and tries not to sigh audibly every two minutes. He stays quieter than usual, and at one point Jihoon glances up at him, an eyebrow faintly raised— suspicious, almost. But Jihoon doesn’t comment, and that somehow makes it worse.
Soonyoung can feel the words pressing against the back of his teeth: Notice me. Ask me something. Yell at me, even. Anything.
He fidgets with his pen, watching Jihoon’s head tilt as he listens back to a track, the little crease that forms between his brows when he’s not satisfied. It’s so stupid, how much Soonyoung still aches for him. How Jihoon hasn’t even done anything— just sat there, existing— and it makes Soonyoung want to crawl across the desk and beg for forgiveness.
Maybe his friends are right. Maybe there’s no formula. No magic Step Seven or Step Eight or Step Nine. Jihoon’s not the kind of person he can trick into liking or trusting him again. He’s not going to follow Soonyoung’s schedule or tick boxes off Soonyoung’s list. Jihoon needs to believe— really believe— that Soonyoung cares. That he’s not messing around. That this isn’t just some phase of boredom or restlessness or stubborn pride.
The problem is, Soonyoung doesn’t know how to show that without fumbling it. He’s too loud, too reckless, too much. Jihoon’s always been careful, guarded, deliberate. What if Soonyoung’s “being himself” just ends up presenting Jihoon with an idea he hadn’t even had before— that they were a bad idea from the start?
He grips his pen tighter, staring at the blank space of his notebook. No plan. No steps. Just me.
It’s terrifying.
But when Jihoon hums under his breath, so faintly that Soonyoung almost misses it— testing a line of melody, lips pursed as he searches for the next note— Soonyoung realizes it’s still worth the risk. Even if he has to start from scratch. Even if it takes forever.
💻
He calls Seokmin that night, because he needs some coddling and genuine advice without being bitchy, which Seungkwan can’t provide.
“Seokmin-ah, I don’t know how to be natural around him anymore!” Soonyoung whines into the phone, flopping face-first into his bed like the world is ending. “Like, the first time, I wasn’t trying at all. I didn’t even think about it! But now I have to try not to try. Do you hear how insane that is? I’m performing naturalness. That’s not natural!”
On the other end, Seokmin lets out a long, world-weary sigh. “Hyung, you’re never one to think things through this much. What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know!” Soonyoung groans, rolling onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes like some tragic hero. “Maybe I broke my brain! Maybe Jihoon broke it! Every time I see his stupid face, I forget how to breathe like a person. He looks at me and suddenly I’m inventing rules about coffee orders and playlists. Who does that? Who am I?!”
There’s silence on the other side for a second, and Soonyoung feels the panic rise. “Seokmin? Are you there? Hello?”
A soft whine comes through the line.
Soonyoung freezes. “… Seokmin-ah, please tell me you’re not fucking your boyfriend right now. While on the phone with me. While I’m having an existential crisis.”
“… I’m not?” Seokmin offers weakly.
Another moan, louder this time.
Soonyoung bolts upright. “Seokmin-ah! I know what your moans sound like! What’s wrong with you?!”
He hears a muffled voice in the background— deep, smug, undeniably Mingyu: “You’re so loud, babe—”
“Oh my god,” Soonyoung screeches. “You’re seriously doing this?! I’m pouring my heart out to you and you’re—”
“G-Gotta go, hyung,” Seokmin stammers breathlessly. “Good luck!”
And just like that, the line goes dead.
Soonyoung throws his phone onto the bed and buries his face into his pillow, letting out a muffled scream. “Unbelievable! Absolutely disgusting!” He kicks his legs in protest, flailing like a child having the world’s most dramatic tantrum. “This is what I get for confiding in him. No respect for my suffering! None!”
After a few more minutes of wallowing, his stomach growls loudly enough to break through his misery. He rolls over, groaning, and stares at the ceiling. It’s late, far too late, but he decides he deserves a consolation prize. A late-night dinner. Comfort food. Something greasy and salty that can’t fix his life but can at least shut his brain up for a while.
His feet move on autopilot, carrying him through familiar streets. He doesn’t even realize where he’s heading until the neon glow of the tiny restaurant comes into view— the one he and Jihoon used to frequent. The one where they’d cram themselves into the corner booth, Jihoon pretending to be annoyed when Soonyoung stole food off his plate, but never actually pulling it away.
Soonyoung stops short outside, heart lurching painfully in his chest. For a long moment he just stands there, staring at the place like it’s a ghost.
