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Baby Baby

Summary:

Joochan is about to say something 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.”

Notes:

Based off Winner's Baby Baby.

Or: Joochan drowns his loneliness in drinks and daring acts of bravado.

Chapter 1: Whiskey and Welcomes

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

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.

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for more dumb adventures.

Chapter 2: Dinner and Discernment

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Not only is Bomin his new client’s representative, he’s also going to be working from Joochan’s office for the coming month.

Joochan finds out when he gets roped into a company-wide lunch, and does a double take when Bomin takes a seat next to him.

“We meet again,” Bomin says, and an uncontrolled bout of laughter bubbles out of Joochan’s lips before he can clamp a hand over his mouth.

Because it’s just so ridiculous, this entire thing. It doesn’t seem real. His life isn’t a damn soap opera, for goodness’ sake.

“I promise, Consultant Hong,” Bomin says, mistaking Joochan’s laugh for offence, “that I didn’t plan on sitting next to you.”

Joochan’s face is burning, but this whole situation is starting to seem less like a death sentence and more like a fun time, now that he’s gotten over the initial shock of seeing Bomin again. So he throws his head back in laughter and quips back, “It’s okay, I know I’m handsome.” That earns a few chuckles from the colleagues sitting at the same table — Joochan the mood maker, back at it again — but most importantly, he gets to see Bomin’s crinkly smile once more.

Bomin doesn’t say much for the rest of the lunch, but the table is cramped and their knees knock against each other more times than Joochan can count. On the way back, Joochan gets sent on a coffee run for his department, and Bomin, despite being their client and thus deserving of royal treatment, volunteers to help. The two make their way to a nearby cafe, Joochan talking nonsense all the while.

“You’re really noisy, aren’t you?” Bomin says as they haul bags of drinks back to the office.

Joochan can only nod in agreement. “Never a dull moment with me,” he says.

“I should introduce you to a friend of mine one day,” Bomin continues. “He’s the loudest person I knew, until I met you.”

“Does he like cracking stupid jokes and playing pranks on his friends?”

“Of course,” Bomin says, smiling at how animatedly Joochan is talking. The spring breeze is refreshing, and Bomin is sleepy after the lunch, but Joochan’s voice keeps him from floating away. “I also won’t put it past him to chat strangers up with terrible pick-up lines.”

Joochan snaps his fingers. “A fine friend you seem to have right there.”

Back at the office, Joochan is swept up in the pile of things he has to do, and he hardly sees Bomin again until it’s the end of the day, when he’s finally done with his last meeting and has just trudged back to his table to find Bomin lounging on the seat next to his.

“Consultant Hong,” Bomin says, handing a thick stack of files to Joochan. "I wanted to pass you these documents.”

The people around them have started to pack up, some of them looking warily at Bomin, as if worried that he’s going to hand them another similar pile of work. But Joochan hugs the files like he’s glad to meet them. Eyeing this, Bomin quickly says, “You don’t have to look through them today. It’s just that I won’t be here tomorrow and thought I’d better give them to you first.”

“I thought you were staying for a month.” The words are out of Joochan’s month before he can stop himself, and he cringes at the little whine in his voice.

“I am,” Bomin says. “But tomorrow I have some business to attend to.”

“Oh,” is all that Joochan can say. He turns away to place the files on his desk so that Bomin won’t see his pout.

“I’ll be back Wednesday,” Bomin supplies, and it is then that Joochan realises how silly he is to even be pouting. Where is his professionalism? Bomin is an important client, and Joochan needs to treat him that way. He sucks in a deep breath and turns back around.

“Of course,” Joochan flashes Bomin a bright smile, the kind that he saves for his bosses and CEO. “We can go through the documents then.”

He bows and walks off before Bomin can say anything, climbing the stairs to the rooftop and staying there and checking his feelings until he stops feeling so stupid and disappointed in himself. Bomin has left by the time he creeps back down, and Joochan huffs out a sigh before dragging the pile of documents towards him, beginning a long night of reading and research.

Tuesday comes, and Joochan is feeling unreasonably blue.

Of course, he moves and talks like how he always does — loudly and enthusiastically, tearing through his work like a hurricane. He tries to ignore the empty seat on the far corner of the room, a seat that’s so conveniently within his line of sight. Instead, he finishes his work, has a coffee break with the director, goes around the room half pestering people and half offering his help, and by the end of the day has managed to add several tasks onto his list so that the rest of his week won’t be spent moping silently.

That’s what Joochan loves the most about work. There’s a strange satisfaction that comes with having your brain on hyperdrive. Joochan relishes in the feeling, because if his mind is always preoccupied with work, then it has no time to think of anything else.

But maybe productivity isn’t always a good thing, because he’s done with his list of tasks even before it’s midnight. He sends out several emails, anticipating the replying “Thank you what would I do without you”s, and then packs up for the day, mulling over which of his friends he should bother at such a late hour.

Youngtaek is running the floor today at one of his father’s casinos. Seungmin is probably on another date with that boy whose name was flashing across his screen that day at the bakery. Dongho? Donghyun? Donghyun, that’s it.

Daeyeol has bookclub on Tuesday evenings, but that’s bound to be over by now. With no regard for the fact that it’s technically Wednesday morning, Joochan speed dials Daeyeol as he steps out of the company building, tugging his scarf around himself and wondering why it’s still so cold in May.

“Surprise!” Joochan screams into the phone when Daeyeol picks up.

“What—” Daeyeol’s voice is hoarse with sleep. “Joochan, it’s 12.30 in the morning.”

“Wanna grab dinner?”

There is a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the phone, and then “Please don’t tell me you just got off work.”

“Bingo,” Joochan sings. The trains aren’t running by now, so he waves at a random cab stalling along the road. “I’m at your place in 10.”

Daeyeol groans. “I have to be up at 5am, Chan.”

“Plenty of time,” Joochan says. “You have food at home, don’t you? Is my toothbrush still there?”

He hears Daeyeol suck in a slow breath, waits for a measure, and then two. Then finally Daeyeol is saying, “Yes to the food and to the toothbrush. I’ve got some of your work clothes here too.”

“I love you,” Joochan says. Daeyeol only tells him to shut up before the line goes dead.

The lights to Daeyeol’s apartment are already on when Joochan arrives (Joochan, being Joochan, also knows the passcode to his door lock). He gasps and pretends to wipe away a tear when he sees that Daeyeol has already set out rice and soup and dishes for him, piping hot and smelling absolutely delicious.

“You’re the best!” Joochan screams, and Daeyeol throws a cushion at him.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he hisses. “Stop yelling.”

Joochan has no more time for yelling, because he’s scarfing the food down like a man starved. Now wide awake, Daeyeol moves to sit beside him, watching as he makes appreciative noises.

Daeyeol eyes his dress shirt and trousers. “You could at least have changed into something more comfortable first.”

“Too hungry,” comes Joochan’s muffled reply. He’s done with his rice and holds his bowl out to Daeyeol. “Got any more?”

“Why do I always let you barge into my house and eat my food?” Daeyeol wonders, even as he gets up to spoon Joochan more rice.

“Because I’m the best younger brother you could ever ask for, and if I disappeared one day you’d be devastated.” He hums in appreciation as Daeyeol comes back with a refill of side dishes too.

“I would be devastated,” Daeyeol concedes. “But at least I would be sleeping at appropriate times.”

“You’re boring,” is all that Joochan can come up with, occupied as he is with his food. The night (day?) is taking a significant upturn now that his belly is being filled and he has the company of a friend.

“How’s work?”

The question throws Joochan off. He sets his chopsticks down and pretends he’s having trouble speaking through all that chewing. Daeyeol is silent, observant eyes roving across Joochan’s features.

“Something happen?” He asks softly.

Joochan hadn’t planned on mentioning Bomin to the quartet, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Daeyeol was the first person to know. At least Daeyeol wouldn’t laugh at his misfortune like Youngtaek would, or say some variation of “I told you so” like Seungmin. So Joochan swallows his food and says, “Remember the guy I met at the bar?”

“With Youngtaek? ”

Joochan nods, takes a deep breath. “He’s my new client.”

“He works for the Swiss?”

Joochan nods again, but Daeyeol doesn’t let up.

“And?”

Joochan wonders, as he has so often in the past, how Daeyeol can be perceptive enough to know that there’s more.

“And he’s going to be working at my office for the next month.”

Daeyeol watches Joochan staring at the marble countertop, watches the subtle shift of emotions just beneath the surface of his skin. Joochan works very hard to look only happy, but it is during moments like these when Daeyeol truly feels the depths of what Joochan chooses to hide within himself.

‘You can tell me how you feel,” Daeyeol says softly, and that elicits a chuckle from Joochan.

“We’ve got a problem with that,” says the younger boy, “because I have no idea how I feel.”

There is silence again, until Joochan let out a very unceremonious yawn that has Daeyeol yawning as well. They catch sight of each other, jaws unhinged and noses scrunched, and that sets off a bout of laughter too loud for 1am. Daeyeol shushes Joochan and pushes him to the bathroom to wash up, lays out the blankets and pillows that the younger boy uses whenever he decides to sleepover, and crawls back into his bed.

He’s going to regret staying up so late tomorrow, and he might indulge in waking Joochan up together with his 5am alarm, but for now, as he sees Joochan trudge into his bedroom, energy finally depleted enough for sleep, he can’t bring himself to say much else except for a very soft “good night”.

Given how human are an adaptable species, and given how he is a pretty capable human being, Joochan very quickly schools himself into getting used to the fact that pretty boy Bomin will be working in the same office as him for the next month.

He’s rather proud of himself for it. Bomin returns to work on Wednesday, and Joochan finds it in himself to strike a balance between professionalism and alluding to their meeting at the bar, cracking small jokes about it like it’s their little secret.

In the weeks that come, Joochan slowly goes back to his usual self around Bomin, loud and boisterous and annoying.

He delivers his reports with pomp and ceremony, gives presentations like they are state affairs, has long discussions with Bomin about the data he crunches and the statistics he’s pulled up. He relishes in how Bomin can be serious one moment and laughing the next at one of Joochan’s quips. He allows himself to stare at Bomin’s eyes, but not too often, and not for long.

They get along well, although it becomes obvious, after the first week, that Joochan is noise and Bomin enjoys quiet. Somehow, they put up with each other.

Joochan visibly brightens as spring blossoms into full-on summer. It’s his favourite season, the time of beaches and melon bingsu and outdoor fun. He stores away his jacket and boots, carefully folds up the scarf that Seungmin bought for him, and stows it away in favour of lighter shirts and short sleeves.

And while he mourns the lack of coat around Bomin’s shoulders now when the latter enters the office in the mornings, misses how the dark fabric accentuates his shoulders and makes him look like a prince, Joochan fully appreciates the sunglasses perched on Bomin’s nose on certain days where the sun gets crazy bright. He’s been caught staring more than once at how Bomin would pull the glasses up to settle on his hair as he takes his seat, leaving them there until he remembers he’s supposed to take them off, looking very much like a model for high fashion and not an office worker getting ready for a long day ahead.

“You could film a commercial, looking like that,” Joochan blurts out one time, and is it him, or is there a slight tinge in Bomin’s cheeks?

He’s always enjoyed his work, but he finds that he enjoys it more now that it’s Bomin he’s working with. Part of why he’s so good at his work is his ability to make human connections, to make people feel comfortable around him. And he works his magic on Bomin too, with confusing results.

Bomin is always polite and responsive. Some days, his eyes linger on Joochan enough to set the latter’s heart thumping. Other days his gaze is more cool and detached, like how he’d looked the first time Joochan saw him at the bar.

Joochan finds himself pleasantly surprised one evening, two weeks after Bomin arrived at the company, when the setting sun is shining right into the office. The building’s air conditioner has shut down for the day, and Joochan has aimed every fan he could find at himself in an effort to stave off the summer heat. Still, he can feel beads of sweat rolling down the back of his neck, and, deciding that he’s most probably the only one left in the office anyway, pops the top button of his shirt open and folds his sleeves up to his elbows.

He doesn’t have time to unroll them when he hears Bomin calling his name.

He gulps, because he probably looks really dishevelled and messy right now. Bomin stops in front of Joochan’s desk, carrying a bunch of files, glances once at his exposed forearms and looks away.

“Not going home yet?”

Joochan shakes his head. “Have things to do,” he says. “Are you heading off?”

Bomin makes a noncommittal sound, and Joochan doesn’t have time to understand what it means before Bomin returns to his desk. After a minute of fidgeting, the younger man gets up and leaves through the main door.

“He could have said bye,” Joochan mumbles to himself, returning his attention to his work.

Twenty minutes later, however, the door slides open to reveal Bomin clutching several paper bags, sweaty hair clinging to the nape of his neck.

“Didn’t you go home?”

Bomin gives him a strange look. “My bag’s still here.” Joochan wants to smack himself. He watches as Bomin clears a bit of space on the desk next to Joochan’s, settling the paper bags on it before taking a seat.

“You should eat dinner first, if you’re planning on staying late.”

Joochan lets out a tiny ‘oh’ of surprise.

“I don’t know what you like, so I got a bit of everything.” Bomin’s not looking at him, busy with unpacking the food, so Joochan lets his eyes rove over Bomin’s profile, at the sharp jawline and curve of his nose. He decides that Bomin must have accumulated thousands of karma points in his previous life in order to look this handsome.

“Here, take your pick.”

It really is a bit of everything. There is a row of tiny sandwiches, little croquettes wrapped in paper, a bowl of something that looks like udon, and—

“Stir fried pork!” Joochan’s eyes light up in joy. He looks at Bomin and repeats himself. “Stir fried pork!”

“Stir fried pork,” Bomin agrees, passing the container over to Joochan, along with chopsticks and a napkin. Joochan tucks in happily, and he’s into his fifth bite before he realises that he’s being terribly rude.

“Um—” He swallows quickly and looks at Bomin, who has been silently watching Joochan eat. “Sorry— I got too excited.”

Bomin waves away his apology.

“Thank you for the food,” Joochan continues. “It’s delicious.” Then he realises that apart from the sandwiches and croquettes and udon, there is also a salad and what looks like an entire box of macarons.

“You are going to eat too, right? Because this is a lot, even for me.”

Bomin shakes his head. “You didn’t eat lunch.”

Joochan shakes his head in return. “You’re making me fat.” He shoves a sandwich at Bomin, and the latter accepts, fingers brushing against Joochan’s.

“Anyway, I like eating with friends.”

“Oh,” Bomin’s lips have lifted in a tiny smirk. “Is that what we are now, Associate Consultant Hong Joochan?”

“Working hours are officially over,” Joochan says. “I am now just Joochan. Or Chan. Or Jyu-jjan.” Bomin chuckles at the aegyo. Joochan tries to ignore the way he uncuffs his sleeves, folding them to his elbows as well.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” He supplies as a way of conversation. Bomin hums in agreement, and Joochan continues. “But I love summer.”

“You do?” Joochan can tell from his little shudder that Bomin doesn’t enjoy the season as he does.

“It’s my favourite season,” Joochan says. “I can go swimming and eat all the watermelon I want. I can wear flip flops and tank tops and go to the beach. And the bungee jumping places are all open, too.”

“Bungee jumping?” Bomin says, raising an eyebrow.

“An essential summertime activity,” Joochan confirms. He opens the bowl of udon and pushes it towards Bomin. “Eat.”

“You eat,” says the younger man, but he complies, spooning the thick noodles into his mouth. There is silence as they chew.

“I’ve never gone bungee jumping before,” Bomin says. “How’s that like?”

Joochan closes his eyes as he remembers how it felt the last time he’d stood at the edge of the diving platform, harness cinching up his pants, the wind blowing his hair all about his face. He remembers the excitement he’d felt as he focused on the drop before him, like nothing else mattered, like it was just him and the jump. The leap he’d taken was perfect, a textbook jump, a swooping arc that took him plummeting down in a free fall that ended too fast, too soon.

Joochan opens his eyes.

“Like flying,” is all he says in response to Bomin’s question.

He looks up to Bomin looking at him, gaze incomprehensible. There is a shine in his eyes that Joochan doesn’t understand.

He’s not supposed to be looking at Bomin for too long, lest he get lost in those eyes again. But it’s too late. He finds he can’t— won’t— tear himself away.

Joochan is suspended, floating. Time ceases to exist. All he can think of is how nice it would be if he could stay this way forever.

But then Bomin blinks, and the spell is broken. Joochan clears his throat and looks away, embarrassed.

Bomin pushes away their food, mostly already in Joochan’s stomach anyway, and picks up the box of macarons questioningly. Joochan can’t help but smile, nodding eagerly as Bomin peels away the colourful tape.

