Work Text:
The morning after the closet incident, Chan had stared at the lone pink Post-it—”Seungmin has my heart on loan but refuses to pay interest”—and felt a small part of his soul wither and die in real time.
He’d dropped the note into the paper shredder and would’ve followed it up with the complaints box itself, except the shredder wasn’t rated to handle cardboard. He settled for stomping the box flat and burying it in the recycling bin under a pile of empty drink cans.
Good riddance.
In its place, and upon Jeongin’s insistence to ‘get with the times’, Chan had set up an anonymous email system. He chose to move on. Make peace.
It took exactly seven minutes for the first notification to ping in his inbox.
From: Anonymous
Subject: Urgent Safety Hazard
Message: Minho held my hand for three seconds today and I think I’ve developed a heart murmur. Please advise if this is covered by the company’s health insurance.
Ten seconds later, another one arrived.
From: Anonymous
Subject: Dress Code Violation
Message: Kim Seungmin is wearing a black t-shirt. This is a clear attempt to sabotage my productivity. Can you tell him to take it off, or should I?
Chan had closed his eyes, counted to twenty, and opened them again before hitting delete twice. And just to be sure, he’d sent Felix to warn Minho that Seungmin better not be shirtless when Chan went around.
He then immediately drafted a department-wide update with two addendums: 1) The email system was for actual grievances only, and 2) Lee Minho and Kim Seungmin were hereby banned from using it entirely. If they had something to say, they were to bring it to his office, in person, so Chan could look them in the eye while he shut the door.
For a glorious, glorious forty-eight hours, there was silence. No emails. No Post-its. Nothing.
Chan allowed himself to slip into a state of delusional peace. He walked the halls with the swagger of a man who was no longer at risk of being dragged into an argument about malicious breathing patterns or hostile feng shui. The raccoons were settled, tamed by letting them bite each other until they liked it, and now the world was quiet.
On Wednesday morning, he heads to the break room to celebrate this new era, preferably with a good cup of strong coffee.
He pushes the door open, and stops.
What.
Minho has Seungmin pressed firmly against the communal kitchenette counter. One of Minho’s hands is braced against the wood top by Seungmin’s hip, boxing him in, while the other is currently tangled in the back of Seungmin’s hair.
Chan stands in the doorway, his hand still on the handle, counting to twenty for the second time in as many days. He suddenly imagines himself at eighty years old, looking back on this exact moment and telling his grandkids, ‘be careful what you wish for’.
“The break room,” Chan says, his voice remarkably steady, “is for breaks. Not for… whatever this is.”
Minho doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even move his hand from Seungmin’s hair. He simply rotates his head like an owl and blinks at Chan with mild curiosity.
“We’re busy discussing the quarterly reports, Chan,” Minho says evenly.
Seungmin, whose face is flushed but whose expression remains terrifyingly professional, nods in agreement. “It’s pretty intense. There are a lot of figures to go over, you know.”
“Right.” Chan doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or resign on the spot. “And you need to be…” He gestures vaguely at their current position. “What, within licking distance to discuss numbers? The quarterly reports aren’t even due for five weeks.”
“We’re very proactive,” Seungmin says shamelessly.
“Strong communication is important,” Minho adds, finally stepping back, though only to lean against the counter next to Seungmin instead, pressing their shoulders together. “Aren’t you always encouraging that?”
Chan pinches the bridge of his nose. Forget grey hairs, he’ll go straight to bald at this rate.
“Just…” He glances between their matching expressions of complete innocence. “Try to keep the… proactive report discussions to a more appropriate proximity.”
“Appropriate proximity,” Minho repeats slowly. He turns to Seungmin and says in an exaggeratedly offended whisper, “Did he just tell us we can’t stand near each other?”
“I think he did,” Seungmin stage whispers back, nodding gravely. “Wow. That’s really—”
“Don’t,” Chan warns.
“—kind of discriminatory?” Minho finishes anyway. “I mean, Jeongin and Felix were literally sharing a chair in yesterday’s briefing.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Seungmin tilts his head. “Is it because we were standing face to face? I’m sorry if we looked too gay for your heteronormative workplace.”
“That’s not—” Chan splutters. “Nevermind. No. I’m not doing this.” He steps aside and points to the door. “Both of you, get back to work. At your own desks.”