That’s when it hits him. How little he has actually let himself miss Jihoon. How carefully he’s distracted himself with plans, schemes, jokes, noise— anything but the truth. He knew he missed him, of course. It was a fact, an assumption he carried in the back of his mind like background music. But feeling it, really feeling it, standing here with the smell of fried food in the air and the memory of Jihoon’s small smile flashing in his head— God, it hurts.
He presses a hand to his chest, as if that can soothe the sudden ache there. It doesn’t.
Memories come rushing in— Jihoon’s sharp laughter at something dumb he said, Jihoon’s hand brushing his when passing him chopsticks, Jihoon’s voice low and warm after midnight, teasing him for ordering too much. Suddenly, Soonyoung realizes how starved he’s been. Starved of Jihoon’s presence, of Jihoon’s attention, of the easy way being with him used to feel.
Soonyoung swallows hard, blinking back the sting in his eyes, and forces himself to step inside. The warmth of the restaurant washes over him, familiar and heavy, like stepping into an old photograph. He slides into the line, but his mind isn’t really there.
He wonders if Jihoon misses him too. If Jihoon ever finds himself walking down this same street at night, stomach empty, and thinks of Soonyoung. If he remembers the stupid things Soonyoung said to make him laugh, or the way Soonyoung always ordered too much food and insisted on sharing.
Maybe Jihoon doesn’t. Maybe he’s better at letting go, at moving on. Maybe he’s erased Soonyoung from the story of his nights. But a small part of him wants to believe he hasn’t done any of these things.
Soonyoung’s chest tightens at the thought, a fragile flicker of hope rising where he least expects it. Maybe Jihoon has missed him too.
He’s about to make his order when the person who steps up beside him makes his chest seize.
Jihoon.
They both freeze. The cashier glances between them, oblivious to the silent earthquake happening in the space of a breath.
“Oh,” Jihoon says finally. His voice is low, flat out of habit, but not sharp. More like he’s caught off guard too.
Soonyoung swallows, forcing a shaky smile. “Uh. Hey.”
Jihoon gives the tiniest nod, eyes flicking toward the menu board even though Soonyoung knows— knows— he doesn’t need to look. Jihoon’s ordered the same thing every single time, down to the extra chili oil and no scallions.
“You can go first,” Jihoon says after a beat, stepping back half a pace.
Soonyoung shakes his head quickly. “No, no, it’s fine. You—” He catches himself before he says you always go first. His throat tightens. “You can.”
Jihoon hesitates, then sighs, moving up to order. His tone is calm, polite, almost too normal, but that’s what makes Soonyoung’s chest ache— because this place isn’t normal for them. Not here. Not with the smell of broth and soy and dumplings wrapping around them like every late night they used to share.
When Jihoon steps aside with his receipt, Soonyoung blurts without thinking, “Didn’t think you still came here.”
Jihoon glances at him, unreadable. Then, softer than expected: “Yeah. Same.”
It’s not much. Just two words. But it’s the first thing Jihoon’s said in weeks that doesn’t sound like a dismissal, and it nearly knocks Soonyoung over.
The cashier clears his throat, waiting for Soonyoung’s order, and he blurts it out too fast, tripping over the words. His ears burn as he shuffles aside, clutching the little number card like a lifeline. Jihoon stands only a few feet away, receipt in hand, his expression neutral— but not sharp or closed off the way it’s been for weeks.
They wait in silence, the kitchen clattering in the background, the smell of broth and fried garlic wrapping around them like a ghost of the nights they used to share here. Soonyoung keeps stealing glances, hoping Jihoon won’t notice, but he can’t stop. There’s something fragile about the way Jihoon’s shoulders are set, something unguarded in the curve of his mouth as he stares straight ahead.
When their numbers are called, they step forward together, awkwardly reaching for the same counter space. Their fingers almost brush before Jihoon pulls back. Neither of them says a word.
By the time they push out the glass doors, paper bags warm in their hands, the cold night air slices sharp across their faces. Soonyoung sucks in a breath and feels it catch in his chest. The street hums around them— cars rushing by, neon signs flickering— but all he can hear is the quiet rhythm of Jihoon’s footsteps next to his.
Maybe it’s the place, or maybe it’s the memories still clinging to him like grease and spice, but Soonyoung suddenly feels everything. Every wall Jihoon’s built, every bruise Soonyoung might’ve left on him, every word left unsaid between them. He’s hyperaware that Jihoon isn’t as impenetrable here— that something in this restaurant has cracked him open just a little.