“What flavour?”

“Lemon, please.”

He holds the treat that Bomin hands to him like it’s a tiny piece of gold.

“I know you said you got a bit of everything because you didn’t know what I liked,” Joochan says, “but everything you got is so spot on.”

“I noticed how you enjoy desserts,” Bomin says quietly, picking out a macaron for himself. “Figured it wouldn’t harm to get you some as well.”

And enjoy desserts does Joochan. He rarely gets to eat them when he’s with the quartet, because they know how hyper he gets with sugar in his body. He decides he’s going to finish the box of macarons with Bomin tonight, diabetes be damned.

“Anyway,” Bomin continues. “Is it really necessary for you to be working so late?”

Joochan shrugs as he scans the remaining macarons, trying to decide on his next flavour. “I found a lead for another client, but there’s not much known about him, so I wanted to do more research.”

“Is that what you do for all your clients?”

“Sure,” Joochan says. “It’s standard procedure. We need to know about them so we can propose the proper type of service. It’s what I did for you too.”

“We’re not that big a company in Korea.”

“Which is why I do my research,” Joochan says. He huffs jokingly. “You have no idea how much sleuthing I have to do to find out enough to satisfy my bosses.”

Bomin laughs. “You sound like you’ve done some questionable things.”

Joochan puts a finger to his lips conspiratorially, and Bomin’s laugh increases.

“What did you do?”

Joochan flaps his hands. “Top secret. Not going to let you know, Mr Choi.”

Bomin looks curious but not offended that Joochan isn’t divulging. He probably thinks that Joochan’s exaggerating, and if Bomin won’t pry, he won’t tell either.

They wrap up their dinner (Joochan really does finish the entire box of macarons, much to Bomin’s amusement), and spend the next two hours in companionable silence, working on their individual tasks. The peace is broken only by Joochan’s phone ringing. He glances at the caller ID. It’s Youngtaek.

“Aren’t you running the floor today?” He asks without preamble.

Joochan is aware of Bomin across the room, pretending to be sifting through some papers but probably half-listening in on his conversation.

“I’m about to scream,” comes Youngtaek’s frustrated voice. “My father is driving me up the wall.”

“Whoa there,” Joochan murmurs. “You need to be in his good books so that we get invited to the Christmas party this year. I still haven’t gotten enough of those little caviar blinis.”

“I’m only three hours into my shift but I’m going to explode.” Youngtaek ignores Joochan’s quip, which is how the latter knows it’s serious.

“What did he do?” Joochan abandons the report he’d been writing, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table.

“He’s bringing in new croupiers. Dealers,” Youngtaek explains, even though Joochan has been friends with him long enough to know basic casino lingo. “And he didn’t consult me.”

“That… That doesn’t sound like something you’d get mad about.” Over the course of their friendship, Joochan has been privy to all manner of unreasonableness from Youngtaek’s father. The problem tonight seems like a rather small one.

“No,” Youngtaek agrees. “But he’s talking to this one particular boy like he’s going to inherit the place.” Joochan hears Youngtaek laugh in disbelief. “Here’s a new hire, someone I’ve never met before, and my father is fawning all over him and saying, ‘You’ll have a great future here, I can see it already.’ And he does it in my face.”

Joochan has many arguments about this, first and foremost being that Youngtaek has never wanted to be heir to his father’s empire, but he senses that this is not something Taek wants to hear right now.

“Well,” Joochan says. “You know how your father is. He likes pushing your buttons just as much as you like riling him up. This is probably just him trying to get back at you for screwing up that poker game last month.”

“I hate poker,” Youngtaek grumbles, and Joochan lets out a small chuckle. He’s seen how Youngtaek walks the floor at the casino, standing tall, shoulders wide. He can’t believe the same commanding presence is whining to him over the phone while on his shift.

“It’ll be fine,” Joochan reassures. “Give it a week or two. Your father will probably forget about this new guy soon.”

They exchange a few more words, Joochan conveniently leaving out the fact that he’s still at work at 10pm, and that Choi Bomin is here with him, before hanging up. When silence once again falls over the office, he continues on with his report, only to catch sight of Bomin.

Joochan knows that Bomin is itching to ask, and— what the hell— Joochan doesn’t mind telling.

“A childhood friend of mine,” Joochan says, waving his phone in the air. “Calling to complain about work.”

“A childhood… friend.” Bomin repeats.

“A childhood friend.” Joochan looks at his report, realises that he needs some documents that he won’t be able to obtain by tonight, and decides that it’s time to call it a day. He looks up at Bomin. “If you’re about done, shall we head out?”

Joochan assumes that Bomin would appreciate some silence after a long day at work, but the latter surprises him by asking questions about his life and his friends. He’s just finished telling Bomin about Daeyeol and Seungmin when he realises that one, Bomin had followed him onto his train home, and two, that he’s reached his stop and has to get off.

“Oh,” Joochan looks around as the train pulls into the station. “This is me.”

Bomin looks like he’s also going to get up, so Joochan asks, “Do you live here too?”

There’s a pause, and Joochan is starting to panic because the doors are about to close. So he pulls Bomin off the train and onto the platform.

“Do you live here too?” He asks again. The doors slide shut with a whomp that sounds strangely final.

“No,” comes Bomin’s tentative reply. “I just wanted to walk you home.”

Oh. Joochan’s cheeks flush. Oh.

The platform empties out as the train pulls away. Joochan is left staring at Bomin, blood pounding in his ears. He’s excited and happy that Bomin is offering, but he surprises himself when he realises that predominantly, what he’s feeling is fear.

In his heart of hearts, even though the thought of having Bomin see him right to his door sends a thrill of adolescent pleasure up his spine, he knows that it’s too fast, too soon.

“I—” Joochan manages a smile. “Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary tonight. I live really nearby.”

Bomin’s ears are red. His gaze flits to Joochan for a split second before he’s back to looking at his shoes. “Yeah— Yeah, I— Of course.” He clears his throat. “Sure.” He lifts a hand to rub at his neck. “Go ahead then, I’ll just wait for the next train.”

But Joochan finds his feet glued to the ground. He won’t leave. He doesn’t want to.

“I can wait with you,” He pulls Bomin to a bench and they wait side by side. Joochan politely ignore’s Bomin’s still-red ears, choosing instead to continue the story of Seungmin and his obsession with 12th century pottery. When the train comes, he gets up with Bomin.

“Thank you for seeing me almost home,” Joochan grins as Bomin steps into the carriage. “And sorry for talking non-stop all the way.”

Bomin only smiles back, perhaps still too embarrassed by his actions. Joochan’s heart gives a squeeze, because Bomin is looking really, really cute right now. He gives a little bow and says, “See you tomorrow” as the doors close and Bomin slides away from him.

Notes:

Just a note that not every tidbit about the boys is true in this fic, eg yes Youngtaek has an older sister but Joochan's favourite season is autumn, not summer. it's just harder to go bungee jumping in autumn so ;-; please forgive

Chapter 3: Sleuthing and Sin

Notes:

tw!blood

Chapter Text

Saturday rolls around, and Joochan is back at the bakery again, wrapping loaves of freshly-baked bread and trying to distract himself from the fact that it will be Bomin’s last week at his company come Monday. He’s been moaning about it all week to his friends, and they’re probably sick of hearing him whine.

Youngtaek had burst out laughing when Joochan had told him and Seungmin about Bomin two weeks ago, thumping Joochan on the back gleefully and teasing him about his terrible luck. Seungmin had rolled his eyes and said something about Joochan’s dumbness biting him in the ass. Daeyeol, who had already known about Bomin, had watched with increasing chagrin as their arguments got louder and louder, scaring away one or two innocent customers who had decided that even Daeyeol’s cinnamon rolls weren’t enough motivation to brave through the possibility of shattered eardrums.

Joochan had gotten so annoyed that he’d smacked Youngtaek on the back of the head with one of Daeyeol’s tin pans.

Today, he’s resolved not to talk about Bomin, lest he get teased to death again by his friends. The issue of Bomin seems rather small today, anyway, because the quartet is spending the afternoon listening to the more pressing issue of Youngtaek complaining about his father.

He’s know since young that the relationship Youngtaek shares with his family is strained. Mr and Mrs Son employ unorthodox methods and high standards to make sure that Youngtaek and his sister are worthy enough to inherit the empire. Boyoung noona, who is already director of the hotel arm of the conglomerate, is a model child in every sense of the word, smart and well-mannered with perfect business acumen and a heart of steel. Rebel Youngtaek, on the other hand, goes out of his way to upset his parents in any way he can. Still, they manage to get by beneath a thick layer of glamour and cocktail parties.

Youngtaek is a happy-go-lucky sort of guy, nary one to complain, but the quartet know how sensitive he is when it comes to his family, so they let him rant. Joochan listens as Youngtaek talks about that new croupier he mentioned last week, a boy by the name of Kim Jibeom.

“He graduated from some really prestigious school overseas.” In Youngtaek’s hands are a couple of tissues, and he’s tearing them into shreds aggressively as he talks. “So he probably thinks himself a big deal.”

Joochan and Daeyeol’s hands are moving on their own accord, swiftly bagging the bread and tying the ends into little pretty twists, and Seungmin is swinging back and forth on his stool, fingers tapping against the counter, but they’re all listening. It’s their way of silently being there for Youngtaek. Joochan realises that it’s exactly the same type of brotherhood that makes them put up with his own nonsense.

“But what irks me the most is how my father’s clinging on to him the whole damn time.” Youngtaek’s tissues are in a messy pile on the counter. He flicks at them and watches as they rise into the air for a second before settling back down. “Like, why?”

“Is he really that special?” Joochan asks.

Youngtaek shrugs. “He’s good at his game, I’ll give him that.”

“But you’re good at your game too,” Daeyeol says encouragingly, moving to place the loaves of bread on the display shelves. He picks out a cinnamon roll — their bakery’s most famous treat — and brings it to Youngtaek, who hums in thanks.

“You’re reluctantly good at your game,” Seungmin corrects. At Daeyeol’s subtle glare, he defends himself. “Taek, we all know that you’ve never wanted to take over the business.”

That elicits silence from Youngtaek. He tears at his cinnamon roll, pulling the pastry into threads like how he’d decimated the tissues. Joochan can hear Daeyeol stifle a little whimper.

After a while, Youngtaek says, “No, you’re right.” He stuffs a piece of the cinnamon roll into his mouth. “I’ve never thought that I was suited for the casinos, so the fact that my father has a new toy — Maybe this is a good thing?” He still sounds unsure, and the rest of the quartet are about to chime in with more words of encouragement when Youngtaek’s lips curl into a grin by themselves as he swallows and says, “Hyung, this is amazing.”

Daeyeol forgives Youngtaek for tearing his pastries into shreds, launching instead into an excited story about his recent experiments with flour to butter ratio.

“Well,” Joochan claps his hands, relieved at the lightening mood. “You know how your dad is. This guy’s like a shiny plaything he’ll obsess over for a week. I bet he won’t even remember his name come autumn.”

“That’s right,” Daeyeol says. “New guy might not even be here come autumn.”

Seungmin and Joochan nod in agreement. Youngtaek looks at them all with stars in his eyes.

“You all make me feel so loved.”

“Chin up, Taekie,” Seungmin says, chucking the younger boy’s chin as he walks past. “You still haven’t taught me how to play craps yet.”

“You’ll probably be crap at craps,” Joochan snickers. “Just as how you’re bad at every other game we try to play.” That makes Youngtaek chuckle in agreement.

“Shut up,” Seungmin shoves him away, but his lips are curved up in a subtle smile now that Youngtaek has managed to laugh. “Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”

Joochan checks the time and does a double take.

“Where are you going?” Daeyeol asks curiously.

“I have to head off,” Joochan says hurriedly. “I’m going sleuthing.”

“Sleuthing?”

That’s the term Joochan uses whenever he goes on adventures to find out more about his potential clients. It’s a term the quartet are familiar with, because it’s an activity that’s bound to be followed by some sort of trouble.

“I’m not going to bail you out again,” warns Seungmin, one hand out in front of him as if to shield himself from the oncoming mess. “I have plans tonight.”

“You didn’t bail me out.” Joochan protests. “You just collected me from the police station after I got tangled up in a minor altercation.”

“Minor, my ass—”

Seungmin is cut off by the sound of his own phone ringing, and Joochan has a good feeling about who it is as Seungmin jumps off his stool and goes into the kitchen to answer his call. The trio hear Seungmin’s voice, low and tender, and Joochan can’t decide if he wants to coo or puke at him showing so much affection for his new crush, this Donghyun guy, but anyway he’s really late and has to leave now if he wants to spy on his next potential client. He hops off the counter.

“Joochan—”

“It’s nothing serious,” Joochan cuts Daeyeol off before he can continue. “I’m just going to hit some of his favourite haunts.” He shoulders his bag, stuffs his cap onto his head, and waves at them before Daeyeol can protest any further. He’s about to leave when he realises he hasn’t said goodbye to Seungmin yet.

A mischievous grin settles on his lips as he backpedals towards the kitchen, and Daeyeol can’t even hiss at him not to do anything stupid before he’s exclaiming, in a disgustingly sweet way that is sure to have Seungmin pummelling him into next Monday, “I’m going now, Seungminnie hyung! I love you so much!”

There is a stunned silence as the low murmurs from the kitchen come to an abrupt halt.

Then Joochan is cackling as he runs out the bakery door.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches the main street, flagging a cab and throwing himself into it with a wicked sort of self-satisfaction. Seungmin will be livid — maybe Donghyun will be so upset that he ends things between them — and he can’t wait for the ensuing chaos that’s bound to happen the next time they meet.

But for now, he has to focus on the issue at hand. He’s planning on approaching a steel manufacturer for plans on collaboration, but has found over the weeks that the company’s assets don’t add up. He’s exhausted all legal options for obtaining data on the company, and so he’s decided that it’s time to resort to something more. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as the cab drops him off along the road, and he ducks his chin into his chest as he walks, jumpy but excited. He’s always been like this. The more elusive the problem, the more enticing it is for his energiser bunny brain.

The location in question for today’s sleuthing session is behind a heavy door. It’s one of a few that line a dingy, low lit alley, but it’s the only one made of steel, and containing a passcode lock.

Joochan is good at figuring out passcode locks.

He scans the area; it’s empty now, early in the evening as it is, so he quickly finds a spot — a pile of cardboard boxes hidden behind several empty crates — further down the alley and climbs into it. He gets comfortable and waits.

From his vantage point, Joochan can see both ends of the alley. He keeps silent as the sun sinks, darkness engulfing him, and watches the shadows for signs of movement. His watch gives tiny, clipped beeps as each hour passes, and Joochan is completely still, breathing soft and measured, strangely calm. It’s only in moments such as these that he’s not moving, all his energy focused on the alley.

Then— Sound.

A man and a woman walk into the alley hand in hand. They don’t speak until they reach the door, and the man says, “What was it?”

The woman nudges him aside and keys in the passcode. Joochan stares hard, unblinking. The little device flashes green, and they enter. The heavy door closes shut with a tiny whoosh of air. Joochan keeps on staring.

Someone comes another 20 minutes later, and then another party shortly after. Joochan stays cooped up in his little hiding spot as more and more people arrive. The alley is empty again by 10pm. He waits until it’s been half an hour since the last person approached the door before climbing down his crate of boxes.

He’s got the password memorised. And if this place is what he think it is, there will be minimum security watching the door once the game starts.

He slides open the cover of the passcode device and presses in the numbers he’d seen, nodding satisfyingly as the door clicks open to let him in. In front of him is a set of stairs leading downwards, and he hurries along, the roar of a crowd getting louder and louder as he reaches the end. He takes a deep breath and rounds a corner—

And he’s right. It’s an underground fight club.

Joochan buries his head further into his hoodie, skirting the edges of the crowd, trying to blend in as he looks out for his target. He’s a little late; the fight has started, and everyone has their eyes on the two players in the cage. Joochan is invisible amidst the cacophony of chaos and noise. He keeps an eye on the guards around the cage, and slowly scans the crowd.

There are too many people, and he can barely see over the mass of bodies jostling about, yelling out bets and cheering on their fighters. Joochan is distracted by a loud groan from one of the players as he goes down, lip cut and eye bruised as he gets overwhelmed by his opponent. The roar from the crowd is deafening. Joochan sucks in a breath and tunes it all out, returning to the task at hand of seeking out his target.

There.

He is sitting in the shadows, so far back at the other end of the room that Joochan’s eyes had swept twice over the area and missed him. But there is no mistaking him now.

Lee Taeyong.