“Fine,” Seungmin sighs, grabbing Minho’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “But if the reports suffer because you interrupted our flow, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
As they saunter past him, Minho pauses briefly, leaning in to pat Chan’s shoulder with a smirk. “Don’t worry, Chan. Internalised homophobia is very common. We won’t take it personally.”
The door swings shut.
Chan hears Minho and Seungmin’s muffled laughter from outside as he reaches for the kettle.
He’s going to need a much bigger mug.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Later that afternoon, Felix peeks around the side of his monitor, one hand holding up his phone while the other clamps his mouth to stop any giggles escaping.
Across the office, Minho is perched on the edge of Seungmin’s desk, legs swinging back and forth like some middle school rebel. He’s holding a box of hazelnut pepero, feeding them to Seungmin while the latter continues to type at ninety words per minute.
It’s the most domestic, cutest thing Felix has ever seen. Click.
“You really don’t need to be subtle, you know,” a voice says at Felix’s elbow. “They’re not exactly hiding.”
Felix nearly drops his phone. Jeongin rolls to a stop in his swivel chair, leaning back with his hands behind his head. He pulls a face and mimes throwing up as Minho bites the end off a pepero stick and feeds the other half to Seungmin.
Jeongin sits up straighter and calls out, “Yah, this is a shared office. Go be lovebirds somewhere else.”
Minho sticks his tongue out. “Your fault for locking us in a closet,” he sing-songs, waggling pepero at them.
Just then, the door to Chan’s office swings open.
“Oh no,” Felix giggles.
“Oh yes,” Jeongin says, delighted.
Chan walks out carrying a stack of files, stopping dead three feet away from Seungmin’s desk. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just glances between Minho, Seungmin, and the snack in Minho’s hand.
“Minho,” Chan says, remarkably calm. “You can’t sit on Seungmin’s desk.”
Minho doesn’t move. He takes a pepero stick for himself, crunching it slowly as he blinks at Chan. “Why not? Is there a weight limit on the furniture? I didn’t see a sign.”
“It’s unprofessional. And you definitely can’t feed him snacks while you do it.”
“I’m just providing moral support,” Minho counters. “The server update is very stressful. Seungmin needs to keep his glucose levels up.”
Felix presses his hand harder against his mouth as Chan visibly takes a deep breath.
“He has hands, Minho. He can eat himself if he needs to.”
“That would require me to stop typing,” Seungmin pipes up, not looking away from the screen. “Which would decrease productivity. Are you asking me to slow down our department’s efficiency, Chan? That’s a very odd HR request.”
Chan shifts the stack of files to one arm and jabs his thumb towards Minho’s desk. “Just get off his desk, Minho. Now. If I see you sitting there one more time, I will personally revoke your chair privileges and make you work from a beanbag in the foyer.”
“Get off his desk?” Minho repeats slowly, his eyes widening in exaggerated confusion. “So you’re saying I should sit on his lap instead?”
Jeongin snorts, and Felix kicks his foot. Chan’s eye twitching is the only sign he heard them.
“Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it.”
“What if I feed him carrots?” Minho suggests, sliding off the desk to drop the empty pepero box in the bin under the desk. “You don’t want Seungmin to get scurvy, do you? Because that feels like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Seungmin nods solemnly. “I can feel my beta-carotene levels dropping by the second.”
“I—scurvy is from a lack of Vitamin C, not carrots!” Chan exclaims. He’d seriously consider just dragging Minho to his chair himself, if not for the ‘professionalism’ comment he made earlier. He turns desperately to Jeongin. “Back me up here.”
Jeongin shrugs, spinning lazily in his chair. “I mean, yeah, they’re gross.” He grins impishly. “But if I’m being honest, watching the veins pop out of your neck is the only thing getting me through this Thursday.”
“Yang Jeongin.”
“I think it’s really sweet!” Felix pipes up, unable to contain himself. “They’re still in their honeymoon phase, right?”
Chan opens his mouth to snap back, then seems to remember he’s talking to Felix, and just sighs. Deeply.
“Okay, fine.” Minho holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m moving back, see? No need to blow out a lung. I hope you’re happy, killing the spark of romance in this cold, cruel world.”