It makes Soonyoung’s chest ache with guilt. Maybe I’ve already dragged him through enough, he thinks. Maybe this is selfish— wanting more, always wanting more.
And yet. This is probably the only time he’ll catch Jihoon with his guard even slightly lowered for him to hear him out. The only time the weight between them feels less like a wall and more like an open wound.
Soonyoung tightens his grip on the paper bag, heart pounding, and thinks: If I don’t say what I truly wanna say now, I never will.
The words tumble out before he can stop them. “I’m really sorry, Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon doesn’t so much as flinch. He just stands there, bag of food dangling at his side, expression unreadable. Maybe he knew, from the moment they found each other in line at this place, that Soonyoung would pick this moment, of all places, to spill everything.
“I wish I could have been less stupid,” Soonyoung continues, voice low but rushing, “And saved you a lot of pain.”
The night air bites at his cheeks. He forces a breath into his lungs, fists tightening on the crinkling paper bag. “I’ve been selfish all this time. But I want to be selfish one more time— and tell you the truth. That I’m in love with you.” His laugh is shaky, a clumsy attempt at levity. “Meeting you is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. Top five, easy. And hands down the best thing that’s ever happened at work, but— don’t tell Seungkwan and Seokmin I said that.”
Silence stretches between them. Too much, too loud. Soonyoung’s throat burns. He tips his head back, gaze dragging up to the moon hanging heavy above the rooftops.
It’s beautiful tonight— bright enough to glow, pale enough to sting. Like Jihoon. Steady and unreachable, yet still here, pulling at him the way the moon pulls the tide. Maybe that’s why he finds the courage to keep going, even as his chest feels like it might cave in.
“I was going to tell you that day,” he says softly. “The day you…” He falters. He can’t say the day you broke things off. That would be tone-deaf, almost cruel. He swallows hard. “… That day. I wanted to tell you then. I’m sorry I didn’t. Sorry I let you walk away before you knew. Before you realized how— romantically obtuse I can be.”
A humorless chuckle escapes him. It dies quickly in the cold air.
He drags his eyes back down from the moon, forces himself to meet Jihoon’s gaze for just a second. His own vision blurs at the edges, but Jihoon is still there. Small, steady, devastating.
“I just needed you to know,” Soonyoung says, every word stripped bare. “Because the thought of you believing I never liked you, that I never loved you, never fell for you… it kills me. It’s the worst thing I can imagine.”
His breath leaves him in a sigh, heavy as lead.
“So… yeah. If you want me to stop bothering you, I will. We’ll finish this project, and then I’ll disappear. I’ll get out of your way.” His voice wavers, but he presses on anyway. “I think… I think that’s the noble thing to do, right? To let you go. To stop clinging, once and for all.”
He presses the edge of the bag against his chest, like it might anchor him to the earth. For once, he doesn’t try to smile, doesn’t try to soften it with a joke. He just lets the truth sit there, raw and trembling, under the light of the indifferent moon.
In his head, he imagines all the ways this could go. Jihoon could storm off, leave him standing here in the cold, and that would be it— the last time Soonyoung ever says something real. Or Jihoon could roll his eyes, mutter “you’re pathetic,” and move on like Soonyoung never mattered at all. Maybe he’ll just laugh, that sharp, scathing laugh that always used to cut Soonyoung right to the bone—
Jihoon does laugh, bitter and humorless. It lands in Soonyoung’s chest like a blade. He keeps his eyes fixed on the pavement, because looking at Jihoon right now feels impossible.
“Soonyoung.” Jihoon’s voice is sharp enough to slice through his thoughts. “Look at me.”
And because it’s Jihoon, because he’s never been able to say no, Soonyoung does.
“I need you to understand something.” Jihoon’s expression is unreadable, his tone flat but shaking at the edges. “I have spent the last month thinking that all you wanted from me was to fuck your friend again. That all this—” he gestures between them, wide and cutting, “— was just some pathetic attempt to get that back.”
Soonyoung’s brain shorts out. His eyes go wide. “Wait, what—? That’s not—”
Jihoon lifts a hand. “I’m talking.”
Soonyoung’s mouth snaps shut. His heart is thundering. None of this makes sense. None of it.
“I thought that’s all you were after,” Jihoon goes on, voice low but sharp. “So tell me— why the fuck would I forgive you? Why would I even want to?”
Soonyoung’s throat goes dry. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
Jihoon takes a step closer, and it knocks the air clean out of him. Soonyoung can smell his shampoo, the faint salt from his fries. Too close, too much, and yet— he can’t move.