He’s lounging very comfortably in a leather chair, ankle propped up one one knee, keen eyes on the ongoing fight. In fact, he’s the only one sitting. Around him are a thick wall of body guards, and Joochan can only see him whenever one of them shifts slightly. Joochan watches as a man approaches him, whispering in his ear. Taeyong gives a lazy flick of his fingers, and the man scuttles off to do his bidding.

The heir to the Lee Iron and Steel Group is enjoying the show at an underground cage fight.

Joochan nods to himself once more, satisfied that he’s able to confirm his suspicions. But just because Lee Taeyong is at a fight doesn’t mean that he has anything to do with it. It might be illegal to watch, but it’s even more illegal to have a hand in the operation. Joochan decides, as he makes his way out of the fight club, that he needs to take this sleuthing to another level.

Truthfully, he doesn’t need to go to such lengths for his job. He’d joked to Bomin about how his CEO demands information about his clients, but this is definitely not what his bosses had in mind. It would have been okay to just call up a few reporters, or speak to business insiders, but there’s something about being completely stupid and disregarding of his life that Joochan really enjoys.

He quietly slinks back up the stairs, opening the steel door and ducking back out into the alley. He’s about to merge back onto the main road when a shout gets his attention. Behind him are two police officers, yelling at him to stop. Had they been tailing him? Were they investigating an underground fight club? One like the one he’d just emerged from?

He can’t hear what they’re saying, but his first instinct is to run.

The policemen give chase, but Joochan is fast. He zooms out onto the main road and burst into a crowd, tearing off his hoodie and cap so that they can’t recognise him by his clothes. He zigzags between groups of people, makes a sharp turn onto another street, lips turning up in a grin at the thrill of the chase. Running like his life depends on it, with the street lights and neon signs blurring past him on either side, laughing as people jump out of his way, wondering what he must look like to them, a lunatic on a midnight rampage. It’s exhilarating, and he can’t stop.

Maybe he’s having too much fun, caught up in the adrenaline pumping into his legs, pushing him to go faster, further, because he misses the loose piece of rock right in his path, trips over it, and goes crashing to the ground.

“Crap,” he mutters, picking himself up and looking around wildly. The policemen are nowhere to be found, and he hobbles hurriedly down into the subway station, hoping to lose them. He taps his feet impatiently as a train pulls into the station, and sinks down gratefully into a seat in an empty carriage. The adrenaline is ebbing away, and suddenly he feels sharp, sharp pain.

Joochan looks down and winces. He’d sliced his palm open during the fall. It’s a bloody mess of skin and flesh.

Crap,” he mutters again, more forcefully this time.

He wraps his injured hand in his hoodie, and leans back so that his head bumps against the glass behind him. His palm stings painfully. His fingers are numb. He takes the train for a stop, and then two, then fishes out his phone with his other hand and makes a call.

“Hello?” Daeyeol picks up on the first ring, like he’d been waiting by his phone for Joochan.

“I’m dropping by,” Joochan says, trying to keep the pant out of his voice. “Do you have any bandages?” He can hear Daeyeol sucking in a breath, so he continues quickly. “It’s not serious.”

“Joochan—”

“I’m fine, really. Let’s talk when I get there, okay?”

Joochan transfers trains, and then transfers again, just to make sure the police are completely off his trail. It’s late by the time he shows up at Daeyeol’s house, sweaty from his run, gross and bloodied up from his fall.

“This hurts like hell,” Joochan says brightly as Daeyeol answers the door. “I hope you have alcohol too.”

“You idiot.”

Daeyeol ushers him into the kitchen, sets a glass of honeyed something-or-other in his good hand, and proceeds to unwrap the makeshift hoodie-bandage. His brows crease together as he sees the wound.

“Chan,” Daeyeol exhales in dismay.

Daeyeol is no medic, but years of handling kitchen burns and the occasional fight between the quartet have made him proficient enough with bandages. He washes the blood away, and Joochan looks curiously at the wound. The cuts are deep, ugly zigzags across his palm. He pokes at the tender flesh, notes with interest how the blood seeps out and pools in dark little beads. He yelps as Daeyeol starts with the iodine, reaching over to gulp down his drink.

“Did you really have to?” Daeyeol asks, lathering a thick layer of ointment over the wound.

“No,” Joochan shrugs.

“Then why—”

“I love my job too much.”

“This has nothing to do with you loving your job.”

Joochan knows that Daeyeol is disappointed, and it makes him feel like he should be disappointed in himself too. But he’s the only one injured from this ordeal, so Joochan finds himself thinking that it doesn’t really matter.

“I’ll heal in no time,” Joochan says as way of making peace.

Daeyeol is silent, jaw clenched tight, and Joochan knows what’s going through his mind. That maybe some day the wound will be too serious to heal. That maybe next time Daeyeol won’t be able to save him with his medicines and his bandages.

“Please stop,” Daeyeol says as he secures Joochan’s wrappings. He throws his scissors and tape back into the emergency kit and looks at Joochan.

He doesn’t want to lie to Daeyeol, doesn’t want to give an empty promise he knows he’s bound to break. Joochan likes doing stupid, reckless things, and he doesn’t care if he gets destroyed in the process.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Daeyeol gives him an incredulous look. “Yeah, you just like courting danger as a fun weekend activity.”

“We all have those, don’t we, fun weekend activities?” Joochan shrugs. “You experiment with flour and butter, Seungmin polishes pieces of ceramic that are older than all of us combined, Youngtaek practices flicking cards so hard that they get embedded in the wall. And I do a little running along the streets. I just accidentally fell, hyung. Nothing serious happened.”

Daeyeol narrowed his eyes at Joochan, who clenches his teeth so that he won’t wince out loud at the pain. The bandages are wrapped tight around the wound, and his palm throbs in protest.

“At least you didn’t have to bail me out this time,” Joochan offers.

Daeyeol is still frowning at him, but somewhere along the line his gaze has turned fond. Worry still forms a crease around his brow, but Joochan can see a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“Wow,” Daeyeol rolls his eyes. “Thank goodness for that.”

Chapter 4: Clarity and Comfort

Notes:

as apology for not updating last week, please accept 4.4k words of BoJoo fluff.

Chapter Text

Joochan struggles with his injured hand over the weekend, but shows up at the office on Monday like a champion to report his findings to his CEO. Lee Taeyong, although not yet in a position of importance, is set to assume the role of director and is presumably already involved in many aspects of the family business. The fact that he was given such special treatment at the fight ring is cause for suspicion.

Of course, Joochan doesn’t go into detail about how he managed to obtain such information, neither does he reveal the true reason behind his busted hand, choosing instead to say that he’d fallen in the shower. A very klutzy, innocent Joochan way of injuring oneself. He doesn’t miss the way Bomin keeps a special eye out for him, jumping to his aid whenever he so much as raises his injured hand to power up the printer or grab some files off a shelf.

They dance around each other during this last week. Joochan is sad to see Bomin go, but he tries not to show it, because, really, they aren’t more than client and consultant and don’t have anything other than a working relationship. They spend more time than usual together as Bomin wraps up his business and hands things over to Joochan, and Joochan enjoys each minute they get to spend together as much as loathes the fact that it will all be coming to an end very soon.

Come Friday evening, and it’s only the two of them in the office. Joochan has long finished his work, but he’s reluctant to leave. He pretends to be busy, his eyes trailing Bomin as the latter sorts out his things and closes his laptop.

“Well,” Bomin smiles. “I’d better head out.”

Joochan scrambles to stand up and Bomin approaches him, briefcase in hand. He’s about to say something — he doesn’t know what — when Bomin continues. “Shall we go for a drink?”

“I— Yes,” Joochan fumbles. “Yes, please.” He grabs his things as Bomin waits for him by the door, and they exit the building side by side. Joochan is a bundle of nerves with Bomin so close to him. Everything that had happened in the last month, every single interaction they have had, could be chalked up to work. But this… This. This has nothing to do with work at all.

Joochan lets out a laugh when he sees where Bomin is taking him. It’s that quiet bar where they first met, more than a month ago, where Bomin had been at the receiving end of Joochan’s pure, dumb bravado.

“You’re making fun of me,” Joochan says as he slides into a bar stool, Bomin following suit. They order their drinks and Joochan asks about Bomin’s friends. “I figured it’s your turn now, since I’ve told you all about myself.”

So Bomin tells him about that friend he’d mentioned back on his first day of work, a boy named Jangjun who seems to be as loud and crazy as Joochan is. Joochan watches with a small smile on his face as Bomin talks about the trouble Jangjun always gets himself into, and about how Bomin has on more than one occasion had to appease the teacher with promises of keeping his wayward friend in check. Bomin tells Joochan about Jangjun’s antics, about the American student Jaehyun whom they adopted in middle school, and about Donghyun, who’s recently fallen in love with someone he met at a museum—

“Wait.” Joochan sits up. “Donghyun, who’s recently fallen in love with someone he met at a museum?”

Bomin nods, looking at him curiously. “Some guy named… Seungmin.” His freezes in recognition at the name.

Their eyes meet as realisation settles between them.

Joochan falls back into his seat, letting out a ragged, “No.”

Bomin laughs incredulously. “Seoul isn’t that small.”

“What the hell,” Joochan joins in. “Just last week, I told Seungmin I loved him. While he was on the phone with Donghyun.”

Bomin does a double take. “That was you?”

Joochan realises that maybe this isn’t such a good thing to say to the man whom he’s been harbouring a budding crush on, and raises his hands in front of himself in defence. “It was a joke. I’ve been so sick of seeing him all lovey-dovey recently.”

"Donghyun was moping all weekend!”

“What are the odds?” Joochan huffs out in disbelief. Then, remembering how Seungmin’s been ignoring him all week, he says. “Maybe you could get Donghyun to tell Seungmin to forgive me.”

“I don’t think Donghyun likes you very much right now,” Bomin laughs. He clinks his glass against Joochan’s. “You really like doing stupid things, don’t you?”

As confirmation, Joochan picks up his drink and salutes Bomin with it.

The conversation, for some reason, goes back to Joochan. He’s recalling some silly thing he once did with Youngtaek in middle school, when he realises that Bomin has gone quiet. Joochan looks up questioningly.

“You’re fond of Youngtaek,” Bomin states.

Joochan shrugs. “I’m fond of all my friends.”

There is a silence that Joochan doesn’t know what to make of. He’s about to fill it with a joke to lighten to mood when Bomin says, “Do you… Do you like him that way?”

Joochan lets out a laugh. The thought is preposterous, and he voices as much.

There is relief evident on Bomin’s face as he sits back, jaw unclenched and shoulders relaxing. Joochan tries to stay cool, tells himself not to think too much into it, lest he let himself slip into the trap of believing that Bomin wants something more with him, but the next words out of Bomin’s mouth just push him past the edge and toward the fall.

“That’s good,” Bomin says, voice thick with meaning. “I’m glad.”

Joochan looks at him, eyes wide with disbelief. Bomin is staring resolutely at his whiskey glass, watching the gold liquid catch the light. His ears are tinged once again with red.

“Glad?” Joochan whispers.

Bomin can’t seem to look at him, but Joochan finds that he can’t look away.

“I know that today’s the last day of our partnership,” Bomin says. “But I keep thinking about how it’s a pity we won’t get to see each other again.”

Joochan’s mind is running wild. He’s always been loud and confident, but in the span of a month, Bomin has managed to strike him speechless more times than he wants to count. He lets out a very eloquent, “Uhm—”

“Do you think we will see each other again?” Bomin says, finally turning to look at Joochan. “Do you want to?”

“I—”

“Because I’m not forcing you, if you don’t want to.”

Bomin is drawing back, eyes going dark, and Joochan scrambles to save the situation as he blurts out, “Of course I want to.” He swallows, trying to quell his pounding heart. “Of course.”

Bomin grins, tiny crinkles forming around his eyes, as he nods like this is the happiest thing he’s heard in ages.

“Me too.”

And that’s why a month later, in the sweltering July heat, Joochan waits nervously outside the gates of Gapyeong’s Top Land. Bomin has business outside of Seoul, and that’s why they’d decided to meet directly at the theme park instead.

It’s not that he was jumping on the very first opportunity to ask Bomin out. In fact, he hadn't asked Bomin out. It’s just that everyone else was busy. Daeyeol was conducting some kind of baking workshop for high school students, Seungmin had to travel to China to acquire a piece for his exhibition, and Youngtaek has been increasingly missing in action at the quartet’s get-togethers as he began taking over more and more responsibility at the casinos.

With everybody too busy to entertain Joochan, he’d ended up complaining to Bomin one day over their usual texts. He’d been itching to go bungee jumping, itching to do something to get rid of all the summertime adrenaline in his body. But his friends are all growing up and moving on with life, he had moaned. Poor old Joochan with no friends left.

And Bomin had texted back, I could go with you, if you don’t mind.

Joochan grips the straps of his bag as he waits, wincing as the scars on his hand ache in protest. He’d healed nicely, but there are extra lines on his palm now, and they twinge from time to time.

The summer heat pricks at Joochan’s skin, but even with the merciless sun, there is a light breeze coming off the river, and the sky is a perfect blue dotted with puffs of white. He’s in an excellent mood despite his aching hand, the excitement he feels at being able to jump triumphing the nervousness he feels at the prospect of seeing Bomin again. All in all, this is looking to be a stellar day.

Then someone calls his name, and Joochan turns, and boy, is Joochan’s day looking even better now.

Bomin is just getting out of a cab, Joochan’s name out of his lips before his feet even settle onto the sandy ground. He’s wearing a white tee and denim shorts, a light overshirt completing the ensemble. But somehow, with the way he’s pushing his hair back and striding towards Joochan, he looks like he’d just gotten off the runway at Seoul Fashion Week.

Joochan waves a hand as Bomin comes up to him. They stare at each other for a moment, before Joochan bursts out in laughter.

“Don’t tell me you feel awkward now that we haven’t seen each other in a month.”

“No,” Bomin smiles and shakes his head. “Just—” His smile widens. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” Joochan pries, flitting around Bomin as they make their way into the theme park. Bomin’s lips are pursed, but Joochan is relentless.

Finally, he says, “Nothing. I’m just happy to see you again.”

Joochan’s heart does a little tap dance in his chest. He turns away before Bomin can see his flustered expression, mumbling something about hurrying up before the theme park closes for the day. It’s the early afternoon, and the park doesn’t close until sundown, and Joochan hates himself a little bit for being so incredibly stupid.

They make their way to the bungee tower, and Joochan becomes more and more excited the nearer they get. It’s an immense structure of 55 metres, all thick steel bars, with a drop right down to the river beneath. They ride up to the top, and Joochan bounds right out of the elevator once the doors open, about to burst with adrenaline. Bomin follows quietly behind.

The view from above is amazing. There is the river, wide even from so high above, snaking into the horizon, flanked on both sides by thick layers of vegetation. Here and there he can see the other attractions of the theme park — the water skis, the swan boats, the zip line disappearing into the dense crop of trees that is Nami island.

They sign the wavier forms and put on their gear, Joochan bouncing on the balls of his feet as the instructor explains the safety precautions to them. He’s only half listening, experienced as he is with the sport, and is more taken by the view before him, of endless sky above and endless river below.

“Shall I go first?” Joochan asks, unable to contain himself. “I’ll go first, okay?”

There is silence, and Joochan looks over curiously. But Bomin is just distracted, face covered by his hair as he adjusts his straps. He nods and says, “You go first.”

So Joochan steps up to the platform, checking his straps one last time. His heart is pounding in his ears.

The staff clutches at the back of his harness, and then he’s counting down, five, four, three, two—

Joochan bends his legs, swings his arms back, and leaps.

He’s suspended in the air for a moment, the laws of nature holding him frozen in place, and everything is so sharp and crystal clear — the way the river glitters in the afternoon sun, the rustle of the leaves as the wind stirs little hurricanes amongst them, the red dot in the horizon that might be a stray balloon from the fair below. His senses are heightened for that split second, and he keeps his eyes open, trying desperately to absorb it all, imprint this feeling into his mind, before he’s plunging down, body once again succumbing to the laws of nature.

Joochan’s vision is a blur of green and blue as he falls, his heart pumping hard and the whoosh of wind rushing past his ears. He doesn’t scream, has no need for screaming, given how much he loves the drop. He blinks just once, and he’s already bouncing up and down, the elastic band behind him pulling taut. He hangs from his straps, swaying in the wind. Suspended, in limbo. Wishing and wishing that the fall could have been further, faster, harder.

He’s being fished out of the river and deposited back on land before he can even process this rush of emotions.