As Minho shuffles back to his seat—which is only four feet away—Jeongin leans over Felix’s desk, catching Chan’s eye again.
“You know, I’m pretty sure they are actually being more productive,” Jeongin whispers, his grin wide and devilish. “To make sure you can’t tell them off for being distracted. So, technically, you should be happy about this.”
“Technically,” Chan mutters, looking at Minho, who is now blowing a dramatic kiss across the aisle. “Right.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
By Friday, summer was really starting to make itself known. The air conditioning had been officially turned on, and most of the staff were down to light shirts.
Except for Seungmin.
Seungmin was wearing a coffee-brown, fluffy wool scarf wrapped twice around his neck.
Felix, fanning himself with a spare folder, glances curiously between Seungmin’s shorts and the thick scarf. For his part, Seungmin looks entirely unbothered as he calmly sips an iced americano.
“Is he… sick?” Felix whispers to Jeongin.
“Nope,” Jeongin replies, tapping a pen against his chin. “Minho would’ve straight up carried him home if he was. He looks far too happy with himself.”
Minho was indeed radiating a smug energy so thick it was practically a visible aura. Every few minutes, he would reach over and adjust the scarf, his fingers lingering far too long against Seungmin’s neck. That morning, Minho had moved his monitor and chair and set up on the side of Seungmin’s desk, still strictly working in his own chair.
Chan, predictably, comes out for his 11:00 AM coffee break.
He walks out with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stops in front of Minho’s side of the desk, opening his mouth to tell him to move, when he sees the woolly monstrosity around Seungmin’s neck.
“Seungmin,” Chan says in a strained voice.
“Yes?” Seungmin looks up with a serene smile.
“Why are you wearing a scarf indoors?”
“I have a delicate throat,” Seungmin says smoothly. “The draft in here is quite significant.”
Chan stares. “It’s twenty eight degrees outside, Seungmin. The windows are closed. Take it off before you get heatstroke. It’s a safety issue.”
Minho suddenly chimes in, clearly trying not to laugh. “I wouldn’t advise that, Chan.”
Chan turns his weary gaze to Minho. “And why not?”
“Let’s just say,” Minho says, his voice dropping into a conspiratorially low tone that nevertheless carries across the entire office, “that some things are better left to the imagination.”
The sound of Felix’s folder hitting the floor is the only noise in the room.
Chan blinks. Once. Twice. He looks back at Seungmin, who is now carefully adjusting the scarf with a faint smirk.
“Are you…” Chan starts, then pauses, looking like he’s swallowed a lemon. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
“I’m not telling you anything,” Seungmin says airily. “I’m just trying to maintain a professional atmosphere by concealing the results of… Minho’s enthusiastic appreciation for my hard work.”
Minho leans in, throwing an arm around Seungmin's shoulders. “He’s very appreciative of my appreciation. We really took your words about professionalism to heart, Chan.”
Chan looks up at the ceiling, perhaps praying for the sprinklers to go off and end his suffering. Behind him, he can hear Jeongin’s chair squeaking as he shakes with silent, hysterical laughter.
“You know what, I don’t want to know,” Chan finally says, holding up a hand as if to shield himself from the information. “I absolutely do not want to know. Keep the scarf on. Just… be more mindful next time.”
“Alright!” Minho calls as Chan hastily retreats to the break room. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer us to be transparent, though? Because Seungmin has a very nice collarbone, I’m sure everyone would love to see—”
SLAM.
The door to the break room vibrates on its hinges.
The moment the door is closed, Seungmin unwinds the scarf in one deft motion, revealing a neck that was perfectly clear and pale, if not slightly sweaty. He drapes the scarf over the back of his chair and takes another sip of his iced americano.
“You’re actually a demon,” Felix says in awe, staring at Seungmin’s completely unmarked neck.
“I was hot,” Seungmin replies nonchalantly. “And now I’m not. It’s not a big deal.”
Minho grins, his hand sliding up to ruffle Seungmin’s hair. “Told you it would work. For the record, I offered, but Seungminnie’s too proper for that.”
Jeongin grimaces. “TMI.”
“I just didn’t want Chan to have an actual stroke,” Seungmin says with a shrug. “I still need him to approve my vacation days next month.”