“You need to learn how to communicate,” Jihoon says, every word like a stone thrown straight at him. “Because I’m not a mind reader. You don’t get to keep screwing up, staying quiet, and then crying about how you lost me.”
Soonyoung’s head is spinning. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in. Communicate? He thought he was communicating— hadn’t he just laid himself bare, said the words out loud for once? But Jihoon— Jihoon’s angry, yes, but he’s not walking away. He’s here. He’s close. And something about that—something about the fire in his voice—doesn’t feel like the end.
“And don’t you dare,” Jihoon adds, voice dropping, “Don’t you dare think you get to just give up on me because I’m still mad. You don’t get to tap out that easily, Soonyoung.”
Soonyoung blinks at him, mind a total blank. Every nerve in his body is screaming what does that mean? because if Jihoon didn’t care, he wouldn’t say this. He wouldn’t demand anything at all.
Oh God, Soonyoung thinks, dizzy with it. He doesn’t want me gone. He still— he still—
But his tongue is useless, his heart a mess. He can only stare, wide-eyed and reeling, as Jihoon glares at him like he’s the stupidest, luckiest man alive.
Jihoon’s glare doesn’t waver. Soonyoung feels like he’s shrinking under it, every inch of him stripped raw.
And then, suddenly, Jihoon moves. He shoves his takeout bag into Soonyoung’s chest so hard he nearly drops it, and before Soonyoung can even process— Jihoon’s mouth crashes against his.
It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s teeth and frustration, the taste of salt and grease, lips pressed too hard, like Jihoon wants to bruise him just to prove a point. Soonyoung makes a strangled noise into it, halfway between shock and relief, clutching both bags to his chest like they’re the only thing keeping him upright.
Jihoon pulls back just as abruptly, breathing hard. His eyes flash like they could burn through him. “Don’t get it twisted. This isn’t us getting back together.”
Soonyoung’s head is spinning, lips tingling, chest about to burst.
“This—” Jihoon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling. “— was me missing your stupid face and your even stupider mouth. That’s all. If you want more than that, you’re going to have to work for it. Hard.”
Soonyoung just nods, stupid and breathless, still clutching their food like an idiot. He’d agree to anything right now. Anything, as long as Jihoon doesn’t walk away.
Jihoon narrows his eyes, like he can see the exact thought in Soonyoung’s head. Then he snatches his bag back, turns on his heel, and mutters, “See you tomorrow.”
Soonyoung watches him disappear into the night, lips still burning, heart thundering loud enough to drown out the city.
He touches his mouth, dazed. Oh God. He’s in so much trouble.
He has never been happier.
💻
“I can’t believe Seokmin fucked his boyfriend while on call with Soonyoung, that’s gross,” Seungkwan says as he makes a disgusted expression.
Seokmin makes himself smaller on his seat. “I’m really sorry, hyung.”
Soonyoung just smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Seokmin-ah. I’m over it. It worked out for the best, didn’t it?”
For the first time in weeks, Soonyoung means it.
month 3. or 10 (who’s counting?)
Soonyoung asks Jihoon to be his boyfriend on a regular Friday in the middle of May.
By this point, it’s been over a month since the talk outside their restaurant. Over a month of Soonyoung clawing his way back into Jihoon’s good graces— this time with Jihoon’s full, if reluctant, consent. Consent that came with conditions. Rules. Pointers, Jihoon called them, though half the time they sounded more like ultimatums.
Some highlights include:
- Stop buying apology sweet treats. “You’re not allowed to use sugar against me.”
- Don’t text me forty times in a row. “Three max. Four if it’s life or death. Five and I block you.”
- Coffee orders. “If you’re going to insist on bringing me coffee, at least get it right. Wednesdays only. Black. Don’t get fancy.”
- No PowerPoint metaphors. “This isn’t a pitch deck, it’s my life. Stop saying things like synergy when you’re trying to be romantic.”
- Ask, don’t assume. “If I’m mad, don’t write a five-step recovery plan in your notebook. Just ask me why.”
Soonyoung obeys every single one like scripture. He messes up sometimes— shows up with croissants one Monday and earns a glare sharp enough to slice butter— but mostly, he learns.
Seokmin and Seungkwan had bets on how long he’d last. Two weeks, maybe three before he collapsed under the weight of his own impatience. Soonyoung proves them wrong. Because when there’s a finish line, when Jihoon is actually standing at the other end of it, waiting (maybe not with open arms, but waiting nonetheless), the effort doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like breathing.
And the month itself— it changes him.