So he thanks the theme park staff who’d dropped him off on the riverbank, finds a secluded spot, and plops down on the ground. He closes his eyes as he replays the jump in his mind, trying to grasp onto that fleeting feeling of complete, utter bliss even as it fades away. He chases the memory stubbornly even though he knows that he’s fighting a losing battle, chases and chases it in his mind until it is no more than an imprint of a feeling, vague and immaterial like a wisp of smoke. The ground is annoyingly solid beneath his fingers when he opens his eyes. He looks up at the bungee tower, squinting in the sun. There haven’t been any jumpers after him, but Bomin should have been done by now—

Bomin.

Joochan scrambles up, breaking into a run back to the bungee tower. He bounces urgently in the elevator up, sprints out of it as the doors open, and looks around wildly for Bomin—

The boy is question is all geared up for his jump, but he’s leaning against a railing, chest rising up and down rapidly in shallow breaths. His head is bent down, but Joochan can see that he’s deathly pale.

“Bomin!” Joochan rushes to him, grabbing onto his shoulders lightly. “What—”

Bomin looks like he’s about to cry, and suddenly it hits Joochan like an eight-ton truck.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of heights?” Joochan cries. He looks around, and suddenly he’s seeing that view that he so loves in another light. How terrifying it must be for someone with acrophobia, all that distance in a drop, the silver sheen of the river as hard and unforgiving as concrete. He gathers Bomin into his arms, sets himself as close to Bomin as he dares, trying to shield the latter from the dizzying view.

“You were so excited,” he hears Bomin mumble. “I thought it would be okay.” But Bomin is shaking ever so slightly, and it is obviously very much not okay.

Joochan pulls Bomin further towards him, one hand going to the back of his neck, rubbing soothingly as the latter tries to collect himself. He looks down to find that Bomin has unconsciously placed a hand on his chest, fisting the material of his shirt as he calm down. Joochan gulps and looks away.

He strokes the nape of Bomin’s neck, only pulling away when the latter is no longer shaking. He takes one look at Bomin’s terrified face, and reaches over to swipe away a tear that’s escaped down his cheek. “Silly,” Joochan says.

“Sorry,” Bomin mumbles, and Joochan feels so guilty right then. He hadn’t noticed, had been too preoccupied in his own excitement to notice Bomin’s fear. But he should have known, should have sensed the apprehension from the very beginning, when Bomin fumbled out of the cab and hesitated on the platform.

I’m sorry,” Joochan whispers. “You shouldn’t have to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” Bomin pushes him away. “I wanted to come.” He gulps. “I really wanted to see you again.”

There it is, once more. Joochan doesn’t think his heart can take more of Bomin’s confessions.

He hides the way Bomin’s words make him feel, settling instead for a small smile. “We can hang out in other places.” He doesn’t miss the way Bomin throws one last look at the jumping platform, a mixture of terror and also disappointment in his eyes, as if he had made up his mind this morning to jump no matter what his fears told him. Joochan decides that he’s never again going to put Bomin in a position where he feel like he has to do something in order for them to spend time together.

He tugs at Bomin’s elbow, guiding him down the tower. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s find some place to eat.”

They end up at a dakgalbi place, and Joochan munches happily as Bomin piles the meat on his plate.

Joochan makes a noise of protest. “You eat.”

Bomin shakes his head. “I like watching you eat.” He looks a bit better now, now that he’s not 55 metres up in the air. He’s gone back to the fiercely cool, suave-looking person Joochan had seen at the bar all those weeks ago, but he’s got a hand on Joochan’s knee, and his fingers tighten around it every few minutes, as if Joochan is his anchor that keeps him safely on the ground. Joochan doesn’t mind— really likes it, even— but Bomin realises that he’s been touching Joochan without prior consent, and moves away hastily.

“Sorry,” he says, fingers curling in on themselves as he shifts away.

“Are you feeling better?” Joochan asks tentatively, biting on his chopsticks.

Bomin nods. “A bit embarrassed that you had to see that, but definitely much better.”

“Well, to make up for it, you can bring me to a place that I won’t like either.” Joochan smiles. “As payback.”

“Oh?” Bomin says. “Are you sure?” Joochan looks at him and realises that there’s an almost evil glint in his eyes.

Joochan doesn’t know what spurred him to say that, and he hadn’t know how Bomin was going to react, but he certainly wasn’t expecting this.

“Why?” He lets out a nervous laugh. “What strange place are you taking me to?”

Bomin only hums, lips pursed together in a secret, as he drops more meat onto Joochan’s plate.

It’s almost evening by the time they’re done eating, but the summer sun is still strong in the sky. They grab drinks at the nearby cafe, and, almost like it’s a natural thing, Joochan lets Bomin guide him towards the bus that will take them back to Seoul, hand hovering over the small of his back as he nudges Joochan up the steps.

They settle into their seats, and Joochan promptly falls asleep, pleasantly full from dinner. Halfway on the journey back, he opens his eyes to find Bomin shuffling in his seat, shifting so that his shoulders are at a more comfortable height for Joochan’s head to lay on. Joochan realises, with a bit of alarm but mostly drowsy contentment, that he’d ended up leaning on Bomin.

“Did I wake you?” Bomin says. Joochan only shakes his head, nuzzling into Bomin’s shoulder, and closes his eyes.

He feels completely well-rested by the time they reach Seoul, and is about to sit up and stretch when he realises that Bomin’s cheek is leaning against the crown of his head. Joochan goes completely still before he risks a glance up. Bomin’s eyes are closed, his breathing peaceful.

He would gladly sit here and watch Bomin sleep for the rest of eternity, if it weren’t such a creepy thing to do. Instead, he shakes Bomin awake, noting with a little pleasure how Bomin’s fingers curl around his wrist, an action the younger boy had taken without being fully aware of it.

“Let’s go,” Joochan says, standing up and gathering his things.

They leave the bus station, but Bomin’s pulling him towards the subway.

“Where are we going?” Joochan asks.

“You said I could bring you to a place,” Bomin reminds him. “As payback, remember?”

“Now?” Joochan starts.

Bomin nods, and that mischievous glint is back in his eyes. “It won’t be long. And I want my revenge.”

So they board a train, and Joochan peppers Bomin with questions about where they’re going, right up to when they alight. He’s appropriately puzzled when they make their way into a large mall (Joochan hadn’t been expecting Bomin to bring him on a shopping trip), but then lets out a groan as reality dawns on him.

Bomin stops at the top floor of the mall, and Joochan spares him a withering glance.

“The library?”

And for the first time since they’ve met, Bomin lets out a cackle. “I knew you’d hate it.”

“You—” Joochan is at a loss for words. “The library.”

“Come on,” Bomin says. “Let’s see how long you can last in complete silence.”

They make their way into the building, and Joochan is blown away by how big it is. It’s a huge glass and wood structure, spacious and bright but also filled with little nooks and crannies for comfortable reading. There are rows upon rows upon rows of books, and CDs, and magazines, and in the centre of it all, a curved display of bestsellers that rises to kiss the ceiling. He’s about to very loudly proclaim his amazement when he realises belatedly where he is and how he will most likely get kicked out for doing so.

He turns towards Bomin, only to find a huge smile on the latter’s face as he watches Joochan flounder with the rules of the library.

“There’s a nice spot at the back,” Bomin whispers, trying to hold back a laugh as Joochan glares at him. “We can talk a bit there.”

Bomin leads them into a hidden space, where there are less people. It’s still deafeningly quiet, though, and Joochan fidgets uncomfortably as he looks around. There’s something about Choi Bomin; he always makes Joochan feel way out of his element.

“You’re okay?” Bomin asks, settling into a beanbag next to Joochan.

Joochan nods stubbornly, and Bomin stifles a chuckle again. “Stop laughing.”

That only prompts Bomin to laugh in earnest, but then Bomin’s suddenly serious again as he says, “You don’t like the quiet, do you?”

“I don’t fancy it.” Joochan shrugs, stretching his legs out on the carpet floor. “My mind goes into overdrive when there’s nothing around me to focus on.”

“Here’s a trick,” Bomin says. “Try watching people.” When Joochan looks at him like he’s gone crazy, Bomin continues, “I’m serious. Try it.”

Joochan makes a noncommittal sound. “What am I watching for?”

“Anything,” Bomin says. “What they’re reading, what they’re wearing. Who they’re with. How they look like. Whether their eyes disappear when they smile.” His voice trails off, and Joochan realises that Bomin is looking at him.

He clears his throat. “And how long will I do this for?”

Bomin’s eyes are still on him, and Joochan’s so distracted by them that he almost misses his answer.

“Until the noise in your head stops.”

So Joochan tries, settling back into his mound of cushions and watching people as they walk by. A father leading a pair of twins up the escalator. A student balancing a stack of books in his arms. A lady who’s frowning while she flips the page.

But his eyes keep flitting back to the man beside him. Bomin had disappeared for a bit to browse the wide range of books, and has come back with a few to skim through. He’s sitting cross-legged beside Joochan now, thumbing through a volume and occasionally gnawing at his bottom lip.

He’s reading a sci-fi novel, white shirt slightly rumpled from the day’s activities, denim shorts showing off his long legs, which are sprawled over a cushion. From this angle, Joochan can see the sharp line of his jaw, the regal curve of his nose. His hair is an unstyled mess, so unlike the gelled-up precision Joochan is used to seeing at the office, but it looks so incredibly soft to touch.

And yes, his eyes do disappear when they smile.

A wave of calmness washes over Joochan. He leans back and let out a tiny, contented sigh.

They stay like this for the remainder of their time there, until an announcement overhead thanks them for their patronage and informs them that the library will be open once again at 9 the next morning. Joochan is so focused on absolutely nothing that he jumps when Bomin calls his name.

“We should get going.”

Joochan stands, legs almost giving way after being locked in position for more than an hour, and he laughs softly with Bomin as they both stumble their way out of the library.

They reach the subway station, but stop before the gantries. Bomin is heading the other way, and this is where they part.

“You looked like you were having a good time,” Bomin observes.

And to Joochan’s surprise, Bomin is absolutely right. He’s never spent such a long period of time in such a quiet space before, never managed to successfully calm the senseless energy that courses through his veins like wildfire. But he’s managed to do it, in this hour or so, sitting next to Bomin.

“I did,” Joochan admits. “Thanks to your advice.” He leaves out mentioning that it took waxing poetic about Bomin’s features in his head for him to get used to the quiet.

“It’s my pleasure,” Bomin smiles. “And when you feel like you need some silence but can’t stop the noise in your head, you can call me again.”

Joochan fights to keep the ecstatic giggle in his throat from bubbling past his lips, but he can’t help letting out a gasp when Bomin’s fingers reach out, slowly so as to give Joochan time to pull away, in a tentative touch. Joochan doesn’t pull away, and the pads of Bomin’s fingertips brush lightly against his jaw.

“I’ll see you soon?” Bomin asks softly, eyes brimming with something unspoken.

Joochan can only nod, too overcome to speak. The resulting smile that Bomin gives him is so bright, so content, that Joochan wants to crystallise this moment in his mind forever and never let it go.

Chapter 5: Brotherhood and Blood

Notes:

tw!blood (again)

Chapter Text

Summer cools into autumn, and Joochan sees more and more of Bomin.

The movies, cafes, walks along the Han River. Bursts of colours overhead as green turns to red and gold. Snuggling into coats, sitting side by side, watching the world go by from the edge of a park bench. The smell of chestnuts roasting along street stalls as Bomin brushes fallen leaves out of Joochan’s hair.

It’s fall, and Joochan falls in love.

Not in the rush of the moment or with the feeling of the ground being pulled from his feet. Instead, with a slow steadiness more akin to being uplifted than to falling.

What’s different about Bomin, Joochan thinks, is that Bomin allows Joochan space, both in the literal and figurative sense of the word. Sometimes, when one party is tired or just exceptionally busy with work, they go weeks without seeing each other. Bomin asks before showing up at Joochan’s office, gives him enough time to say no whenever he reaches his fingers up to caress Joochan’s cheek. Every decision Joochan makes is made with his full autonomy, and Joochan thinks that that’s the biggest reason he hasn’t yet cut Bomin out of his life.

That, and Bomin is too handsome for Joochan to give up.

Joochan has never let himself be in love before, doesn’t want to have one more person in his life whom he is bound to lose, but this time, he finds that maybe it’s not so bad to wake up to a morning text, or to have someone say ‘good night’ to him over the phone at the close of each day.

This isn’t to say that he neglects his friends. He still shows up at the bakery, both a nuisance and a help as he talks a mile a minute while icing cookies or sweeping flour off the floor. And although Seungmin had been too busy running around that day to notice him, Joochan attends the opening of his museum’s exhibition with Daeyeol. They spend an excellent afternoon marvelling quietly at the artwork and laughing at the sight of the former’s heeled shoes and the way they make him look very cool but not much taller.

If anything, Youngtaek’s presence greatly diminishes as the months drag by, and it is by perhaps a stroke of luck that Joochan manages to wrestle him to their favourite chicken joint one Sunday afternoon, after throwing a mini tantrum over the phone at how he hasn’t seen Youngtaek in weeks.

The first thing Joochan does when he sees his best friend is gasp.

“What happened to you?”

“Shut up,” Youngtaek says, crawling into a seat as the restaurant’s owner, a kind lady who’s fed them since their high school days more chicken than they can count, brings them drinks and chips. She looks sympathetically at Youngtaek, and for good reason. He looks like a mess: dark bags under his eyes, rumpled hair, a nervous tic in his temple. The one earring he’d decided to wear is perhaps a last-ditch attempt at dressing up. Joochan guesses correctly that this is due to the empire he’s about to inherit.

“I take back what I said about wanting to be adopted into your family,” he declares, pushing a mug of beer towards Youngtaek. “I still want my sanity, and you look the furthest from sane.” He looks at his friend. “How does Boyoung noona do this?”

Youngtaek takes a huge gulp from his glass and groans. “I shouldn’t be drinking. I have another shift in a couple of hours.”

“Nonsense,” Joochan says, refilling his mug.

“They made me down vodka till I was puking yesterday night.”

“All the more why you need to drink. Fight fire with fire.”

The elder boy buries his face in the crook of his shoulder, and Joochan can barely catch the following, “Jibeom had to clean up after me.”

“Jibeom?” Joochan stares at him, eyes wide, mug frozen in the air. “The croupier you hate?”

“I don’t hate him,” Youngtaek squirms. “I just… don’t really know what his deal is.”

Joochan is about to make a joke about Jibeom dealing cards, because that’s what his job is, but then he sees Youngtaek’s stormy face and decides that he shouldn’t further shorten his friend’s lifespan by angering him into a heart attack.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your press conference or whatever?” Joochan says. “They’ll be announcing your takeover next week, won’t they?” At Youngtaek’s nod, he continues. “So you’d better work on looking less like a bum and more like the next director of the Son Hotel and Casino Group.”

“You make it sound like I own the place,” Youngtaek grumbles. “I still have a whole line of people to report to.”

“It’s a much shorter line compared to mine,” Joochan retorts. They’re about to engage in a full on argument when the chicken arrives. They calm down at the sight of food, and chew in silence for a while.

“I’m so not ready,” Youngtaek says glumly. “How did this happen? I didn’t want to take over the casinos. I’m not even done handing over my duties on the floor, and I’ve got so many things I need to do once I join management.”

Joochan is about to open his mouth to reply, but Youngtaek seems to be on a roll.

“And I do a crap job at running the floor, so why does my father think that I’ll do well sitting on a board and making decisions that cost a lot of money?”

Joochan only rolls his eyes, because he’s seen Youngtaek running the floor, charming guests while keeping a sharp eye on flitting hands, lest they land accidentally in a stray purse, on a pile of chips, over the waist of an unsuspecting lady, wrestling troublemakers out the doors and going back to doling out cards with a poker face as if he hadn’t been involved in a skirmish just a few minutes before.

Joochan doesn’t like seeing Youngtaek this way, so he aims a kick at Youngtaek’s shin, and the latter yelps in pain.

“Insecurity doesn’t suit you,” Joochan says simply. “You look like you could faint any moment.”

“No shit,” Youngtaek says. “I’m about to inherit a conglomerate I have no business inheriting.”

“You’re stressed—”

“No shit,” Youngtaek says again, this time managing to dodge the kick that Joochan sends his way.

“You need to do something fun.” Joochan stuffs an entire piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing furiously as his eyes wander to his phone. It’s Bomin.

What are you up to today?

“Fun?” Youngtaek asks. “Fun would be being able to sleep for eight hours straight without having to cover shifts on the floor. Fun would also be maybe postponing the press conference to never.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Joochan says as he picks up his phone to reply to Bomin.

