Chapter Text
Hong Joochan is what some might call maniacal.
He’s friendly and loud and expressive. His energy knows no bounds. One can find him as chipper at 9pm, working late on a new proposal, as at 6am, when he’s stepping into the company building to use the gym before work. He’s polite both in speech and gesture, and his little comments and anecdotes are what make team dinners enjoyable.
At twenty-two, he’s managed to carve a name for himself as the easygoing junior consultant whose love for badgering anyone within a five foot radius is rivalled only by his impeccable work ethic. In his first year since entering his company, he’s closed three deals, two with major trading companies, and is on his way to an accelerated promotion. The CEO loves him, but he’s never gotten hate for that, because everybody loves him.
Hong Joochan is the live of the party.
He pokes fun at anything and everything, to both the amusement and chagrin of his friends. Growing up with the same set of boys has made it so that his position in the group is that of the clown. Most of their inside jokes come from him. He was the one who suggested stuffing Seungmin in a suitcase on the boy’s 15th birthday. Every summer in high school, he’d be cackling together with Youngtaek, plotting on how to trick Daeyeol into doing something stupid like drink soy sauce or wear hot pink pants to the mall.
All this might seem the product of an extroverted, energetic mind. But Hong Joochan is more than that.
Recently out of college and barely a year into his first job, he’s helped digitise entire systems so that his team doesn’t have to rely on traditional paper and pen. His brain works at the speed of lighting, and sometimes, often to the frustration and subsequent amazement of his boss, he begins sentences with one point and ends on a completely different trajectory. He’s slept at his desk for weeks on end in order to make headway on new cases. He’s also organised the most company dinners and chaired several bonding events.
In school, he’d juggled hapkido, track and violin. He gave tuition to Youngtaek, who was (is) terrible at math. He would go over to Daeyeol’s on weekends and help his family with the bakery. And he made time for the nail art club, because they were in serious need of people, and he was in serious need of cuticle care.
Joochan has never stopped moving.
There’s a reason he’s packed his schedule to the brim, so that sometimes he has to run from one appointment to the next. It’s not that he likes scurrying up and down Seoul’s many fourty-five degree slopes, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge and hiking his bag of papers over his shoulder.
And while the nights are at least a bit more enjoyable, with good food and entertainment and friends to dance the night away with, it’s not that he necessarily enjoys roaring above the deep thrum of bass in order to be heard, or throwing back rounds of shots until he sees double and can’t walk straight.
It’s just that Hong Joochan doesn’t like the quiet.
He fills his days with work, and exercise, and friends, and jokes and laughs and fun. The little apartment downtown is less of a home and more of a place for him to grab a quick shower and a nap from time to time. He doesn’t drink coffee, has a mild hatred for the bitter thing, but the incessant voice in his head, telling him to go, go, go, is better than any caffeinated drink.
He appreciates his friends for humouring him, gathering at the variety of restaurants, baseball games, and pubs he drags them to. Daeyeol’s house, while a little out of the way, is always open for movie night. And when those options don’t pan out, he always has some work idea to hash out, some proposal to write. He’s maybe the only person in the world who appreciates the fact that Seoullite work culture means crazy hours for little compensation.
Hong Joochan doesn’t like the quiet, so he’s resolved to leading as noisy a life as he possibly can.
That’s exactly why they’re being kicked out of a barbecue place on a Thursday evening. The waitress is apologising, reaching over to hand them ice cream, and telling them to leave because they’re being too noisy, and there’s simply no more meat or soju.
Joochan shrugs, batting Seungmin’s hand away from his favourite popsicle bar. At least there’s free dessert.
The quartet pay for their bill and spill out onto the streets. Already, Joochan is feeling buzzed. They can all hold their alcohol — a skill trained over years of free vodka at Youngtaek’s mansion — but they had gone through at least a carton of soju.
“Come on, another round!” Joochan says, slinging an arm over Seungmin.
The older boy groans. “You’re exactly like my boss after our team dinners.” He shoves the offending arm away, but the younger boy isn’t deterred.
“Taekie,” Joochan pouts, latching onto another victim. “Taekie, drink with me.”
But Youngtaek is too busy puking into a bin to reply.
“Daeyeol!” Joochan’s last option is the eldest of the group, who, given the amount they’ve drunk this night, is standing admirably upright.
“No,” Daeyeol says apologetically. “I would love to, Chan, but I need to open the bakery tomorrow morning.” There is a hint of concern in his eyes at Joochan’s inebriated state. “Shall I call a cab for you?”