He relearns the comfort of small things: the little post-its Jihoon leaves (bring earphones, Seokmin’s on speakerphone again), the silences they share when they’re both working, the brief brushes of hands when passing each other files. He relearns that Jihoon’s laugh, when pulled out naturally instead of forced, is worth more than any grand gesture. He learns, for the first time, that love isn’t always fireworks and declarations— sometimes it’s just showing up, quietly, every day.
So, the regular Friday in the middle of May is regular in every outward way. The office hums with printers and keyboards, Seungkwan is scolding someone over speakerphone, and Jihoon is squinting at his laptop like it has done something against him. Nothing remarkable at all.
But to Soonyoung, it isn’t regular. Not at all. Because today, after weeks of rules and patience and falling even harder for Jihoon in ways he didn’t think possible, he’s finally going to ask.
It was designated as Funky Tie Friday by Seungcheol, which honestly means it was probably Jeonghan’s idea— especially since Jeonghan strolls in without a tie at all, claiming with a straight face that his aura is accessory enough.
The rest of the office leans into it with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The guys raid thrift stores for the ugliest, widest ties they can find— paisley nightmares, neon stripes, one that suspiciously looks like it was cut from a shower curtain. The girls, never content to be left out, turn it into a fashion experiment: ties as headbands, ties as belts, ties looped around ponytails or worn loose over dresses. Sana even knots two together and wears them like a sash, declaring herself Miss Funky Friday 2025.
By mid-morning, the place looks less like an office and more like a chaotic middle school spirit day. And Soonyoung, jittery with nerves because today is not just any Friday, thinks it’s the perfect cover— if he’s going to ask Jihoon The Question, at least he won’t be the weirdest thing happening that day.
The office feels more like a carnival than a workplace. Seokmin’s wearing a tie patterned with cartoon hotdogs, which Mingyu keeps tugging on whenever he passes, using it as an excuse to pull him closer for a kiss. Seokmin pretends to be scandalized, but he’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.
“HR would have a field day with you two,” Seungkwan deadpans as he walks by, sipping his iced coffee. “If HR wasn’t literally me.”
“You’re not HR,” Mingyu protests.
“I could be if I wanted,” Seungkwan sniffs, adjusting his rainbow tie like a badge of authority.
Across the room, someone’s blasting early 2000s pop from a tinny speaker, and Jeonghan has somehow convinced two interns to braid ties into his hair. Seungcheol groans from his desk but doesn’t stop him, which only makes Jeonghan wink more smugly.
Amid all the chaos, Jihoon is surprisingly participating— well, Jihoon-level participating. He’s wearing a plain black tie with tiny embroidered cats that looks way too cute for someone with his usual scowl. When Soonyoung comments on it, Jihoon mutters, “It was the least offensive one in the store,” but Soonyoung swears there’s a blush creeping up his neck.
“Least offensive?” Soonyoung leans closer, voice pitched just low enough for Jihoon to hear over the music. “I think it’s criminally attractive.”
Jihoon glares at him, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Shut up and finish your report.”
“Anything for you, boss,” Soonyoung teases, and Jihoon kicks him lightly under the table.
By lunchtime, Soonyoung’s practically buzzing out of his chair. He waits until Jihoon’s alone at the coffee machine before sidling up beside him. “So,” he says casually, as if he hasn’t rehearsed this fifty times, “I, uh, made us a reservation for this afternoon. New place just opened near the river. You like trying new restaurants, right?”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow, stirring sugar into his coffee. “Since when do you make reservations?”
“Since today.” Soonyoung’s grin is almost too wide, too hopeful. “You’ll come?”
Jihoon studies him for a moment— like he always does, like he’s trying to decide if Soonyoung’s worth the trouble. Then he nods, just once, the tiniest smile breaking through.
Soonyoung has to stop himself from fist-pumping in the middle of the break room.
The shift from office mayhem to evening calm is almost jarring. One minute, Soonyoung’s dodging paper airplanes launched by Mingyu, and the next, he’s walking alongside Jihoon down a quiet street, tie tucked into his jacket to keep from flapping in the wind. Jihoon’s still carrying his work bag, hair mussed from a long day, but there’s something about the golden hour light catching his profile that makes Soonyoung’s chest ache.
The restaurant is tucked between a florist and a tiny bookstore, its windows glowing warmly against the cool-but-getting-warmer May air. Jihoon raises a brow as they approach.
“You’ve been doing research, haven’t you?” he says.
“Maybe a little,” Soonyoung admits, holding the door open. “I remembered you liked places that aren’t too loud. And where you can actually hear the person you’re with.”