Dinner with Youngtaek, and then maybe checking out a new place—

Joochan glances up at Youngtaek, who is munching on his radish cube very loudly, and a sly smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He goes back to typing.

Dinner with Youngtaek, and then maybe checking out a new place with him.

Then he puts down his phone and smiles at his friend so sweetly that Youngtaek immediately shifts away.

“Taekie, wanna go someplace fun with me?”

“No,” Youngtaek shakes his head furiously.

“You haven’t even heard my proposition yet,” Joochan whines.

“I don’t need to hear it,” Youngtaek says. “I know it’s trouble.”

But Joochan cuts him off. “Come sleuthing with me.”

“What— No.”

“You’ll be a great help,” Joochan wheedles. “Strength in numbers.”

Youngtaek is still shaking his head, but he asks, “Where are you going?”

“Just to a little get-together,” Joochan says. “Lee Taeyong goes to this place frequently, but I don’t really know what he does there.”

“You’ve been on his tail for months.”

“I have,” Joochan concedes. “And I still don’t have a complete picture of him. Come on,” he bats his lashes at Youngtaek — which only earns him a disgusted grimace in return — and rubs his hands together in a plea. “It’d be fun.”

“You have a very twisted definition of fun,” Youngtaek grumbles, but Joochan knows that he’s won. Youngtaek would never resist a request from him, and, to be fair, Joochan really does think that this little adventure would benefit his friend.

“Eat up, then,” Joochan says, spearing a piece of chicken and settling it on Youngtaek’s plate. “We’re going to need all our energy for this.”

They leave the chicken joint absolutely stuffed and get into a cab, Joochan directing the way until they reach a tall building on the outskirts of Myeongdong. They get off a distance away, and Joochan jams a cap over his head, ruffles Youngtaek’s hair until the latter swats him away.

“What are you doing?” Youngtaek complains.

“Trying to make you look like a bum,” Joochan replies calmly. “Although, I don’t have to do much. You look terrible enough already.” He’s about to ask Taek to remove his earring, but then decides that it suits the latter enough.

Joochan nods satisfactorily at Youngtaek’s appearance. “Act like a bum, okay?”

“Why am I doing this?” Youngtaek says, but it’s too late and he has to follow Joochan now, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, hunching his back and looking down at the ground like he might be drunk or high.

They make their way to the front of the building, where Joochan produces a thick wad of bills that he hands to the guard standing by the door. He sniffs and shuffles as the guard counts the bills, pretending to look like someone on his way to doing something dodgy. Beside him, he can feel Youngtaek stiffen.

The guard lets them through, and Joochan gives a rough nod in thanks, ambling into the building.

“Speak softly,” Joochan says through his teeth. “He can still hear us.”

Youngtaek has the sense to heed his warning, but he’s hissing his words in very apparent bewilderment. “Is this a gambling den?”

“I think Lee Taeyong finds fun in breaking the law,” is all that Joochan supplies.

“You could have warned me,” Youngtaek says darkly as they step into a lift. “I thought this was going to be a harmless club.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry. We’re just going to go in, look for Lee Taeyong, and get out.”

“Do you know a single thing about illegal gambling dens?” Youngtaek says, facing him with wide eyes. “The people there are either dangerous or desperate. Or both.”

“It’ll be fine,” Joochan says, flapping his hand as if trying to dispel the warning. “We’re just two lowlifes going in to try to make a quick buck.”

Joochan,” Youngtaek says. “This is dangerous.”

“Fine.” Joochan turns to face Youngtaek. “Leave if you want, but I’m still going in.”

There is a long pause. Youngtaek’s face is stormy, but he turns back to face the front without another word to Joochan.

They alight at the very top, the lift doors opening to reveal more guards. Joochan produces another wad of bills, and they’re let in. The entire floor is one huge space, dim and dank and hazy with smoke from a hundred cigarettes. A foreboding heaviness drapes over the place, cloyingly masking the barely-there hum of sinister energy. People crowd around tables, yelling out bets, goading each other on. Joochan can hardly see a metre in front of him, what with the smoke and the press of bodies, the stale smell of unwashed flesh. This isn’t like the Son casinos, where rich businessmen come for a night of graceful fun. This is rough, pure, unhinged. A gaping abyss into the unknown.

They squeeze their way through people and tables, jostling this way and that. Gamblers and bouncers alike glare at them, sizing them up, but Joochan meets their gaze head on, Youngtaek following silently beside him.

“He should be somewhere further in,” Joochan says, “if he’s here at all.”

“Why did you think that he’d be here?”

“Lee Taeyong makes a pastime out of illegal ventures.” They navigate around a particularly rowdy table, where people are engaged in a heated argument that’s about to break out into a fight. They’re barely past it when someone throws a punch, and the entire group erupts in chaos.

“That guy did cheat,” Youngtaek mutters beneath his breath. “He had something up his sleeve.”

“Maybe you should go play a round or two,” Joochan suggests. “I can keep a lookout for Lee Taeyong myself.”

“You’re crazy,” Youngtaek bounces nervously on his toes as his eyes dart around. “I shouldn’t even be here. We shouldn’t be here.”

Joochan doesn’t reply, because he’s spotted Lee Taeyong, in a little alcove of his own, almost hidden by his posse of bodyguards. He’s in quiet talks with a young lady, possibly the person who manages this gambling den, and Joochan confirms in his mind that Lee Taeyong has to be the mastermind behind the entire operation by the way he is being deferred such respect.

Some guards approach and whisper in Lee Taeyong’s ear, and the to-be heir glances up sharply. Joochan sucks in a breath; the look in his eyes is malicious. What could have happened, was the fight on the floor getting out of hand, or was someone trying to weasel out of his debt? Joochan squints, pushing people away as he approaches tentatively. He almost loses sight of his target as the bodyguards move around and about, carrying out whatever orders they might have received.

“I see him,” Joochan says triumphantly. “He’s there, talking to someone—”

Joochan turns around to point Lee Taeyong out to Youngtaek, but Youngtaek is gone.

“Taek—” Joochan looks around, his eyes becoming more and more frantic as he finds that Youngtaek has disappeared completely from his sight. He abandons thought of Lee Taeyong, running through the crowd as he searches for his friend. Where the hell did he go?

He stares at the people seated at every table, hoping against hope that maybe Taek had really taken his advice to play a game or two. But his heart sinks with each passing second. He knows that Youngtaek wouldn’t disappear on him like this.

There’s a strange quality to the air. It’s thick and hazy like soup, shimmers when it catches the light.

Two things happen almost simultaneously.

First, above the deafening noise of the den, Joochan hears a yell, and he whips around to find that Youngtaek is struggling futilely against two large figures as they pull him towards a hidden side door.

Second, he feels a whoosh of movement behind him and ducks on instinct — a good thing, because one of Lee Taeyong’s bodyguards has crept up behind him and tried to grab him by the neck.

Joochan scrambles away from the guard even as the hulking figure bears down on him, pushing people aside as he fights his way to Youngtaek. There is a blur of angry faces, elbows and arms in his eyes as he runs, blinded by the press of bodies all around him. He narrowly misses another two swipes by the bodyguard chasing him, but manages to buy some time for himself when he slides under a table and emerges on the other side, eyes seeking out the side door Youngtaek had disappeared into.

He finds it just as he hears shouts from behind him, and breaks off into a run. The door brings him down a corridor that leads to a set of stairs, and even though it is empty, he can hear signs of struggle from below. There is Youngtaek’s voice, echoing up the stairwell. Joochan glances down to see dark figures wrestling with his best friend. He dashes down the stairs, two, three at a time, stumbling and twisting his ankle when he takes one step too many. He winces but continues limping on, barely aware of the pain. As if in harmony, the old injury on his palm begins to flare up, and Joochan clenches his hand in a fist as he forges on. There is nothing in his mind, no plan for what he might do to defeat the assailants, except for getting to Youngtaek.

He’s about to round the corner when he hears a yelp and a string of expletives, followed by a deafening crack that stops him cold. The struggle ceases. Youngtaek is silent.

Joochan feels fear unfurl in his chest, feathers smothering him in their suffocating embrace.

He might have stayed frozen on the stairway for all of eternity, the possibility of losing Youngtaek suddenly so large and real that he can’t bring himself to move, but then he hears shuffling, and the sound of something being dragged across the floor, and he startles back into motion.

Joochan creeps down the stairs to find one of the kidnappers sprawled on the ground, fingers curled around a metal bat, out cold by what he can only think is a well-aimed strike by Youngtaek, but his attention is almost immediately arrested by the swatches of blood across the floor, thick paintbrush strokes disappearing around another corner. On the ground, glinting despite being spattered in red, is Taek’s earring.

Joochan gulps, trying to breathe, but his lungs are stuffed with feathers. His legs don’t work, rooted to the floor as they are, and he doesn’t think his eyes are either, because the earring is glinting so brightly, so fiercely, almost like it were taunting Joochan, laughing at him for being unable to move, being unable to save Youngtaek—

He swallows nervously, creeping forward to pick up the fallen bat, gripping it tightly in his hand as he steps over the fallen assailant and follows the red paintbrush road to Youngtaek. His injured palm aches in agony with how tightly he is squeezing the bat, but Joochan forges on.

He rounds the corner to find the remaining kidnapper stuffing Youngtaek into the back of a van, his back to Joochan as he screams over the phone for backup. His one hand is mangled — probably another well-aimed hit by Youngtaek — and as if in payback, he smashes his boot against Taek’s ribs, driving his heel into a spot that is already dark and glistening with blood. Youngtaek doesn’t move, barely lets out a huff of pain.

Joochan sucks in a breath, makes two silent strides forward, and swings his bat with all the force he can manage.

The kidnapper’s body jerks to the side from the force administered to his back, and he goes down with barely a shout. Joochan stands over him, staring hard for any sign of movement, but there is not so much as a twitch from the him. For a moment, Joochan wishes that he would move so that there would be an excuse to swing his bat again.

Then Youngtaek groans, and Joochan drops his bat, jumps away from it like it were a radioactive spider, and stumbles over to the van.

“Taek,” Joochan breathes, “Taekie, can you hear me?”

There is no answer, just long, drawn-out rasps as Youngtaek struggles to breathe. Up close, Joochan can see the extent to which he’d been injured. There are deep gashes that tear his hoodie to shreds. Half his face is covered in blood. There is a hole in his ear from where his earring had been ripped out. His entire torso area is a red, wet mess.

Fear tightens its talons around Joochan’s heart, makes him choke for breath.

He reaches out but then stops himself, fingers trembling and hovering in midair, unsure of whether he should be touching Youngtaek.

“Please,” Joochan whispers. “Please hang on.”

He fishes his phone out of his pocket with shaky fingers, and is about to make a call when he hears movement from the stairwell. He lets out a curse. He’d forgotten about the backup.

The sound of footsteps gets louder and louder, and Joochan glances around in a panic. There are no keys in the van, and he doesn’t have time to search for them. Youngtaek’s eyes are hooded as if he were fighting to keep them open.

In an act of desperation, Joochan pulls Youngtaek to him, hooking his arms around Taek’s limp body and lifting him from the van. Then he breaks off into a run.

Chapter 6: Rifts and Realisation

Notes:

To those who clicked on this fic for the BoJoo fluff... I'm so terribly sorry :')

Chapter Text

Joochan locates the exit of the building, and by some miracle makes it out before the bodyguards can see him. He stumbles along the streets, fumbling single-handedly with his phone as he calls for an ambulance while trying to balance Youngtaek in his arms. His voice over the phone is measured, calm even, as he tells emergency that his friend has been assaulted and requires care immediately. But there is a light buzz in his ears, and everything looks crystalclearsharpbright. He tries to blink away the adrenaline, but it doesn’t fade. Youngtaek is silent in his arms.

He circles around the block, finds a quiet place, and settles Youngtaek down gently on the ground. His fingers are shaking, truly shaking now, as he makes another call, this time to Daeyeol, looking frantically at Youngtaek slumped against the wall, chest barely rising and falling in an effort to breathe.

“Hello—”

“Hyung,” Joochan sobs over the phone. “Hyung, Youngtaek’s hurt.”

What?”

Joochan is probably not very coherent now, the residual fear affecting his ability to speak. He’d used up his last measure of calm when speaking to the medics, but with Daeyeol now he is a mess, lost and very, very afraid.

“He’s not moving,” Joochan says, speech garbled with tears and snot. “He’s not moving and he’s barely breathing and there is so much blood—”

“Joochan,” Daeyeol’s voice cuts through the adrenaline-spiked haze of his brain. “Joochan, listen to me.”

“Hyung, I—”

“Listen,” Daeyeol is fierce, and Joochan finds it in himself to quell the hiccups, pressing the phone to his ear like it were his lifeline. “Listen to me. Have you called for help?”

“The ambulance is coming,” Joochan says, trembling as he moves closer to Youngtaek, fingers clutching the latter’s hoodie just for something to hold on to. He tells Daeyeol the name of the hospital they’ll head to.

“I’ll meet you there.” Daeyeol says. “I’ll get Seungmin, and alert Taek’s family too. Joochan, stop crying. I need you here with me. Youngtaek needs you there with him.”

“Taek—”

“No,” Daeyeol cuts him off. “Save your strength.” The sound of sirens comes blaring from across the street, and Daeyeol says, “Is that the ambulance?”

Joochan let out a moan in reply, staring at Youngtaek’s face. His mind suddenly flashes to the earring left behind. To the sprays of blood on the stairwell walls. To the paintbrush strokes of it on the floor as Youngtaek was dragged away.

“Joochan” Daeyeol says slowly. “Joochan, can you hear me? I need you to help Youngtaek onto the ambulance, and I need you to ride to the hospital with him, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Joochan chokes. The ambulance has stopped in front of them, and paramedics are jumping out to lift Youngtaek onto a stretcher. Joochan scrambles after them, fingers never leaving Taek’s hoodie. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good,’ Daeyeol replies. “I’ll see you there, okay? I won’t be long.”

Daeyeol hangs up, and Joochan gets onto the ambulance with the medics. He gives only short answers to their questions, doesn’t do much more than nod or shake his head as they give him a quick check. He almost cries out when they separate him and Youngtaek upon reaching the hospital, but Youngtaek is being rushed somewhere, a team of doctors and nurses following after him, and the medic who’d been in the ambulance with them is insisting firmly that Joochan treat his sprained ankle.

Joochan looks down, completely forgetting about the injury, and only upon remembering that he has one does the pain come back in full force, compounded by the fact that he’d mercilessly put his and Youngtaek’s weight on it as he ran from the gambling den.

He’s being led to a closed off section of the emergency ward, and a nurse checks up on him again, wrapping his ankle until it is bound vice-tight, and treating the scraps and cuts that he doesn’t even recall obtaining. His arms and clothes are soaked in Youngtaek’s blood, and the red doesn’t wash from his hands even after the nurse had done all she could with warm water and endless rolls of cloth.

Then someone approaches him, a man in a suit who looks like he has no business being in a hospital, and Joochan is about to flinch away when he catches sight of the badge on the stranger’s lapel. The man is a bodyguard, but not Lee Taeyong’s. This is the personal assistant to Youngtaek’s father, president of the Son Hotel and Casino Group.

“Joochan?” In contrast to his tall frame and sombre appearance, the man’s voice is soft and comforting. “I’m Secretary Yang. I’m here to bring you to Youngtaek.”

The nurse offers him a wheelchair, but Joochan finds it in himself to resist — for what reason, he’s not sure — and he hobbles along on crutches.

“Slow down,” says Secretary Yang, but Joochan only limps on faster.

They take the lift to the very top of the building, and the doors open to Youngtaek’s ward. In true Son Myung Il fashion, Youngtaek’s father has transferred him to the most expensive ward in the hospital. It looks more like a hotel suite than a hospital, save for the bed and sets of beeping equipment.

But the bed is empty.

“Taek’s not here?” Joochan asks, turning back to face Secretary Yang.

“No,” Secretary Yang gestures for him to enter the ward. “He’s still in surgery.”

Joochan stops short, for he spots Daeyeol and Seungmin, huddled together on the couch in the corner of the room. He stumbles towards them.

“Hyungs—”

Daeyeol catches him when he trips clumsily over his new cast, holds him tight as he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Joochan,” Daeyeol exhales in relief. “Joochan, thank god.” But there is something else in his voice as well, something that plants a seed of anxiety in the pit of Joochan’s stomach.

Daeyeol’s arms are strong and wiry, holding him up, holding him together. From behind, he can hear Secretary Yang exiting the room, closing the door shut.

“He’s in pretty bad shape,” Seungmin says, face pale and dazed. “Two broken ribs, one perforated lung, stabs to his torso, a fractured arm. They’re worried most about the lung.” Seungmin looks up at Joochan, eyes blazing. “What were you thinking?”