Minho hums, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches the break room door with a look of pure satisfaction. “True. Though I think at this point he’d probably sign anything just to get us out of his sight. We should ask for a trip to Jeju on the company card.”
“Wanna bet on whether he says yes?” Jeongin asks with a sly grin.
Seungmin arches an eyebrow. “If you run another betting pool, Chan is actually going to crucify all of us.”
“Not if we said it was Felix’s idea.”
“Hey!” Felix protests, though he doesn’t deny it, biting his lip against a laugh.
Minho picks up his pen with a satisfied smirk. “Let him try. He’ll miss the drama. We’re the only thing keeping this department interesting.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
By Monday morning, Chan has officially given up on “pleading” and arrived at “totalitarianism”. He gets to the office early and pins a new sheet of laminated paper to their noticeboard.
Additional Departmental Guidelines
The following rules apply to Lee Minho and Kim Seungmin, effective immediately:
No sitting on desks
No sharing chairs
No public displays of affection in common areas
Keep all conversations work-related during meetings
Maintain a professional distance of at least one (1) foot at all times
Failure to comply will result in aforementioned relocation to the foyer
— Bang Chan, Head of HR
Jeongin reads it once. Twice. Then swivels his chair towards Felix with the biggest grin. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
He’s right.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Monday, 11:52 AM
Chan walks out of his office to find Minho and Seungmin sitting on the floor. Just, right in the middle of the open office space, backs pressed together, laptops balanced on their knees.
“What,” Chan says flatly, “are you doing?”
“Working,” they reply at the same time, not looking up.
“You said no sitting on desks or sharing chairs,” Seungmin adds helpfully. “You didn’t say anything about floors. And, by the way, selective enforcement of rules is quite discriminating. I’ll have to mention this to HR.”
“I am HR,” Chan points out. “And now I’m telling you both to get up.”
They do. Eventually. After Minho finishes typing his sentence with glacially excruciating slowness.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Tuesday, 2:15 PM
Felix watches, fascinated, as Minho and Seungmin push their desk chairs flush against each other, then proceed to knot the ends of their ties together to form a bridge tethering them by their necks.
But technically, they’re still each in their own chair.
Chan walks by. Stops. Opens his mouth.
Minho beats him to it, looking up with innocent eyes. “Separate chairs, boss. Just like you asked.”
Chan walks away without a word.
Felix hears him muttering something about “stronger coffee” and “sheep farming”.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Wednesday, 10:38 AM
“Mr. Kim,” Minho says, his voice dripping with exaggerated formality, “would you kindly review this spreadsheet? I find myself a little stuck on the commands.”
“Of course, Mr. Lee,” Seungmin replies with a flourish. “I’d be delighted to assist you with your… hard problem.”
“Why, thank you. I’m sure I could resolve it on my own, of course, but your support would be truly appreciated.”
“Yes, I imagine you’ll need a more practiced hand to really help you get it finished.”
Jeongin makes a gagging noise.
Across the room, Chan closes his eyes and looks at the ceiling again. Jeongin’s starting to worry he’s going to develop a permanent crick in his neck.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Thursday, 5:45 PM
Chan sits at his desk, staring at his laptop screen.
He’s got the company handbook open, scouring the PDF for every even remotely relevant section on workplace relationships and codes of conduct.
But the problem is, Minho and Seungmin aren’t technically violating anything—at least, not enough to justify suspending two of the department’s most productive employees. And he can’t exactly write them up for following the rules, even if it is in the most obnoxious ways possible.
There’s a soft knock on his door.
“Come in,” Chan sighs.
Jeongin pokes his head in, grinning. “So. How’re the new guidelines working out?”
Chan closes his laptop with a defeated click. “I’m going to revoke them.”
“Really?”
“They’re worse like this.” Chan drags a hand down his face, feeling every single phantom wrinkle. “At least before they were just trying to be annoying. Now they’re being strategically annoying.”
“Told you,” Jeongin chirps, far too cheerfully. “Should’ve just let them be insufferable in peace. Want me to tell them the rules are lifted?”
“Absolutely not.” Chan leans back in his chair. “Just… let them think they’ve won. Maybe they’ll get bored.”
Jeongin’s grin widens. “You know that’s never gonna happen, right?”