But Joochan only wags a finger in Daeyeol’s direction. Youngtaek has finished emptying the contents of his dinner into the bin, and Daeyeol passes him a bottle of water he always keeps on hand for nights when the quartet hang out. The younger boy accepts gratefully before glancing at Joochan, who is smiling at him, silent plea in his eyes.
“Taekieeeee”, he begins, but Youngtaek cuts him off.
“Fine, fine. Just no aegyo, please.”
Joochan pumps his fist in mock victory, salutes Seungmin, who is chewing on his ice cream stick, and Daeyeol, who only waves a lazy, what-do-I-do-with-you hand in their general direction, before he’s dragging Youngtaek off elsewhere to continue this very pleasant night.
—
They sober up quite a bit on the way to their next location, a quiet bar run by an acquaintance of Youngtaek’s father. It’s crowded but spacious, and Youngtaek, with a mention that he is the son of Son Myung Il, snags them a private booth at the back with plush seats lined in velvet. Joochan gets a good view of the place, the soft, easy music and the bottles displayed at the bar, and nods in satisfaction.
Not the thumping excitement of the club, but not a bad choice either. He is, after all, capable of a classy evening.
Whatever they order will be on the house, says the waiter who comes to them, on account of Youngtaek’s father. Joochan clinks his glass with Youngtaek’s and chuckles. “If only your dad would adopt me.”
“Sure,” Youngtaek rolls his eyes. “You take over the family business of swindling.”
“Happy to,” Joochan fires back. “If you take over my 70-hour work weeks.”
Youngtaek throws his head back in laughter, his earrings glinting in the light. He looks every part heir to the largest hotel and casino group in Korea, with a dark blazer thrown casually over a patterned inner shirt and enough attitude and confidence to command armies if he wanted to. Half shrewd businessman, half idiot. He nudges Joochan’s knee with one Oxford-clad foot.
“Everyone knows how crazy you are about your work.”
Joochan laughs too, because it’s true. There might not be anything glamorous or fun about his little office job, compared to Youngtaek’s family conglomerate or Daeyeol’s bakery or even Seungmin’s curator work at the museum. But it requires time from him, and time is something he’s eager to give.
Youngtaek knows this, and so do the other two. Maybe that’s why they’re so accommodating whenever he forces them to stay out late, or drops in unannounced and spends the night.
Joochan is about to say something else when the door to the bar opens, letting in a small gust of wind and the smell of rain. He’d forgotten his umbrella, and he’s about to ask Youngtaek if he has one when something makes him stop short.
A head of raven hair. Alabaster skin. A cool, unimpressed gaze that sweeps over the room before zeroing in on the counter. Joochan thanks his lucky stars that he’s partially hidden away at the back of the bar.
Youngtaek looks at the stranger, then at how Joochan is staring at said stranger, before letting out a little laugh. “Dude.”
Joochan checks himself, cheeks colouring slightly as he tears his eyes away from the man. “What?” he says, embarrassed. He brings his drink up to his lips and take a long swig just for something to do. Bad choice. The whiskey burns the back of his throat. Why had he gone for the Michter’s? He should have asked for something smoother instead.
Youngtaek is proper laughing now. “Dude,” he repeats. “Joochan~”
“Shut up,” Joochan mumbles. He aims a kick at Youngtaek when the latter doesn’t stop laughing, then thinks about stamping on those expensive-looking Oxfords when Youngtaek shoves him right back without preamble.
Despite being noisy most of the time, Joochan finds himself less jumpy when he’s with Youngtaek. They’ve known each other the longest, ever since kindergarten when his mom used to work for the Sons. Despite his klutzy nature and lack of brain-to-mouth filter, Youngtaek is the only one who will put up with Joochan’s recklessness, often diving in to save the day with his smooth-talking and bottomless wallet.
Often, too, Youngtaek is the one who encourages such recklessness.
“You should go talk to him.”
Joochan almost spits out his whiskey. “I should what now?”
“Talk to him,” Youngtaek says. There’s a little crazy glint in his eyes. “Go up to him and say: ‘Hey boy, if you’re not busy, could you please stay the night with me?’” At the incredulous look that Joochan gives him, he says, “What? It’s a song."
Joochan cackles, because he can’t imagine striking a conversation with a stranger in his state right now. He’d been running at the gym before dinner, and had come in sweats and a ratty hoodie. If anything, the line looks like it belongs to Youngtaek, who, having grown up watching men visit his father’s casinos dressed in all manner of refinery, has developed an impeccable sense of style and is dressed the part of a swindler tonight.