“I— I didn’t know this would happen,” Joochan cries, and even he hates the way it sounds so much like a flimsy excuse. He doesn’t miss how Seungmin hasn’t approached him yet, or how Daeyeol has his fists clenched by his sides.

“Chan,” Daeyeol says, eyes averted to the ground. “You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“What about Taek,” Daeyeol raises his gaze to look at Joochan head on in a challenge. “Did you think about his safety when you dragged him to heaven knows where?”

Joochan grimaces. Daeyeol has never held him so accountable for his deeds before, always sweeping the bigger issues of Joochan’s actions beneath a carpet of late night suppers and brotherly affection. And Joochan, for the life of him, still tries to pretend that everything is fine.

“Taek is okay. He’ll be okay, right?”

“Does any of this seem okay to you?” Seungmin says heatedly. “Getting your friend kidnapped, injured—”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Joochan bursts out. “I— I know I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, hyung—”

“Stop,” Daeyeol cuts him off, voice so chilling that Joochan glances up at him in shock. “There’s no point in saying sorry to us. You apologise to Youngtaek when he wakes up.” He’s never heard Daeyeol speak like this before.

Fear’s talons grapple with the tiny bit of self-preservation he has left, but the razor sharp claws win when Seungmin runs a frustrated hand through his hair and says, “You may not care much for your life, but at least don’t drag people down with you.”

The silence that follows is louder than all the noise in the world. And then—

“What are you saying?” Joochan snarls. He lunges at Seungmin, but his injured foot makes it hard to move, and all he manages to do is crash into Daeyeol’s outstretched arm. The elder’s fingers dig into Joochan’s shoulder. At least it’s a private room, on a private floor, because they’re yelling really loudly.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” Seungmin hisses, a poisonous look in his eyes.

“You take that back,” Joochan yells, struggling against Daeyeol. “Take that back this instant, Bae Seungmin.”

But Seungmin’s face is contorted in pain and fear, too. “All you’re concerned with is chasing your own pleasure. Have you thought about the carnage you leave behind?”

Joochan freezes. It feels like something’s crawling down his spine. He’s hot and cold at the same time.

He’s stunned silent because it’s true.

Sabotaging Seungmin’s work and relationships, barrelling into Daeyeol’s home whenever he wants, even bungee jumping with Bomin without even checking up on him. And now bringing Youngtaek on one of his stupid adventures under the pretext of work, just for the fun of it.

But how is he supposed to explain to Seungmin that it’s just because he doesn’t want to let go of his friends, his friends who are more like family to him than anything? That he can’t bear the thought of people leaving him behind, so he does stupid things like destroy their relationships, inserting himself into their lives, commanding that they do what he desires, to keep his vice-like grip around them intact.

“Have you thought about that?” Seungmin says softly, eyes hard.

And maybe — maybe Seungmin and Donghyun really have broken up.

The fight goes out of Joochan, and he crumbles onto the sofa. Seungmin lets out an angry growl, turning away to look out the window. Daeyeol is frozen in his spot, unmoving, face a storm of conflicting emotions. They’re all less than a metre apart, but the distance feels wider than the ocean to Joochan. The silence is deafening, the air filled with unspoken accusations, wordless pleas. Cold and sharp and unforgiving.

This. This is exactly why he hates the quiet.

He almost cries out in relief when the door slides open again to reveal Youngtaek’s father. He scrambles up and bows to Mr Son, as do Daeyeol and Seungmin, but the elder has only eyes for Joochan.

“You.”

Unlike his son, Youngtaek’s father is short and portly, a heavy man of sixty who began his career as a croupier and ended up building one of the largest hotel and casino chains in Korea. There is an air of arrogance upon him, perhaps for good reason given his climb to the top. Joochan is taller than him, they all are, but he seems to tower above them all. Still, he’s known Joochan since the younger was a little boy coming over to play with Youngtaek while his mother did her daily housekeeping, and the two have developed a sort of bantering relationship over the years. Although, Joochan’s not sure if Youngtaek’s father will still want to have anything to do with him after today.

“Sir, I—”

“You’ve got some nerve, Joochan, bringing my son to an illegal gambling den one week before he’s supposed to take over the casinos.”

Joochan’s mouth falls open in a gape. He hadn’t even thought of that, hadn’t even imagined the implication that could have been caused by Youngtaek being caught fraternising with an illegal operation, so near to his inauguration as he is.

“Just yesterday in an interview I spoke so excitedly about having my son join me in the management of our family business,” Mr Son lets out a bark of laughter. “Now I have to call that journalist to tell her that my son is in critical condition and that press conference next week will have to be postponed indefinitely.”

Joochan doesn’t exactly know if Youngtaek’s father is more concerned about his son or his ruined plans for a grand announcement.

“Should I maybe also tell her that the reason he ended up in hospital is because he’d went and gotten himself kidnapped by some shady idiots who thought they might be able to blackmail me through him?”

Joochan gulps, opens his mouth to apologise again, but Youngtaek’s father cuts him off.

“Youngtaek is in surgery,” says Mr Son, turning away as if he’s done swatting at a fly. “It’s serious, but the doctors tell me he’ll be fine. He’ll take at least 2 months to be up on his feet,” — and here Mr Son shoots daggers at Joochan — “But he’s past the worst now.”

Joochan can feel the collective sigh that he lets out together with Daeyeol and Seungmin.

“I don’t know what happened, and I don’t care why you ended up there,” Mr Son rubs his forehead. “But someone must have spotted him, one of my old enemies or failed business partners. Must have thought that he’d be a good bargaining chip for whatever pathetic deal they thought they could make with me. Idiots.”

“Mrs Son,” Daeyeol ventures. “How is she taking the news?”

Youngtaek’s father glares at Daeyeol, as if angry at him for broaching the topic. “Another problem I’ll have to solve.” Daeyeol startles and backs away slowly. “She doesn’t know yet, but you’d best be sure she’s going to kick up a fuss about her gala gown going out of style by the time Youngtaek’s recovered.”

Joochan doesn’t understand how someone like Youngtaek could have been a product of his parents, so different from him as they are.

Mr Son harrumphs, glancing behind him. “It’s a good thing Jibeom had enough sense to alert me when Youngtaek didn’t take his spot on the floor early this morning.”

Joochan looks up at the mention of the familiar name, and gives a start as he realises that there is a stranger in the room. He hadn’t even noticed that Mr Son had entered the room with Secretary Yang and another person, a young man who’s dressed neatly in a vest and polished shoes, hair coiffed away to reveal bright, intelligent eyes.

Joochan has heard a lot about Kim Jibeom, but Youngtaek had failed to mention how handsome the croupier is. His hands are clasped politely together as his eyes sweep over the room, going from Joochan to Daeyeol to Seungmin and back as if he were analysing a game at a table. He looks composed, regal, and Joochan wonders why Youngtaek has such an issue with what seems to be very proper a man.

Exhausted as he is, Joochan’s brain can’t help noting with interest the way Kim Jibeom’s gaze holds the tiniest bit of concern. Concern for Youngtaek, perhaps? Or maybe Joochan’s sense of judgement is skewed, dizzy and incoherent as he is from the night’s events.

Despite all the ways he’s different from Youngtaek, Mr Son possesses the same quick eye and wit that he’d passed down to his son. He looks at Joochan, takes in his ankle and his bloodied clothes and the way he’s swaying on the spot. His tone softens.

“You boys should head home,” Mr Son says, “Secretary Yang can give you all a lift.” At Joochan’s protest, he says, “There’s not much else you can do, Joochan, and frankly I need some time to think about how to clear up this mess. I’ll let you boys know when he gets out of surgery.”

When none of them move, he growls, “Get moving. Now.”

Joochan doesn’t want to leave, wants to stay and wait for Youngtaek, but he shuts up and allows Secretary Yang to herd him out of the room.

Jibeom makes to leave with the trio, but Mr Son stops him. “Stay, boy. We need to discuss the press conference next week.”

“Yes, sir,” Jibeom says — the first words he’s spoken since entering the room — and bows goodbye as Joochan shuffles out of the room with Daeyeol and Seungmin.

Secretary Yang does a good job at pretending that the trio hadn’t had an explosive argument just minutes before. “If you could let me know your addresses—”

“Thank you, but there won’t be a need,” Daeyeol says. “I drove here, and Seungmin lives nearby. I’ll give him a lift. Fetching Joochan home would be good enough.” Seungmin is sullen by his side, eyes directed resolutely away.

Daeyeol looks at Joochan. “Take care of the ankle. And maybe use this time to think.” At Joochan’s wide, desperate gaze, he only shakes his head and sighs. “Give me a call if you need help.”

Joochan wants to reach out to Daeyeol, wants to catch him by his sleeve and beg them to sit down for a proper talk, but Daeyeol is bowing goodnight and walking off, Seungmin following behind him. He watches them disappear down the corridor.

“Seungmin doesn’t live nearby,” he mumbles to Secretary Yang.

“I know.”

Joochan glances up in surprise as Secretary Yang helps him down to the basement and into the car. The latter only chuckles. “I keep tabs on all of Youngtaek’s friends, as part of the security of the Son family.”

“Then why—”

“I think Daeyeol needs an excuse for some time alone with Seungmin.” They pull out of the parking lot and veer onto the streets. “I know emotions ran high, but they’re fighting a war between being worried for you and being angry at you. They need time to process that.”

Joochan buries his face into his jacket, trying to ignore the throb of his ankle and his palm. “I’m not a very good friend,” he says in response.

“Friends aren’t usually the reason why someone ends up in hospital, yes.” Secretary Yang chuckles. “But do you think they would have stuck around for so long if they don’t love you like they do a brother?”

Joochan looks up suspiciously at Secretary Yang. “How much sleuthing have you done on us?”

“Just enough,” Secretary Yang laughs. “Now, do you still live in Yongsan?”

Chapter 7: Strength and Sunsets

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Joochan opens his eyes to a lifeless, grey morning. He sinks back into the sheets. His eyes are swollen, and his palm throbs. His heart feels so heavy that he can’t lift himself out of bed.

Secretary Yang had brought him home just as the sun had begun peeking out from the east. He had slumped onto his bed, too tired to even change out of his filthy clothes. Even as he tried his best to stay awake, waiting for a call or a text on Youngtaek’s condition, sleep had eventually won out, and he’d spent a few hours tossing and turning in bed.

Joochan is about to drift back to sleep when his phone pings. He gives a start, fumbling about the sheets for his phone, eyes scanning the screen desperately before deflating when he realises that this message is not from Youngtaek or his father. It’s from Bomin.

Joochan opens the chat and is shocked to find a list of unread messages. He’d been ignoring Bomin since yesterday, after telling the latter that he would be going off somewhere with Youngtaek, and Bomin’s tone gets increasingly worried with each message that Joochan leaves on unread.

That sounds fun. What’s there at this new place?

There’s news today that the Son Group press conference is going to be delayed.

Did anything happen?

And the last one, sent just a few minutes ago:

Joochan, are you safe?

Joochan doesn’t feel like he has the right to be excited at Bomin’s messages. He doesn’t have the right to be.

So he texts back a polite yes, just so Bomin won’t worry, and throws his phone onto the bed, flinging one arm over his eyes.

And even with the windows all shut, Joochan still feels a chill in his bones. He’s resolved to spending the entire day in bed, soiled clothes and ratty hair be damned, but the smell on his body, of dirt and rust and musk, soon gets to him. He rolls out of bed, placing the tiniest bit of weight gingerly on his injured leg, and trudges to the bathroom to clean up.

Joochan unwraps the bindings on his ankle, poking harshly at the soft, discoloured bump in an act of contrition. He tosses his clothes in the hamper, then changes his mind and picks them up, balling them up and throwing them into the bin instead. He spends an absurd amount of time in the shower, scrubbing the blood out from under his fingernails, washing his hair twice. Lathering so much soap onto his body that the drain clogs with foam. Still, his fingers smell like iron no matter how hard he scrubs.

When he’s done, he hobbles out of the shower and sits at the kitchen counter, drying his hair. He’s never spent enough time at home to appreciate the view from the living room, neither has he ever bothered to decorate the space with personal markers. He looks out the windows now, at the plain walls and marble floor, the clouds that hang low over the sky, grey on grey on grey. It’s dreary and cold. Joochan feels fear strutting about his chest, ruffling its feathers, making a nest out of his heart. His ears strain to pick up any sign of life from his surroundings. But there is not so much as a squeak.

It’s quiet, and Joochan is all alone.

Secretary Yang calls Joochan a few hours later with news that Youngtaek is out of observation and has been moved to his ward. Joochan jumps up, almost crying out at the spike of pain that shoots up his foot.

“I’m going over now.”

“No,” comes Secretary Yang’s reply. “Youngtaek’s still asleep, and I don’t think he’s going to be coherent even if he wakes up today. His parents and sister are here, and Mrs Son is… being difficult. Also, Jibeom’s just arrived, and they look like they’re about to talk business.”

Joochan feels a spark of hatred at Jibeom, who is barely a friend yet is allowed to stay by Youngtaek’s side.

Secretary Yang’s tone softens. “I’m sorry, Joochan, but it might be better to come tomorrow instead.”

“Do Daeyeol and Seungmin know yet?” Joochan asks softly, looking around his empty apartment with a growing sense of discomfort.

“Yes, I was just on the phone with them before I called you.”

“How—” Joochan bites his lip. “How do they sound?”

“Tired, nervous. Much like you.”

Joochan is quiet. Secretary Yang lets out a small sigh of sympathy.

“They’ll probably drop by tomorrow,” he hints. “Youngtaek’s parents have an event to attend; I’ll make sure they’re out of your hair.”

Joochan says his thanks and hangs up, letting his phone drop onto the kitchen counter. He hasn’t moved from his spot since morning. The sky is still grey, his apartment still empty, and his chest still stuffed full with feathers.

His phone pings. It’s Bomin.

Let me know if you want someone to talk to.

Joochan turns his phone off and goes back to staring at his empty apartment.

He rushes to the hospital the next day, to find Youngtaek still sleeping, tired and drugged from the surgeries. Daeyeol and Seungmin are nowhere to be found, and Joochan can’t tell if he is more relieved or disappointed.

He takes a seat next to Youngtaek, eyes roving over the latter’s frame. There is a cut above his eyebrow, and his eyes are bruised. His left arm is in a cast. And even though it’s being covered by Youngtaek’s hospital gown, Joochan knows that under his shirt his torso is wrapped in layers of bandages, the aftermath of surgeries to patch up his knife wounds and injured lung. It feels surreal looking at Youngtaek lying supine like this. Hadn’t they just been drinking two days ago?

Taek shifts in his sleep, and Joochan watches in increasing panic as the elder boy groans and opens his eyes. He’d been banking on Youngtaek sleeping for the entirety of his visit; he’s not ready yet to face Youngtaek and the deluge of emotions within himself that he’s tried to build a dam around. Despite that, his heart gives a thump of relief to see that Youngtaek is awake.

“Chan?” Youngtaek mumbles. He groans. “God, my neck is stiff.”

Joochan is frozen, unable to speak. Youngtaek gives him a queer look. “What’s up with you now?”

“You—” Joochan is left floundering for a second before the dam breaks open and he’s saying, “I’m so sorry, Taek. I’m so, so sorry.”

“What?” Youngtaek’s curious look only intensifies. Then he sees himself, wrapped up in bandages, catches sight of the room that they are in, unfamiliar and filled with the impersonal stench of hospitals, and seems to finally recall the events of the past night.

“Oh,” Youngtaek says, “Oh yeah, that happened.” He laughs. “I keep forgetting.”

Joochan can only gape at him.

“First thing I saw when I opened my eyes this morning was noona arguing with my dad about the conference.” Youngtaek pulls a face. “Apparently I’ve caused quite a ruckus with the investors.”

Joochan can’t understand why he sounds so flippant.

“Taek, there’s a hole in your lung.”

“A what now?” Youngtaek hums, looking down at his chest. “Ah. Pops forgot to mention that when I woke up earlier.”

Joochan gapes some more.

“I— Your rib broke, and—” Joochan can’t bring himself to say much else. The memory of the blood on the floor and of Taek’s dead weight against him is coming back in full force. Joochan swallows fiercely. “I brought you sleuthing and some people got to us and… and now you’re here in this state because of me.”

Youngtaek tries to sit up straighter, but the attempt is soon abandoned when he realises any movement will stretch at the stitched-together skin along his torso. He huffs and lies back down on the pillow. Joochan doesn’t miss the tiny grimace of pain on his face.

“Imagine where you’d be if I weren’t there to protect you,” Youngtaek jokes.