Chan closes his eyes. “A man can dream, Jeongin.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
It’s 8:48 PM on Friday and Chan is still at the office, mourning the end of his fourth cup of coffee. He should be at home with Berry by now, eating jjajangmyeon and watching TV, pretending he has a work-life balance. But an upcoming deadline has been brought forward, and it’s his responsibility as the senior to take the brunt of the overtime.
So here he is, alone in the office. Or so he thinks.
He stands and stretches with a groan, feeling his spine crack in three places, and heads out to grab a fifth coffee. But as he walks down the empty corridor, he hears voices drifting through the wall.
Chan slows, his grip on the mug tightening. If Minho and Seungmin are here this late plotting something again, he swears—
He peers around the corner.
Just as he suspected, it’s Minho and Seungmin. Minho’s sitting in Seungmin’s chair with Seungmin curled up in his lap, head tucked against Minho’s chest. Seungmin’s laptop is open and he’s scrolling through a document, the screen casting a soft blue glow across both their faces.
It’s… peaceful. Different. Chan can tell they’re not fishing for a reaction—after all, there’s nobody around to provoke.
Chan stands there frozen, watching as Seungmin continues scrolling with Minho’s chin hooked over his shoulder, both arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Every so often, Minho says something too quiet for Chan to hear, and Seungmin lets out a soft laugh that Chan has literally never heard before.
“You’re going to ruin your eyes working this late,” Minho says eventually, lightly flicking Seungmin’s forehead.
Seungmin bats his hand away. “Says the guy who refuses to leave until I do.”
“Well, yeah. Someone has to drag you home before midnight.”
“I’m almost done reviewing.”
“You said that an hour ago.”
“I mean it this time. Promise.”
Minho huffs, but he tightens his grip around Seungmin’s waist and laces their fingers together, forcing Seungmin to switch hands. “Five minutes. Then we’re leaving, and I’m buying you some proper food.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll let you pay.”
“Bold of you to assume you have a choice.”
Chan hears more than sees Seungmin’s smile. “Okay.”
Minho presses a kiss to the top of his hair—soft and casual and so genuinely affectionate that Chan slowly backs away, feeling like he’s intruding on something.
He leans against the wall and lets out a slow breath. He could walk over there. Tell them to go home. Remind them about professional boundaries and appropriate workplace behaviour.
Except… after seeing that, he thinks he understands. That underneath all the chaos and headaches, there’s just two people who are completely gone for each other. It isn’t only about driving him insane, although he’s sure that’s part of it. They’re just… genuinely in love. And probably still figuring out how to be boyfriends and coworkers at the same time.
They’re good kids. Great employees too, despite everything. And they’re happy. Obnoxiously, inconveniently, authentically happy.
That’s worth something. That’s worth a lot, actually.
Chan takes another slow, silent step backwards, retreating down the corridor before they notice him. He’s done trying to manage the unmanageable. They’re going to be ridiculous no matter what he does, so he might as well let them enjoy it. They won’t have many chances to be young and stupidly in love, after all.
On Monday, he’ll pretend he didn’t see anything. He’ll take the list of rules down. He’ll roll his eyes when they show up holding hands and making increasingly creative excuses for why they need to collaborate so closely.
Even if he knows, deep down, that they’ll absolutely make him regret this. But that’s a problem for Future Chan.
(He’s still going to keep those farm listing tabs up though. Just in case.)
⋆⭒˚.⋆
EPILOGUE
On Monday morning, Chan walks into the office to find Minho leaning against Seungmin’s desk, feeding him what appears to be a chocolate croissant.
Their eyes meet. Minho raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips.
Chan just sighs, turns around, and heads directly to his office to continue working on that project.
From his desk, Jeongin watches the exchange with growing suspicion.
“Did Chan just… not say anything?” Felix whispers, wide-eyed.
“He gave up,” Jeongin realises, impressed and horrified in equal measure. “They actually broke him.”
“Should we be worried?”
“Probably.” Jeongin shrugs. “But I’m honestly just impressed. It took them less than a month.”
From across the room, Minho catches Jeongin’s eye and winks. Jeongin shakes his head, laughing. Thank god. He was almost worried he’d have to find a new hobby.