“Go on,” Youngtaek brandishes his drink at Joochan. “Go on.”
When Joochan doesn’t move, Youngtaek narrows his eyes. “I’ll let you borrow the villa.”
For the second time this night, Joochan almost spits out his drink. “Are you daring me right now?”
Youngtaek shrugs. “Seaside view. Private jacuzzi.”
“I know what’s in the villa,” Joochan snaps. Youngtaek had brought them there once, and Joochan has been drooling to return ever since.
Youngtaek grins, the crazy glint back in his eyes. “All yours.”
Apparently, Joochan’s extroversion extends into pure, dumb bravado, because he’s already putting his drink down and standing up, pressing down his unruly hair. Taek hadn’t said that he had to succeed; he just had to go talk to the man.
And if he were being honest, he really did he want to talk to him.
Youngtaek is watching him over the rim of his glass, and Joochan flips him off before stuffing his hands into his hoodie and making his way towards the bar.
The man doesn’t seem to notice him, immersed as he is in swirling his drink around in his glass, until Joochan slips onto the stool beside him and offers him a smile. If he is surprised, he doesn’t show it.
The bartender, eager to please the friend of Son Myung Il’s son, hurries over to ask if he requires anything. Joochan waves him away with a thanks, before turning back to the man beside him.
“Hey, boy.”
If the man is surprised at this peculiar greeting, he doesn’t show it either.
“I’m Joochan.”
Maybe it’s because the bartender spoke to him so reverently, but the man seems to have deemed Joochan harmless. He nods in greeting. “Bomin.”
“Don’t look now,” Joochan continues conversationally, “But my friend at the back there dared me to come over. I hope you don’t mind.”
Bomin turns to him curiously, taking in for the first time his messy hair and rumpled appearance. His eyes settle on Joochan’s for a second too long, before he’s tearing them away and fishing out his phone. “What did he dare you for?”
“If I deliver a line to you, he’ll lend me the keys to his villa,” Joochan shrugs.
Bomin’s lips turn up in a laugh, and Joochan’s heart stutters as he catches sight of the faint crinkles that form at the corners of Bomin’s eyes.
“Well then,” Bomin’s eyes are on his phone, but at least he’s having a proper conversation with Joochan. “I’ll be happy to help you out with this dare, within reasonable means, of course.”
Joochan catches a glimpse of Youngtaek gesticulating wildly over Bomin’s shoulder, long arms flailing animatedly. And maybe it’s the alcohol getting to him again, or because he misses watching the sun set over the glittering ocean at Taek’s villa, or that he really wants to keep talking to Bomin. He takes a deep breath and goes in for the kill.
“If you’re not busy, could you please stay the night with me?”
There is silence.
Joochan looks away nervously. From the corner of his eye he sees Youngtaek laughing so hard that the drink in his hand sloshes over the sides of his glass.
“Aaaand that’s it!” Joochan gushes. “That’s the dare. The end. Scene. Thank you very much.”
“Glad I could be of assistance.” Bomin’s face is a smooth mask. He finishes typing something on his phone and looks up at Joochan as if the latter hadn’t just ask him for a one-night stand. “I hope your friend keeps his promise.”
“Yes, well," Joochan laughs, thankful that Bomin doesn’t seem to have taken offence. “I’m just going to go bury myself in a cave for the next decade or so,” he jokes.
His phone rings just then, and he would have ignored it if it weren’t the special ringtone he’d set for his CEO. He jumps up immediately, mumbling a quick “excuse me” before turning away from Bomin to answer it.
“Sir?”
“Joochan!” His CEO is as loud and boisterous as he is, but he is also very, very demanding. “I got an email from the Swiss people! They’ve sent the document over. I need it processed before their representative comes over to sign the deal.”
And for some explicable reason, relief floods Joochan’s bones. There is work to do. He needn’t go home after this.
“No problem, Sir, I can get that checked out right now. I’m near the office anyway. I know their people are coming over next week; we wouldn’t want to delay the signing.”
Joochan nods and thanks his way through several “I knew I could count on you”s before bidding his CEO goodnight. When he puts down the phone, he has a smile on his face. Then he realises that Bomin is giving him a curious look.
“Sorry,” Joochan replies. “Work stuff. Looks like I have to make a trip back to the office.”
“So late at night?”
“The counterparts are Swiss. I suppose timezones don’t really matter here.”
The curious look is still on Bomin’s face. It’s just a subtle tightening, a strange look in his eyes, but Joochan doesn’t miss it. He wonders what the problem could be.