“What— No, Taek. They were after you. They knew who you were and decided to take you. I shouldn’t have brought you there in the first place.”

Youngtaek stares at the cast on his arm before suddenly laughing. “Well, at least I got my wish. The press conference’s gonna be postponed—”

“Stop it,” Joochan says fiercely.

Joochan’s eyes are on the duvet, but he can feel Youngtaek look at him in alarm. And even though this entire thing is his mistake, even though he’s done nothing but sit in numb silence for the past two days, refusing to show any emotion, he’s suddenly burning up with a strange fury that is demanding to be let out.

“Stop what?” Youngtaek asks, and Joochan opens his mouth and snarls angrily.

“Stop joking about your life like it’s nothing!”

Youngtaek’s eyes widen.

Silence again, just like how it was after he fought with Seungmin. Joochan is not sure if he’s imagining things, but there is a ringing in the still air.

He hates it. Hates it so, so much. The quiet goes on, and on, and on. Joochan’s face feels hot, his eyes are prickling with tears. He clenches his jaw hard, bites the inside of his cheek. He tries to think about his time with Bomin in the library, when the silence was less of an enemy and more like a comforting friend.

“Chan,” Youngtaek says quietly. “Joochan.”

It takes him an eternity to lift his head. When he meets Youngtaek’s gaze, he finds himself struggling to hold it.

“I don’t blame you, Chan,” Youngtaek’s face is soft, careful. “I don’t want you to blame yourself either.”

Joochan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, because there’s an obnoxious tear gathering at the corner of his eye, and it’s sure to spill down his cheek if he does.

“I mean, we shouldn’t have chased danger; that was dumb. But you couldn’t have known that this would happen.”

“You knew,” Joochan chokes out, almost accusingly. He blinks the tears away furiously. “You knew that it might have been dangerous for you. That people might recognise you as Son Youngtaek.”

“Well,” Youngtaek shifts uncomfortably, “but what else was I supposed to do? Let you go in alone?”

“Yes?” Joochan says this like it’s obvious.

“Idiot,” Youngtaek rolls his eyes. “You just told me not to joke about my life. How many times have you danced with danger this past year alone?” When Joochan is silent, he answers the question for them. “Too many times to count.”

Joochan opens his mouth in protest, but Youngtaek interrupts.

“Tailing questionable people, drinking too much… Don’t think we don’t notice when you’re itching to go bungee jumping. Don’t you think for a moment that we don’t know what goes through your mind when you’re on that platform, what you hope for to happen.” Youngtaek sighs. “Don’t nag at me when you’ve been taunting death your whole life.”

Joochan is about to say “I haven’t”, but a glance from Youngtaek silences him.

“We feel that same anger you’re feeling now,” Youngtaek’s fingers flex in his cast. “Every time you disappear somewhere on one of your adventures.”

“Is that what Daeyeol said?” Joochan whispers. “Was he here, with Seungmin?”

“They came just as my parents were leaving,” Youngtaek says. “Right before I took my meds and knocked off again. They told me about your little yelling match, yes.”

Joochan swallows. “Do they hate me?”

Youngtaek’s withering glance — as if he were an idiot for even asking — shuts Joochan up.

“Seungmin mentioned something,” Joochan says hesitantly, almost afraid to ask. “Did— Did him and Donghyun break up?”

“I don’t know,” Youngtaek looks down at his covers, plucks at a loose piece of thread. “He didn’t say.”

Silence falls over them again, but Joochan is too distracted by the thoughts whirring in his head to be disturbed by it. He’s embarrassed by the way Youngtaek called him out on his behaviour, amazed too by the anger he felt when Taek had tried to joke his pain away.

Youngtaek glances at him. He hasn’t been completely truthful with Joochan; Daeyeol and Seungmin had been all but silent about the youngest when they’d visited Youngtaek earlier on, only begrudgingly telling him what had happened after much prying.

It’s not easy for either party when layers of feelings are suddenly laid open and bare, especially when these feelings are concern and anger, as polarising as oil and water. Youngtaek might be the only one in the hospital, but they’ve all been hurt one way or another.

Youngtaek looks at Joochan, who is barely holding in his tears. He thinks about Seungmin’s stormy face and how Daeyeol had seemed so sad. He gets the feeling that it will be a while before the four of them will be together again.

The following week sees the colours of autumn turn skeletal as winter sets in in earnest. Joochan pulls out his coats and boots again, thick socks and gloves and hats to combat the icy wind. His fingers hesitate as he stares at the scarf Seungmin had bought for him in May. It’s a bright, striped number, alternating strips of red and blue and green. It’s the only happy thing in his apartment. Joochan pulls it out and wraps it tightly around his neck as if he were preparing for a night out, even though all he does for the entire week is sit in his kitchen and stare out the windows.

He calls his office and applies for indefinite leave, citing family issues. He visits Youngtaek every day, fussing over him until Youngtaek tells him to sit still. He sees Daeyeol and Seungmin for the first time since the accident a week later, when he comes back after taking a walk around the hospital because Youngtaek had ordered him to stop hovering. The three of them stare at each other, stunned at the unexpected meeting. Joochan is about to run in and grab hold of his hyungs and do something, apologise or beg or cry until they forgive him. But then Seungmin looks away and suddenly it hits Joochan that this isn’t a gathering he’s invited to. He mumbles some stupid excuse and bolts out of the room.

Seungmin’s words ring in his head for the entire night, a mantra that he has no willpower to force stop.

Whenever he sees Daeyeol and Seungmin now, they only exchange pleasantries, but even then, those aren’t that pleasant. From the looks that Daeyeol gives him, eyes scanning over Joochan’s body in assessment, he knows that they’re worried about him. But he knows too that they’re still angry at him, and he can’t bring himself to be in the same room as they are, guilt-ridden as he is.

This goes on for a week, and then another. He stays virtually the whole day at the hospital with Youngtaek, knowing that Daeyeol and Seungmin can usually only come on evenings after work. He listens as Youngtaek fills him in on the plans for his succession, sometimes ends up sitting in when casino representatives come to discuss business with Youngtaek. He watches how Jibeom’s eyes flutter over Youngtaek’s bruised and battered body, and hates himself a little bit more.

He goes back to work after the third week, after many pleas from his team and not-so-subtle threats from his bosses. He gives his all, is equally hardworking and friendly and energetic, but he arrives at 9 and resolutely packs up at 6. When another opportunity arises to tail Lee Taeyong, Joochan finds that he no longer wants to take it.

Still, he works hard, immersing himself in reports and data and presentations. He visits Youngtaek during his lunch hours, too afraid to show up in the evenings when Daeyeol and Seungmin are bound to be there. Then he goes home and sits in his empty apartment and watches the sun set on another day.

During those hours of solitude, Joochan makes a plan for himself.

Because Hong Joochan is what some might call maniacal.

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. He’s helped digitise entire systems so that his team doesn’t have to rely on traditional paper and pen. He’s slept at his desk for weeks on end in order to make headway on new cases.

Joochan has never stopped moving.

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.

All this might seem the product of an extroverted, energetic mind. But Joochan is more than that. He’s achieved so much for himself because beneath his bright smile and his talent for conversation lies a burning, strong will.

If Hong Joochan decides on something, he’s going to see it through.

And right now, he’s decided that he’s tired of being the way he is.

No more chasing thrills just to feel alive. He is alive. The fact that he’s able to sit here and feel the residual throb of his ankle, the coldness in the winter air, the vast loneliness that spreads through his apartment, proves it.

No more being a brat to his friends, because even family have their limits. The fact that Daeyeol, Seungmin and Youngtaek have stuck with him throughout all his craziness proves that they won’t be going away anytime soon. And even though Joochan panics at the thought of this, feels himself losing his resolution when faced with the possibility that his friends will leave him if he doesn’t have them in his iron grasp, he thinks about Seungmin’s face, about how cold and hard and tired he had looked at the hospital, and he pulls himself out of his own cesspool of insecurity. He clenches his jaw in determination.

Instead of pushing the silence away, Joochan is going to learn how to accept it.

Bundled up in Seungmin’s scarf with the heater turned up high, Joochan watches as the clouds dance past his window. The sky is nature’s canvas, turning from marigold to rose to ultraviolet to navy.

If only he’d been home more often to catch this view. It really is quite beautiful.

Notes:

It's my birthday y'all HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

As a present, I present you my favourite chapter. If anyone wants to join me in creying at Joochan's character development, come come come. We have cake!

Chapter 8: Order and Oases

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As expected, Joochan’s work performance falls. While he makes some headway with his new cases, his bosses have been so used to his stellar nuggets of information that whatever he presents now, no matter how useful, falls short.

He knows that people have observed this change. He’d gotten surprised stares that first week back, when he’d walk out of the office at the end of the day before the sun set. Joochan doesn’t think he’s ever done that before, not in the one year since he started working.

While nobody can say anything about him not working added hours, they pounce on the opportunity to chide him one day when he’s asked a question and admits that he has no answer.

“Joochan,” his supervisor sighs. “I can’t bring this proposal to the CEO.”

“I understand,” Joochan replies. “But that’s all the information the analyst could give me. I could speak to their previous employees, but my sense is that we won’t be able to get anything new out of them.”

His supervisor pushes the documents away and clears his throat. Joochan knows what’s about to come. Sure enough, his supervisor looks at him and asks, “Has anything happened in these past few weeks?”

Yes, Joochan wants to say. I went out of my way for work, and as a result my best friend is in the hospital, and two others aren’t talking to me.

Joochan only smiles and shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Because you’ve been different,” his supervisor prompts, “ever since you came back.”

Although Joochan’s never been explicit about it before, his supervisor has some inkling that Joochan tracks down his clients in order to present a fuller image of them. It’s what has set him apart from his peers, this willingness to dive headfirst into the unknown.

“I thought to give you some space, some time to get back to your usual self. I understand that something happened to your family.” His supervisor leans forward and steeples his fingers under his chin. “But whatever it is you were doing before, I need you to start doing it again.”

Joochan notes with interest the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Strangely, even though he’d seen this coming and has prepared himself for it, he feels nervous. But he steels himself and keeps the smile on his face.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

His supervisor stares at him.

Joochan is calm and friendly as he says, “I won’t be able to continue working at the pace I’ve been.”

Associate Consultant Hong Joochan has never been know to say no. Up until this point, his supervisor probably thinks that the word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. Joochan can see him grasping for something to say, something to make Joochan turn tail on his conviction.

“Your promotion—”

“I know, sir.” Joochan smiles. “And that’s fine. I’ll still work hard, but I understand if I’m passed over for it.”

His supervisor has nothing better to say. After all, despite this uncharacteristic display of surety and his recent fall in performance, Joochan is still the best consultant on the team. So instead, he nods in embarrassed acknowledgement and sweeps out of the meeting room, leaving Joochan alone feeling like he’d just run a marathon. He huffs, half in relief and half in nervousness, as he sinks back into his chair. It sure isn’t easy to subvert the expectations that people have of him, but he supposes it’s his fault in the first place for placing too much importance on his work.

“It’s fine,” Joochan whispers under his breath. “You’re doing this for yourself. You’re fine.”

He gathers his documents and makes his way back to his table. He’s about to get started on an email when he looks up and catches sight of the vacant seat at the corner of the room, so conveniently within his line of sight. He lets out a soft sigh. This isn’t the first time he’d been distracted by thoughts of Bomin.

His heart gives a painful twinge as he purses his lips and tears his eyes away.

It’s been months since he’d seen Bomin, and Joochan misses him so, so much.

Sure, Bomin had told Joochan to talk to him if he wanted to. But Joochan doesn’t know if he still deserves Bomin. He doesn’t deserve to be comforted, not when he’s the one who went and got his best friend almost killed. He doesn’t know if he still has the right to have someone else in his life whom he might hurt, who might be swept up in his messiness. He’d promised himself that he would change, but that doesn’t mean that he’s going to get better with this whole recklessness thing overnight. And he can’t bear the thought of possibly hurting Bomin one day.

Joochan shakes his head to rid it of its thoughts, going back to the task at hand of working hard until 6pm. When evening rolls around, he packs up and leaves, almost eager to get home in time to watch the sunset, but then something prompts him to take the train in a different direction, and he ends up at the library that he’d visited with Bomin.

He takes a deep breath and enters, walking slowly in an effort to reduce the clack that his shoes make on the wooden floor. The silence is still not completely familiar to him, and he has to stop himself from squirming uncomfortably. He focuses on the soft hush of whispered conversation, the rhythmic flip of pages, and the blood rushing in his ears.

Joochan takes a breath and tries to slow his heartbeat.

The large centrepiece manages to inspire awe even after the first time. He admires how it rises to the ceiling, a sturdy wooden structure centring the glass design of the library. He admires the mahogany shelves, runs a finger over the spines of books stacked beside each other. He picks out a few at random, books and magazines on ancient history and pastry making and how to master gardening. He continues walking, eyes taking in everything, but mostly looking within.

He stands in the middle of the library, books clutched to his chest, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t care if he looks strange, but the beauty of libraries is that the books are the stars. Nobody gives him a second glance.

And just like the centrepiece grounding the library, Joochan tries to centre himself.

He sees himself in his mind’s eye, running away from the gambling den, Youngtaek limp and heavy in his arms. Blood staining his shirt, staining the floor. The one earring glinting in the dim light. He hears himself panting, gasping for breath. He feels again fear’s grip around his heart, feels the smothering of feathers that make his throat tickle painfully and his lungs struggle for air.

His supervisor’s words float into his mind, as do Seungmin’s cold remarks. On the back of his eyelids he sees Bomin, shaking and afraid on top of the bungee jump platform. Daeyeol’s face, tired but always welcoming, as he hands a bowl of soup over to Joochan. Youngtaek looking sallow, wincing at the stitches along his torso.

He’d let fear grow into the monster it is today. And the monster in him has whispered insecurities to him, fed him lies so that he would do anything in a desperate attempt to make sure that he weren’t alone.

Not anymore.

He takes in a slow breath, and with the exhale banishes fear to the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. It fights against Joochan’s willpower, talons clinging onto the crevices of his ribs and refusing to let go, but Joochan is fighting with himself, after all, and he gets to decide who wins.

Everything seems clearer when he opens his eyes. He notes in pleasure the way he breaths easier, feels lighter. It’s not like he’s healed himself with one magical battle in his mind, but at least it’s a step in the right direction.

He smiles contentedly, and is about to find a spot to flip through his books and magazines when he stops short.

Standing a distance away, with a look of surprise on his face, is Bomin.

Joochan lets out a tiny gasp and almost drops his books. Bomin is dressed in office wear, clearly just off from work like Joochan is. His eyes hold shock and nervousness and, what Joochan notes shyly, seems to be affection. He is thinner than the last time Joochan had seen him, the bright lights overhead throwing shadows around his cheekbones.

Bless the library-goers, who don’t give either of them any strange looks even as they stay frozen, two statues yearning but afraid to reach out to each other. Bomin looks at him with a gaze that seems to peer into the depths of his heart. It is both familiar and foreign a caress.

Bomin approaches him first. Joochan thinks about running away, but it is too late and Bomin is before him in a blink of an eye. Joochan doesn’t miss the way he reaches out a hand but retracts it at the last second, as if afraid that Joochan would pull back.

“Joochan?” Bomin says tentatively, a mixture of concern and anxiety on his face. He tries for a smile, and Joochan can’t find it in him to avoid Bomin any longer.

His lips lift up in a ghost of a smile, and he replies, “Hey, boy.”

The look of relief on Bomin’s face makes Joochan heart squeeze painfully. Had Bomin been worrying all this while?

As if to answer Joochan’s question, Bomin says, “Thank goodness you’re safe.” And he reaches that hand out again, slowly, almost afraid that Joochan will disappear before his eyes if he makes any sudden movements, and his fingers brush against Joochan’s cheek. Joochan closes his eyes at the contact.

“I was worried you’d gone somewhere far way,” Bomin murmurs. “And I had no way to find you.”

“Some things happened,” Joochan says. He finds himself angling his face towards Bomin’s hand even as the latter pulls his arm away, chasing the fingers and the butterfly warmth they leave on his skin. “And I— I needed some time alone.”

“No,” Bomin says quickly. “I’m not asking for an explanation. Just—” He shakes his head. “I wanted to know if you were doing okay.”

Joochan hums as Bomin leads them back to their little corner, a small cove off the main library space that is laid with carpet and laden with cushions and beanbags. “I’m… doing better, I think.” He settles down on the floor beside Bomin. “How did you find me? You couldn’t possibly have known that I’d be here today.”

Bomin takes an age to reply, and Joochan looks up at him, curious at the stretched-out silence.