Jihoon hums, not giving him much, but the way he glances sideways— almost shy— makes Soonyoung’s heart skip.
Inside, the atmosphere is cozy: low lamps, wooden tables, the faint sound of jazz playing from somewhere unseen. Their table is by the window, overlooking the street. Jihoon slides into his seat, setting his bag beside him, while Soonyoung tries very hard not to look like a man about to burst out of his skin with nerves.
They order drinks and a couple of dishes to share. Conversation flows easier than Soonyoung expected— work gossip, Seungcheol’s ridiculous tie, Mingyu and Seokmin being insufferable. Jihoon even smirks a few times, and Soonyoung treasures each one like it’s something rare and fragile.
Halfway through the meal, when Jihoon’s picking out mushrooms from his pasta and piling them neatly on the side of his plate, Soonyoung blurts, “Be my boyfriend.”
Jihoon freezes, fork mid-air. He blinks at Soonyoung, slow and deliberate, as though he’s not entirely sure he heard right.
“… Excuse me?”
Soonyoung swallows hard, but his voice doesn’t waver this time. “Be my boyfriend. Again. Officially. I don’t want this to be just… trying or circling around each other anymore. I want us to be us. For real.”
It’s probably too much and too fast, as boyfriend proposals go, but this is Soonyoung, that is just who he is.
Jihoon stares at him, fork clinking softly as he sets it down. There’s a long silence— too long, Soonyoung thinks, panic bubbling up— but then Jihoon sighs, shaking his head like he can’t believe how stupid Soonyoung is.
“You really had to ambush me over dinner?” he mutters. But his lips twitch, betraying him.
“So… that’s not a no?” Soonyoung leans forward, eyes wide, hopeful.
Jihoon groans, covering his face with one hand, but his voice is muffled and warm. “You’re an idiot. My idiot, apparently.”
Soonyoung nearly tips his chair over in relief, grin splitting his face. “So that’s a yes? That’s a yes!”
The couple at the next table glances over at the commotion, but Soonyoung doesn’t care. Jihoon’s blushing, muttering something under his breath, and Soonyoung feels like he’s finally breathing after months underwater.
They linger over dessert, both pretending not to notice how much softer the air between them feels now, how different Jihoon’s eyes look when they catch Soonyoung’s and don’t dart away. By the time the check comes, Soonyoung’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he doesn’t dare stop.
Outside, the May night has cooled, the street quiet except for the occasional hum of a passing car. Soonyoung shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels as Jihoon adjusts his bag strap.
“You really had to do it like that?” Jihoon says at last, shaking his head with an exasperated little laugh. “In the middle of dinner?”
Soonyoung shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
Jihoon stares at him for a beat. Then another. And then— like some cruel, beautiful trick of fate— he steps forward, grabs Soonyoung by the collar, and kisses him.
It’s messy, more teeth than lips at first, but it’s also everything Soonyoung has been starving for. Jihoon’s mouth is warm, desperate, and the taste of wine still lingers between them. Soonyoung makes a noise in the back of his throat and fists his hands in Jihoon’s jacket, pulling him closer, terrified he’ll let go and wake up from this.
When Jihoon finally pulls back, they’re both panting, foreheads pressed together under the glow of a streetlamp. Jihoon’s eyes are sharp but softer than Soonyoung’s seen in months.
“This,” Jihoon murmurs, thumb brushing over Soonyoung’s jaw, “Doesn’t mean everything’s perfect. You’re still going to have to keep proving you mean it.”
Soonyoung smiles. He knows what Jihoon is trying to do— he says in the same tone he did over a month ago, outside their restaurant, under the same moon they’re kissing under right now.
“I will,” Soonyoung says instantly, almost tripping over his own words. “Every day. As long as it takes.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tilts upward. “God, you’re such an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” Soonyoung shoots back, grinning like a fool.
And then Jihoon kisses him again, slower this time, lingering, like he’s finally admitting just how much he’s missed him. The world around them blurs into nothing—the traffic, the restaurant lights, even the chill of the night.
Soonyoung thinks that, as far as Fridays go, this is a pretty good one.
💻
He takes his sweet time the next time he gets the chance to relearn Jihoon’s body.
It’s different now. Not the frantic, half-buried kind of passion they stumbled into when everything between them was confused and jagged. This time, Jihoon is his boyfriend, and that word changes everything.