“Well,” Bomin says. “Then I won’t keep you. I hope your work goes well, and that you enjoy your stay at the villa.”
Joochan gets up from his seat and offers a tiny bow to Bomin. “Thank you for playing along. I assure you, I don’t usually go around quoting songs as pick-up lines.”
Bomin laughs. Joochan waves a hand as he says “Bye.”
Later on, after he’d dragged Youngtaek out of the bar and stuffed him into a cab (Taek had ended up drinking a little too much while watching the excitement unfold before him), after he’d rushed back to his office and prepared all the documents needed for the big signing, after he’d stumbled blearily home, actually worn out from the eventful night, Joochan lies in his bed and closes his eyes. Only then does he realise that Bomin had not returned his greeting with a goodbye.
He’d said, “See you around.”
—
The quartet don’t meet the next day, but Joochan drops by Daeyeol’s family bakery on Saturday to help out. Youngtaek is there for moral support, having been banned from the kitchen after managing to spill two entire batches of cake batter.
The bakery is busy, and it is only during dusk when the customers have dwindled down to a stray few that he finds time to sit down for a break. Seungmin, by some stroke of luck, has been coaxed out of his museum’s storage room, and Youngtaek has deemed it an opportune time to recount to him and Daeyeol the Thursday night adventure. Joochan watches in amusement as Seungmin’s face takes on an increasing look of horror.
“And so you did what? Quoted a line from a song to a complete stranger?” Seungmin’s eyes are wide and disapproving. He’s always been the proper one of the group, deigning not to take part in their antics and always threatening to go to the teacher if their pranks got out of hand. His bosses call him responsible. Joochan calls him uptight.
Daeyeol is in the kitchen wiping down the pans, but Joochan can hear him laugh. “I’m more surprised that he sat there and allowed you to quote that stupid line.”
“Hey,” Youngtaek protests. “Not stupid.”
“Very stupid,” Joochan retorts. “But now you owe me the keys to the villa.”
Youngtaek gives him a grin and cackles. “You can have them, but I might have forgotten to mention that the parents are tearing the entire thing down and rebuilding from scratch. It’’s gonna be a pile of rubble until next year at least—” His glee is short lived as Joochan lunges over at lighting speed to put him in a headlock.
“You—” Joochan yells as he pummels Youngtaek. “You little shit!”
Seungmin only rolls his eyes. Daeyeol continues wiping down his pans like this is an everyday occurrence. “Mind the display,” is all he says.
But of course, Youngtaek’s elbow grazes a glass bottle, and it goes falling to the ground, shattering into bits and spraying across the floor a very colourful array of edible sugar stars and hearts.
“Taek,” Daeyeol sighs.
“Sorry,” Youngtaek emerges from Joochan’s headlock, shoving the younger boy away, and ducks his head at Daeyeol’s disappointment. “I’ll clean up.”
He picks at the glass shards, and Joochan, deciding that he has at least a sliver of conscience, bends down to help him.
“I can’t believe this,” Joochan grumbles. “You made me embarrass myself in front of a complete stranger. And all for nothing!”
“Not for nothing,” Youngtaek protests. “You were already thinking of talking to him, even before I mentioned the villa.”
“Was not.”
Joochan will never admit it out loud, but Youngtaek is right. He’d been considering making his presence known to Bomin; Taek had just given him the best (worst) excuse to do so.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Seungmin says from above them as they duckwalk across the bakery searching for stray shards of glass. “It’s not like you know the guy. Who cares if you embarrassed yourself?”
Joochan makes a vague ‘mm’ in agreement, but Bomin’s face has surfaced in his mind again. Dark hair and pale skin and eyes that curve into crescents when they smile. The look of curiosity he’d given Joochan. That quiet “See you around” as Joochan waved goodbye.
He hasn’t told anyone about that part yet, still trying to parse out what Bomin had meant.
“See you around” could mean anything from “I hope we meet again” to “I’m glad this conversation is over.” It’s as vague a greeting as “Cheers” or “Cool” or— Joochan shakes his head to stop himself from overthinking.
“You’re right,” he straightens and dumps the pile of glass into the bin. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“By the way,” Joochan continues to Seungmin. “You’re going shopping with me.”
The shorter boy looks at him in surprise. “What? Now?”
“Now,” Joochan grabs his bag and Seungmin’s too, dumping it unceremoniously at him. “I’ve decided that you’re in need of a new wardrobe.”
