Work Text:
"If you dance, I'll dance
And if you don't, I'll dance anyway."
Juhoon had perfected the art of not caring. At least, that was how it looked from the outside.
In group projects, he usually leaned back in his chair, radiating a quiet indifference while everyone else was spiraling over fonts and deadlines. In traffic, he preferred humming along to the radio over leaning on his horn. And when plans fell apart, he just shrugged and said:
“It’s fine. We’ll figure it out.”
Martin had known him long enough to trust that calm. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.
Martin, on the other hand, was practical. He was the sensible friend, the one who would book tickets weeks in advance and carried tissues "just in case". He wasn’t a pushover, or at least that’s what he told himself, but he was generally agreeable. If something made sense, he’d go along with it.
With Juhoon, things didn’t always have to make sense.
Because Juhoon rarely demanded anything, his life felt effortless. He ate wherever Martin suggested, watched whichever movie happened to be queued up, and walked the longer route home if Martin preferred it. Which was why it felt so disarming the rare times he actually decided he wanted something.
"Martin."
Juhoon said one Saturday afternoon, sprawling across Martin’s couch like he paid rent there.
“There’s this café across town. They have this limited-edition caramel cream thing.”
“That’s forty minutes away,” Martin replied without looking up from his laptop.
“Yeah.”
Martin continued typing, offering a flat counterpoint: “We have coffee here.”
The room fell into a weighted silence. When Martin finally looked over, Juhoon was already watching him with a tilted head and a soft, steady gaze. His lashes were lowered in a way that should’ve been illegal.
He wasn't even pouting or pleading.
“I just thought it’d be nice,” Juhoon said lightly, his voice airy. “But it’s okay.”
Martin’s brain, which had handled budget spreadsheets and last-minute crises with impressive efficiency, suddenly malfunctioned. There was something about that look, that quiet, steady gaze. Martin couldn't decide if it was the faint batting of those stupidly pretty eyelashes, or it was the way Juhoon somehow managed to look both completely chill and completely certain.
Martin felt his resistance fold like cheap paper. He closed his laptop with a defeated sigh.
“Go get your jacket.”
Juhoon’s lips curved into something soft rather than triumphant.“Okay.”
The same thing happened with a stray cat in the alley behind their building.
“We are staying firm on the no-pet rule,” Martin said, even as Juhoon crouched in the dirt.
Juhoon stroked the tiny gray creature with gentle fingers.
“I hear you.”
“Good.”
But when Juhoon looked up, Martin immediately felt his resolve vanish. The streetlight caught in Juhoon’s eyes as he blinked slowly.
“He keeps following me,” Juhoon whispered.“Leaving him here feels cruel.”
Martin lasted a full seven seconds before exhaling a sharp breath.
“We’re buying cat food tomorrow.”
Juhoon’s smile blossomed, bright and genuine. “You’re the best.”
Martin muttered something about being a victim of manipulation.
"I’m not manipulating you,” Juhoon replied calmly, standing up and dusting off his jeans.
“I just asked.”
And it was true. He never pushed or argued. If Martin truly stood his ground, Juhoon would let it go, and that was exactly what made it so difficult to refuse. The option to say no was always there, but Martin just… never took it.
The thing was, Juhoon never overplayed it. He didn’t bat his lashes at random requests or trivial whims. It only happened when he genuinely wanted something, and that gave it weight. Martin could feel the quiet shift in energy, the subtle seriousness behind the relaxed exterior.
It wasn’t manipulation. It was confidence. Juhoon somehow knew Martin would say yes, and that certainty made the asking soft instead of forceful.
"Say yes to Heaven
Say yes to me."
There was the matter of the navy-blue flannel.
It was Martin’s favorite shirt. The thick, broken-in cotton felt like a second skin, and the fit was exactly right. He had left it draped over the back of a chair, only to find Juhoon wearing it the next morning while making tea.
“That’s mine,” Martin said, leaning against the doorframe.
Juhoon hummed, the sleeves swallowed his hands, leaving only his fingertips visible as he gripped his mug.
“It’s comfortable.”
“It’s also my favorite. Take it off.”
Juhoon turned around slowly, his expression blank. He didn't argue. He didn't claim he had "forgotten" it was Martin’s. Instead, he simply stood there, the oversized fabric making him look smaller and softer than usual. He leaned back against the counter and looked Martin directly in the eye, letting his gaze linger with a heavy, unblinking intensity.
He let the silence stretch until it felt like a physical weight. Then, he performed his masterpiece. He ducked his head, hiding his face slightly behind the high collar of the shirt, and peered up through the dark thicket of his lashes.
“It smells like you,” Juhoon murmured, his voice dipping into a low, honeyed register.
“I like it.”
Martin tried, he really did, to hold eye contact without reacting. He could feel that familiar, irritating warmth of defeat rising in his chest. Juhoon remained perfectly still, waiting for Martin to make the final move.
“Keep it,” Martin snapped, turning away to hide the flush on his cheeks.
“Just… don't get tea stains on it.”
Juhoon smiled, taking a slow sip of his tea, eyes crinkling at the corners with a satisfaction that felt like a hug.
" I've got my mind on you
I got my mind on you."
One evening, after agreeing to stay up until nearly three in the morning to watch a meteor shower Juhoon had “just heard about,” Martin lay on the hood of his car, freezing, staring at the sky.
“You know you do this on purpose,” he said.
Juhoon, wrapped in Martin’s jacket, turned his head. “Do what?”
“You act all chill ninety-nine percent of the time. And then the one percent you want something, you weaponize your face.”
Juhoon blinked at him, and Martin groaned. “That. Exactly that.”
A meteor streaked across the sky before Juhoon could defend himself. His breath caught. Without thinking, he reached over and grabbed Martin’s hand.
“Look,” he whispered.
The excitement in his voice was undeniably subtle. It was a rare, honest spark. Martin found himself watching Juhoon instead of the stars, struck by the the realization that Juhoon didn't resort to being pushy because he didn't have to. He saved his quiet persuasion for the things that truly mattered, the things that lit him up from the inside.
Martin squeezed his hand back.“You know you always win, right?"
Juhoon smiled, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “You’re folding again.”
“Probably,” Martin agreed.
In the end, nothing about their dynamic felt forced. It was easy, predictable in the best way. Juhoon remained the calm, unbothered center of every situation until he wanted something.
And when he did, all it took was a soft look, a quiet voice, and a gentle flutter of lashes for Martin to crumble willingly.
Giving in wasn't always a sign of weakness. Sometimes, it was just choosing to embrace something warm, harmless, and a little bit ridiculous.
Juhoon settled back, his lashes fluttering as he stole a sideways glance. “Next week, there’s a night market-”
“Don’t,” Martin warned, already smiling.
Juhoon’s expression went purely innocent, and Martin felt his resolve begin to crease once again.
Honestly? He didn’t mind at all.