Soonyoung feels it in the way he slows down— like a man starved, finally sitting down for a meal he doesn’t want to rush. He kisses Jihoon like he’s tasting him for the first time all over again, mouth warm and insistent, dragging moans from Jihoon’s throat with every lazy grind of their hips. His hands roam with purpose: the slope of Jihoon’s shoulders, the ridges of his ribs, the small, sensitive dip of his lower back. Every place he touches earns him a twitch, a sigh, a sharp little gasp. He drinks them all in greedily, like water after a long drought.
“Missed this,” Soonyoung murmurs against Jihoon’s skin, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Missed you.”
Jihoon huffs out a laugh that shudders halfway into a moan. “You’ve had me many, many times, idiot.”
“Not like this,” Soonyoung says, and the way his voice roughens on the last word makes Jihoon’s breath stutter.
He’s careful when he finally works Jihoon open, slick fingers pressing deep, coaxing more sounds out of him, memorizing the way his body clenches and shudders around the intrusion. Jihoon tilts his head back, face flushed and lips parted, and Soonyoung nearly loses it just watching him fall apart.
By the time he slides in, slow and steady, Jihoon’s nails are already digging crescents into his shoulders. The stretch pulls a raw sound from his throat, but it’s followed by a needy roll of his hips that makes Soonyoung choke on a curse.
“Fuck, Jihoon,” Soonyoung groans, forehead pressing to his. “You feel— God, you feel—”
Like home, he wants to say, but he’s afraid it will sound too cheesy or possessive. He’s still getting used to all of this.
Jihoon pulls him into a kiss, messy and gasping, like he can’t stand the space between them for even a second. Every thrust is met, every grind answered, until the room is filled with nothing but the sharp slap of skin and their voices tangled together— moans, broken laughter, whispered names.
It’s sex, yes— sweaty and rough and utterly consuming— but it’s also something more. Every time Jihoon gasps his name, every time Soonyoung whispers mine, it builds into something that feels like a promise. By the time Jihoon comes undone around him, trembling and biting his shoulder, Soonyoung knows without a shred of doubt: this isn’t just desire. This is devotion.
When it’s over, they collapse together in a mess of limbs and sticky skin, Jihoon’s chest heaving against his. Soonyoung presses a kiss to his temple, murmurs soft and dizzy, “I’m so gone for you.”
Jihoon just hums, too wrung out to tease, but the little smile tugging at his lips tells Soonyoung he knows.
For a while, it’s quiet— just the sound of their breathing syncing, skin cooling where it’s pressed together. Soonyoung drags his hand lazily up Jihoon’s back, fingertips tracing the dip of his spine. Jihoon shivers, but instead of pulling away, he burrows closer, tucking his face into Soonyoung’s neck like he’s allowed to stay there.
“You’re warm,” Jihoon mumbles, muffled.
“Human space heater,” Soonyoung agrees, grinning against his hair. “Comes with the boyfriend package.”
That gets Jihoon to tilt his head, peering up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Don’t call it that.”
“What, boyfriend package?”
Jihoon groans, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a laugh. “You make everything sound stupid.”
“Stupidly romantic,” Soonyoung corrects. He leans down, brushing another kiss against Jihoon’s cheek. “You’re stuck with it now.”
Jihoon shakes his head, but his hand finds Soonyoung’s under the sheets, their fingers slotting together without hesitation. His thumb strokes once across Soonyoung’s knuckles, almost absently, like muscle memory.
Soonyoung’s chest squeezes. He wants to frame this moment, pin it to the wall of his heart— Jihoon half-asleep and pliant, but still present enough to hold on.
“You know I don’t need all the... extra effort, right?” Jihoon says suddenly, quiet but clear. “I liked the restaurant, it’s nice. But I’d rather have this. You. Just… here.”
Soonyoung swallows hard, blinking against the sudden burn in his eyes. He squeezes Jihoon’s hand back, voice husky. "You’re worth every ounce of effort I’ve ever had to give, and then some."
Jihoon sighs, finally letting his eyes fall shut, that small smile still curving his mouth. Soonyoung lies awake a little longer, memorizing the shape of it, whispering promises into the dark he knows he’ll keep.
💻
A week later, Soonyoung is rummaging through his desk drawers when his fingers brush paper that shouldn’t be there. He pulls it out, and— oh God.
The sheet. The sheet.
Operation: Win Jihoon Back.
The sprawling mess of arrows and doodles stares back at him in all its chaotic glory. Step One: Do not argue is still written in pink glitter ink, followed by Step Two: Do not look like you’re waiting for praise. It’s funny how a lot of this still applies, but it is also embarrassing as hell.