“But I’m supposed to head back to the museum for a curator meeting,” Seungmin protests, even as Joochan is hauling him up by the elbow and waving goodbye to the other two. “I can’t be late for that.”
“Work on weekends should be illegal,” Joochan replies, ignoring Youngtaek’s tiny “You’re one to talk.”
“Anyway,” Joochan thumps Seungmin’s back in an effort to get him moving. “Your meeting is at 7, we still have 2 hours.”
“How did you know— You checked my email?”
Joochan shrugs as the two make their way out of the bakery. Seungmin’s face is scrunched up in a frown. “Joochan, I don’t appreciate that.”
“Just wanted to know if you would be free to go shopping,” the younger boy pouts.
“And I would have told you if you asked,” Seungmin retorts.
“But you would have said no. And I know you need clothes for that date next week.”
Seungmin’s eyes go so wide Joochan’s sure they might fall out of their sockets. “You— Hong Joochan!”
“Your phone was pinging a mile a minute.” Joochan grins. “It was annoying.”
“You’re annoying!” Seungmin groans.
“C’mon, you know you need my help. Daeyeol dresses like a grandpa, and Taek is too flashy for your tastes.”
Seungmin is still grumbling, but Joochan can see that he’s got through to him. “I won’t ask who, and we won’t be long,” he assures. “I’m good at picking out clothes.”
So Seungmin allows himself to be dragged to the nearby mall, where Joochan puts all manner of dapper shirts and dress pants on him, trying out this combination and that. Seungmin pays for the clothes, and for a pretty scarf for Joochan, and for the drinks that Joochan begs him to buy. Joochan is happy strolling along the bright walkways with Seungmin, and fails to mention that it is almost 7, even though he’s had his eye on the time all this while.
It’s only when Seungmin catches sight of the large timepiece display overhead that he gasps, horrified glare turning accusatory as Joochan gives him a tiny sly smile. He shoves his bags at Joochan before sprinting back to the museum for his meeting.
Joochan, being the fantastic friend he is, brings it upon himself to drag all of Seungmin’s purchases back to the bakery, where Daeyeol is about to lock up, and forces the eldest boy to join him on a trip to Seungmin’s apartment to drop the stuff off.
On the bus there, sitting side by side with the bags squashed one on top of the other on their laps, Joochan steals a sideway glance at Daeyeol. The leader of their motley group is quiet.
“Seungmin wasn’t that late,” Joochan offers tentatively, like a little boy wanting to appease a parent. “He had time to send me a text.”
“And what did he say?”
“Many rude things about my character that I completely do not agree with.”
Daeyeol can’t help but chuckle.
“I’m not a bad person,” Joochan says defensively. There is a pause, and then— “Am I?”
Daeyeol is silent, and Joochan’s about to think that maybe the eldest boy hadn’t heard him, when Daeyeol replies. “You’re not a bad person, Chan.”
In very characteristic Joochan fashion, the younger boy sidles up to Daeyeol, nuzzling his cheek into Daeyeol’s shoulder. “This is why I love you, hyung.”
Daeyeol only laughs, shoving his face away.
They reach Seungmin’s apartment and let themselves in (Joochan, being Joochan, knows the passcode to the door lock), arranging the bags of clothes nicely on the sofa. Joochan finds a pen and some paper and leaves a note about how much he admires and respects his Seungmin hyung, and that Joochan is very sorry he made him late for an important meeting, and wouldn’t Seungmin hyung forgive him? He even draws some cute hearts along the edges of the paper.
Daeyeol has fallen asleep by the time he’s done. But Joochan wakes him up unceremoniously, and demands to be brought out for fried chicken, a request that is acceded to very easily, since Daeyeol is also hungry after a full day at the bakery. They call Youngtaek, who had been lounging in a PC cafe nearby, and lose themselves in a night of fried foods and beer.
—
Sunday passes in a blur of boredom, and Joochan’s almost eager that Monday is here. He’s never had Monday blues, doesn’t understand how that could be a thing, when there are so many demands and requests and tasks to attend to, and no time to feel blue whatsoever.
It’s in a very cheerful mood that Joochan steps into the lobby of his office building, greeting everyone he sees with enough exuberance to make up for the bleary replies he gets in return. He hums a tuneless song on the elevator up, as he powers up his computer, even as he’s laying out the documents and pens and drinks needed for that important signing with the Swiss client.
He cracks a joke as his CEO enters the building, makes the entire entourage laugh, and then settles at a corner of the room as the important people take their seats at the main oval table and wait for their special guests to arrive.
There is commotion outside the meeting room, and then some new faces enter, greetings are exchanged and the Swiss representatives are taking their positions at the table. From his place at the back, Joochan can only catch a tiny glimpse of dark hair — strange, because he’d been expecting a Western blonde — but when someone moves out of his field of vision, he’s given a clear view of his new clients, and has to muster all the willpower he has in him not to scream.
Sitting right in front of him is a young man. A head of raven hair. Alabaster skin. Serious eyes that Joochan knows will crinkle when they smile.
Bomin looks up to see Joochan staring right at him.
The man glances at him for only a second before he’s directing his attention back to Joochan’s CEO. Joochan shrinks into the wall, trying to make himself as tiny as possible. There is a possibility that Bomin doesn’t remember him. He tries to focus on the meeting, even though his cheeks are burning and his forehead is covered in a light sheen of sweat.
His CEO is saying something about how this deal will be groundbreaking for both parties. Bomin is responding in kind. Joochan’s mind is running in circles. Bomin, responding? Bomin, here? Bomin, Joochan’s new client?
He jumps when his CEO calls his name, giving a start when he realises that everyone in the room is looking at him.
“You’ve got Joochan to thank,” his CEO says to Bomin. “He was so quick with the documents last week, even though I’d emailed them to him on a Thursday evening. Joochan’s a bright boy, such an asset to the company. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with him.”
Did he really have to mention Joochan’s name twice?
Bomin is looking straight at him, and any hopes Joochan might have had about him not remembering what went down on Thursday night fly straight out the window at the tiny smirk on Bomin’s lips. Suddenly the room feels too hot and too crowded.
Joochan tries to make himself as invisible as possible after that, and the meeting goes on smoothly. Both parties sign the deal, shake hands, and move out to take a tour of the office. Joochan peels himself away from the wall and begins clearing up the half-empty water bottles and abandoned pens. He purposefully takes his time, praying that Bomin will be gone by the time he’s done.
But speak of the devil. Someone clears his throat, and Joochan turns around, dread flooding his entire being, to see Bomin leaning against the door frame with that same smirk on his face.
“Mr Choi,” Joochan bows, holding onto the minuscule hope that maybe, maybe, Bomin doesn’t recognise him. “Can I help with anything?”
The smirk grows into a full smile, and oh, the crinkles have formed along the corners of Bomin’s eyes, and Joochan is mesmerised for a tithe of a second before Bomin says, “I’m not asking you anything. Just let’s have a chat.”
Joochan almost drops the papers in his hand.
It’s a line from that same song.
Damn Youngtaek and his stupid dare. Damn it all.
“I—” Joochan is gaping like a fish. He closes his mouth after realising how stupid he must seem to Bomin, who looks like an angel brought down to earth to bestow his light upon the lowly human beings.
“Just let’s have a chat,” Bomin says again, moving into the room to stand before Joochan. He’s so close that Joochan is momentarily distracted by the lashes that frame his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Joochan bursts out.
Bomin hums. “For what?”
“For Thursday evening,” Joochan says, words coming out in a jumbled rush. Joochan is used to feeling in his element, isn’t used to floundering around like how he is now. But how does one act in such a situation?
“No, no”, Bomin waves a hand, as if trying to swat away his apology. “I had a very interesting Thursday night, thanks to you.” There is still a hint of a smirk in his smile, and it puts Joochan on edge.
“My CEO—”
“Won’t hear a word of this,” Bomin says. “I was actually impressed with how you dropped everything on Thursday for your work. I heard that you were the one who prepared the proposals? They were very well done.”
“I—”
“Relax,” Bomin says, and Joochan sees that he’s trying his best now to look assuring. The smirk is gone, at least. “I just wanted to tease you once, is all.”
“Stupid song,” Joochan mutters under his breath. Bomin laughs. Joochan resolutely looks away from his face to prevent himself from staring at his eyes again.
“It’s a good song,” Bomin moves around Joochan to pick up some loose papers, gathering them into a stack before handing them over. Joochan, seeing Bomin taking over his job of cleaning up, jumps and immediately tells Bomin not to mind.
“I’ll do it,” Joochan says hurriedly. “You should join the rest for the tour.”
“I’d rather be here,” says Bomin quietly, and Joochan feels heat prickling up his neck. Bomin is looking at him, but he absolutely refuses to return the gaze.
“Anyway,” Bomin says after the pause. “It looks like you’re almost done. Maybe it would be good for me to join in on the tour.”
Then he walks out, hands in his pocket, humming the chorus to that damn song.