Soonyoung groans, dragging a hand over his face. He should’ve burned this ages ago.
“Find something incriminating?” Jihoon’s voice comes from behind, lazy, curious.
Soonyoung jolts like he’s been caught red-handed. “No!” he blurts— way too loud and fast. Which, of course, makes Jihoon narrow his eyes and step closer.
And then Jihoon sees it.
There’s a beat of silence. Then, against all odds, Jihoon laughs. Not a scoff, not the bitter sound Soonyoung once got used to, but a genuine laugh, low and warm. He plucks the sheet from Soonyoung’s hands, scanning the scribbles with an amused little grin.
“Do not let Jihoon see the plan until step nine?” Jihoon reads aloud, incredulous.
“I was… on a deadline,” Soonyoung mutters, ears burning. “It wasn’t a good plan, okay.”
“Is that a drawing of me?” Jihoon squints. “I definitely don’t look like that.”
Soonyoung buries his face in his hands. “I said it wasn’t good!”
Jihoon just shakes his head, still laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”
Soonyoung risks peeking out through his fingers, and his chest clenches at the sight: Jihoon standing in the glow of the desk lamp, smiling down at a sheet of paper that once represented all of Soonyoung’s panic and desperation. And yet, somehow, Jihoon looks fond.
Something loosens in him then. The months of guilt, the frantic scramble of trying to win Jihoon back— it all feels far away, softened by this moment.
“You can throw it away,” Jihoon says suddenly, holding the page out to him.
Soonyoung hesitates. “You sure? I thought you’d want to keep it. As evidence. For future blackmail.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Jihoon deadpans, but there’s no bite in it.
Soonyoung takes the sheet back, folds it once, twice, and drops it in the bin with a decisive little flick of his wrist. “Guess I don’t need it anymore,” he says quietly.
Jihoon hums, stepping close enough to nudge their shoulders together. “Guess not.”
Soonyoung looks at him, heart full to bursting, and thinks that no grand gesture, no messy plan, no doodle-covered whiteboard could ever compare to the simple fact of Jihoon right here, choosing him back.
💻
Two weeks after, the office hums with the usual Monday chatter when Momo and Nayeon appear, arms stacked high with manila folders. They hand one to each employee with the kind of chipper menace only HR can pull off.
“What’s this?” Seungkwan asks, flipping through his packet. His eyes widen, and his jaw drops in glee. “Oh my god. These are workplace relationship disclosure forms.”
The office goes silent for a single, dramatic beat. Then Soonyoung drops his head onto his desk with a thud. “I knew this would happen. Damn it, Seokmin. Mingyu. Look what you’ve done.”
Across the room, Mingyu sits way too comfortably with his arm slung around Seokmin’s chair. Seokmin looks like he’s trying for innocence but can’t stop grinning. “Don’t look at us,” Mingyu says brightly. “We kept things subtle.”
That is a lie. Mingyu knows that. Seokmin knows that. Every single person in the office knows that, as they all have seen them kissing on different days, in different hallways, under very bad fluorescent lighting.
“Yeah,” Seokmin adds, anyways, smirk creeping in, “Unlike some people who were caught making heart eyes during budget meetings.”
Everyone’s heads swivel toward Soonyoung and Jihoon in perfect unison.
Soonyoung throws his hands up. “Oh, come on! That was one time."
“It was every time,” Seungkwan fires back immediately.
“Seriously,” Seungcheol chimes in from his corner, adjusting his ridiculous neon tie Jeonghan probably forced him to wear just because. “I’m shocked HR didn’t get involved sooner. Kwon, you’re a menace.”
The laughter that follows is merciless. Even Jeonghan, who never misses a chance to stir the pot, sighs dramatically and says, “Honestly, Jihoon, you could do better.”
Jihoon’s entire face burns red. He buries himself behind the disclosure packet, muttering, “I hate all of you so much.”
Soonyoung, of course, looks way too proud of himself, puffing up like this is his greatest achievement. He slings an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders, leaning close with a grin that’s all teeth. “C’mon, babe, take it as a compliment. We’re office legends.”
Jihoon swats him off, still hiding behind the paperwork, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.
Maybe it’s embarrassing, maybe everyone in the building now knows, but for once, Soonyoung doesn’t care. Jihoon is his again— really, truly his— and that makes even HR paperwork worth celebrating.
Later, when Soonyoung flips to the last page of the disclosure form, he can’t resist scrawling his own addition at the bottom margin, grinning as he does it:
Final Score: Jihoon and Me – 1, HR – 1.