“I’ve been coming here almost everyday,” Bomin’s voice is hesitant. “I didn’t know if I was allowed to look for you at your office, didn’t know if that would have been presumptuous of me. But I thought, maybe the library wouldn’t be too intrusive.”

Joochan doesn’t really understand — Bomin has been coming to the library everyday, just for the possibility that he would be here too? — and he’s about to ask Bomin what he means when the latter says quietly, “I heard about what happened to Youngtaek.” He glances at Joochan, who has gone stiff. “Joochan, it’s not your fault.”

The books lay abandoned on the floor, forgotten. Joochan feels dread creeping up his spine. He doesn’t want to talk to Bomin about this, wants to just run away and never show Bomin the ugly sides of him. But he knows that he owes him an explanation, guilty as he is for having ghosted Bomin for almost a month.

“What exactly did you hear?” Joochan asks, because Bomin wouldn’t be here comforting him if he had know the truth. “The press didn’t report the entirety of it.”

“Only that Youngtaek got injured the night you had dinner with him.”

Joochan swallows, takes a deep breath.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bomin says earnestly, “if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

But in stops and starts, the story comes out. Joochan details the night, the way he’d all but forced Youngtaek to follow him on his adventure, how Youngtaek had disappeared and how Joochan had dragged his body out of the gambling den. He stutters at the part where Daeyeol and Seungmin confront him at the hospital. He chokes out the words Seungmin had said to him, painful as it is to relieve the memory. By the time he’s done, Joochan’s fingers are plucking wildly at the pieces of lint on the carpet, and his palm is aching as if it had been triggered into response.

“So I— I forced Youngtaek to go somewhere he didn’t want to, and now he’s in the hospital because of it.”

He’s staring resolutely down at the floor, hair covering his eyes so that Bomin can’t see the tears forming in them. The carpet is on its way to being plucked bare. Bomin’s hands reach out to his, stilling his incessant movements in a cocoon of warmth for a fraction of a second before pulling away.

“Hey,” Bomin tilts his neck down, tucks Joochan’s hair behind his ear. “Look at me.”

Joochan risks a glance up at Bomin, tear tracks shining wetly down his cheeks.

“None of them blame you,” Bomin says quietly. “You know that, right?”

“Seungmin hyung didn’t sound very forgiving.”

“He was angry, but that doesn’t mean he’s not concerned for you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Joochan is getting worked up. He knows that Seungmin and Daeyeol blame him, knows that he’s in the wrong. And he’s accepted this, to a certain extent, is willing to go along with this punishment of having his friends ignore him. He wants to feel terrible about what he did, because he knows he deserves to feel this way. He feels almost angry at Bomin trying to comfort him, trying to alleviate the guilt that he feels.

“I—” Bomin bites his lip. “I might have spoken to Donghyun, who spoke to Seungmin.”

Joochan’s jaw drops. He stares at Bomin in open shock. “Donghyun?”

“Donghyun, my friend who’s dating your friend Seungmin—”

“I remember,” Joochan says hastily. “I just— I thought— Donghyun and Seungmin—” He finds that he’s lost the ability to form coherent sentences, but Bomin saves the day by answering the half-formed questions in his mind.

“Donghyun didn’t say much about his relationship with Seungmin, but I do think that they’re working out some difficulties together.” Bomin shrugs. “Seungmin told Donghyun about what happened, about how he felt about you. I think he did it on purpose.”

“Why would he do that?” Joochan asks sullenly, fingers back to tracing patterns on the carpet.

“Because Seungmin knew that I would ask Donghyun,” Bomin says softly. “And that I would want to be there for you even when he couldn’t.”

Joochan’s lips form a little ‘o’ in surprise. He’s not sure what he’s surprised about, the fact that Bomin was worried enough to ask Donghyun about him, or that, while still unable to reconcile his anger, Seungmin cared enough to make sure that Joochan wouldn’t be completely alone. He thinks he’s equally floored by both.

Joochan feels his heart filling with light, so much of it that he starts and chokes at the feeling.

“Silly,” Bomin says, as a fresh wave of tears stream down Joochan’s face. He pulls Joochan’s head to rest on his shoulder, uncaring about the tears that stain his pristine white shirt. “Seungmin still loves you, as do Daeyeol and Youngtaek.” Bomin’s arm wraps around Joochan, patting soothingly at his back, as Joochan sobs and sobs and sobs. Weeks of pent-up emotion empty out of him like water crashing out of a dam.

They’re definitely making too much noise for the library, but surprisingly no one comes in to shush them. They’re in their own little cocoon, a tiny oasis, a safe space where Joochan can allow himself to feel, allow himself to be.

“You need a holiday,” is the first thing that Youngtaek says when Joochan walks into his ward one lunch break, carrying a bag of sandwiches and juices for them to share. Youngtaek had gone thin and weak in the week after his surgeries, unable to eat or drink much, and Mr Son had commanded that his son be served the best of hospital cuisine once he was taken off his drip. Joochan had watched in amusement and slight horror that first day after when Youngtaek took one bite of his lobster bisque and requested instead for a slice of pizza from the deli down the road. Now, Youngtaek has reached a sort of agreement with his father: he’ll decide what he gets to eat for lunch, and acquiesce to whatever fancy thing the hospital cooks for him for dinner.

“Did I catch you in the middle of some obscure train of thought?” Joochan asks, taking a seat and settling their food down between them. Youngtaek attacks the bag and pulls out their sandwiches. His condition has improved greatly over the past few weeks, save for a little scare a while back when the stab wounds to his stomach started bleeding profusely.

“No, that was the entire thought,” he says, voice muffled, head stuck in the bag. “Where are my jellies?”

“Here,” Joochan tosses him the other bag that he’d kept in his coat pocket, and Youngtaek lets out a pleased shout before tearing open his sweets.

It’s only after Youngtaek has stuffed four or five jellies in his mouth that he continues the conversation.

“I think you need a holiday,” he says. “You’ve been here every lunch break, and you come most weekends too.” He glances at Joochan, and takes the risk by saying, “You come more often than Daeyeol or Seungmin.”

Joochan cringes at the mention of their friends. Despite desperately wanting to, Joochan still hasn’t mustered the courage to speak to Daeyeol and Seungmin. They’ve seen each other here and there at the hospital, exchanging only the briefest of greetings and ignoring the way Youngtaek looks at the three of them, begging them silently to make up. Joochan knows that it’s up to him to make the first move, but every time he opens his mouth to say something, he finds his fingers trembling and his voice hoarse.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bomin had said after Joochan had recounted the incidents to him. You need time to heal, too.

“What’s wrong with me coming to visit you?”

Youngtaek looks at him, eyes narrowed. “I’m sick of seeing you everyday.”

“Harsh,” Joochan rolls his eyes, used to the jibes that Youngtaek fires at him. “No more jellies for you.”

They tussle for a bit over the open packet of jellies, until the little things spill out of the bag and slide across the floor. Youngtaek laughs. “Go pick them up, you minion. I’m injured and confined to the bed.”

“Ass,” Joochan grumbles, but he’s already standing up to clean up the mess he’d created. He picks the jellies up and throws them one by one back at Youngtaek, and the latter wriggles around in his bed in an effort to avoid the tiny incoming bullets.

“I hang out with Bomin,” Joochan says simply when he sits back down, picking up his sandwich again and biting down on it.

“Ooh,” Youngtaek says. “Pretty boy Bomin?”

“Pretty boy Bomin,” Joochan confirms around a mouthful of chicken and lettuce, trying to control the blush rising up his cheeks . He doesn’t go into detail, knowing that Youngtaek will use whatever he says as fodder for teasing, but Joochan allows himself to recall how, just yesterday, Bomin had shyly showed up at his office after work with a bunch of flowers and an entire strawberry cake.

“Speaking of Bomin…” There is a glint in Youngtaek’s eyes that Joochan doesn’t like.

“Think twice before you speak,” Joochan warns. “Or I’ll take your jellies away.”

“You wouldn’t.” Youngtaek snatches the packet up and cradles it to his chest. “I was only going to remind you that I owe you something.”

“You do?” Joochan is mid-chew when he remembers. His eyes light up. “The villa!”

“Renovations are done,” Youngtaek grins. “Secretary Yang dropped this off last night.” From his pocket he produces a car key and something else that looks like a tiny remote, and Joochan stares at them.

“Uhm. Those aren’t for the villa.”

“I know, you idiot. This is for your transport there.” Youngtaek dangles the car key in Joochan’s face. “And this is for the front gate.” He points to the remote. “I provide good, all rounded service.” Youngtaek looks at him slyly. “Your fingerprint’s already been added to the security system. So has Bomin’s.”

“… Bomin’s?”

“I figured you’d want to go with him.”

Joochan chokes on his apple juice. “You figured I’d what now?”

“He seemed pretty excited about it when I called to ask.”

“You have Bomin’s number— How do you have Bomin’s number?”

“Donghyun gave it to me.”

“What—” Joochan shakes his head as if to clear it. “I have many questions about this entire conversation.”

“God, keep up,” Youngtaek rolls his eyes, as if this is all quite elementary. “Donghyun gave us all Bomin’s number. I called him to ask if he’d like to go to the villa with you.”

“This explains nothing!” Joochan retorts. “Why would you ask Bomin to go to the villa with me?”

Youngtaek’s eyes are wide and innocent as he says, “He did help you win the bet.”

Youngtaek.”

“Think about it.” Taek flaps his hands around as he tries to explain. “Doesn’t a seaside villa getaway with Choi Bomin sound good to you?”

“No?” Joochan cries. He doesn’t know why he’s panicking so much. Every single action from Bomin, from buying Joochan food to bringing him out on dates to fretting about him while he had gone off the radar after Youngtaek’s accident, screams that Bomin and Joochan are no longer just friends. But the thought of going on a trip with Bomin seems so far-fetched and frankly plain scary, as if it’s an announcement to the world that Bomin is now someone Joochan has let into his heart.

“Bomin hasn’t said anything about a getaway,” Joochan says. He whips his phone out and brandishes it at Youngtaek as if trying to prove his point.

“That’s because I told him not to say anything until I spoke to you.”

But Joochan is distracted, immediately sending a text to Bomin.

Did Youngtaek mention a trip to the villa?

The reply is almost instantaneous.

I take it that he’s just told you?

And then:

I’m looking forward to it.

Joochan throws his phone on the bed. “Taek,” Joochan cries. “Why?”

“Because obviously, you’re too much of a wuss to take things one step further.” Youngtaek sees the grumble forming on Joochan’s lips and interrupts before he can even get a word in edgeways. “No, you are, and you know it.”

“Who’s going to take care of you while I’m gone?” Joochan asks weakly, scrambling for some sort of excuse to cancel this trip that’s been planned without his knowledge.

“As if you take care of me while you’re here,” Youngtaek grumbles. “All you do is sit around and use the free wifi.” But then his tone softens. “Maybe you could stop moping around and stop feeling guilty and go to the villa for a fun time.”

Joochan opens his mouth in protest. He wants to say that he’s not moping, that he’s not feeling guilty, but he realises that he’d be lying if he did.

“Maybe some fresh air will help,” Youngtaek says. “Anyway, Bomin’s already said yes. He’ll meet you at the airport on Saturday morning.”

Notes:

yes, the library is a metaphor. as is joochan willingly walking into it. yknow what, everything in this fic is a metaphor.

next chapter squeals chapter please stay tuned <3

Chapter 9: Sea and Soul

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

7am on a Saturday morning is way too early a time to be awake, but Joochan is alert and jumping on the balls of his feet like he’d just inhaled multiple shots of espresso.

He’s standing at row H of Gimpo airport, the designated meeting place that’s the beginning of a trip he had only been informed of less than a week ago, waiting nervously for his companion to join him for what is supposed to be a weekend of relaxation but to Joochan’s nervous mind will be more like two days of nervous tottering around the man he really really likes.

He should stop saying nervous. It only makes him more nervous—

His fingers tighten around the handle of his little carry on, noting detachedly how his ankle and palm seem to be fine; a rare occurrence given that his old injuries tend to flare up when he gets stressed or emotional. Physically, he doesn’t hurt, but his heart is doing cartwheels up and down his chest.

“Get a grip,” he mutters to himself. “It’s just Bomin.”

But it’s not just Bomin.

It’s Bomin, whom Joochan has been smitten with ever since that May evening when he’d spoken to him in the bar, half drunk on bravado. It’s Bomin, who volunteered to go bungee jumping with him despite his fear of heights. It’s Bomin, whose low voice and sweet words have given Joochan the courage to search for the good things in life.

It’s Bomin, and Joochan cannot get a grip.

Would it be too late if he called and cancelled? Youngtaek would scream at him, but maybe that wouldn’t be so bad—

The airport doors slide open, and Joochan spots Bomin striding towards him, a smile on his face as if Joochan were the only person in the world he sees.

Oh.

Joochan’s breath escapes his lungs in a little whoosh.

Never mind about cancelling.

“Hi,” Bomin says as he approaches, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice. “You ready to go?”

Joochan can’t help but return the smile. The cartwheels his heart is doing are now due to nervousness and excitement.

“Ready,” he replies, and Bomin places a hand on the small of his back and guides them towards check-in.

The plane ride takes them to Jeju, but that’s not their final destination. They grab their luggage and board a bus from the Jeju Intercity Bus Terminal, alighting at the port only to hop immediately onto a ferry that takes them across a narrow strip of water. Joochan stands on the deck and breathes in the cold winter air.

It’s almost noon by the time they step off the ferry onto Udo, but any travel fatigue is washed away by the cleanliness of nature, the salty tang of the sea and the expansive fields that spread out before them.

They locate their car, courtesy of Youngtaek, and load their belongings into it. Bomin takes the wheel, and soon they’re driving along winding roads that take them up, up, up, to the highest part of the island. There’s nothing around them, and Joochan is about to wonder aloud if he’d maybe keyed the wrong address into the GPS, when Bomin makes a turn and suddenly a mansion rises above the trees to greet them.

“Whoa,” Bomin lets out a huff.

Joochan stares in awe at the structure. The villa had been a modern giant the last time he’d visited, all strict lines and harsh planes. But Youngtaek’s parents have torn the whole thing down, opting to replace the steel and glass with brick and tasteful accents of burgundy and navy. Ivy climbs up the walls, adding a rustic charm. There is even a little red postbox at the beginning of the driveway.

They approach the driveway slowly, and more details of the house open up to them. There is a huge balcony on the second floor, overlooking what Joochan can only assume to be a fantastic view. Now that they’ve made the climb, they’re on flat land again, and Joochan can see Udobong Peak a little distance away.

The inside of the house equally does not disappoint, tastefully decorated with muted colours and homey little trinkets. Bomin calls out to Joochan, and Joochan follows the sound of his voice to the master bedroom and onto the balcony they’d seen earlier. He’s been here before, but Joochan gasps anyway when he sees the view.

The flatlands spread out beneath them to the right, fields and low buildings and winding roads. To their left is the ocean, reflecting the midday sun so brightly that Joochan has to shield his eyes. The winter wind blows harshly, but the sun’s rays warm Joochan up just fine.

“We can have a barbecue here,” Joochan says excitedly. “Let’s go get some lunch, and then explore the place, and then buy meat for dinner tonight.”

“Sure,” Bomin looks at him affectionately. “Sounds like a plan.”

They put down their things and head off in search of lunch, settling into a cosy family-run joint. Joochan stares wide-eyed as their stew arrives, swallows hungrily in anticipation as Bomin slices the octopus and pulls the scallops out of their shells, placing them on his plate.

“Thank you for the food,” Joochan grins, and Bomin grins back.

They tuck in, going about a hilarious and elaborate dance of picking out food and putting it on the other’s plate while refusing the food placed on theirs. In the end, Bomin laughs, wonders why they’re being so polite when they’re obviously past that point, and they begin eating in earnest. Bomin watches amusedly as Joochan drains the soup, tilting the pot to catch every last bit of goodness, smacking his lips and patting his stomach contentedly.

Bomin laughs. “You’ve got a little something—” He points vaguely to the corner of Joochan’s lips.

“Here?” Joochan asks, tongue poking out of his mouth to try to reach the spot. “M’here?”

“No—” Bomin tries to point him to the right place, but gives up after it’s obvious that it’s not working. He picks up a napkin and looks at Joochan. “May I?”

“Oh. Yes, okay.”

Joochan heart is fluttering, and he’s suddenly heating up. He’s very sure that it’s not from the spicy soup. He holds his breath as Bomin leans forward, swiping at the corner of his mouth.

“There,” Bomin says. “All done.”

Joochan has to stop his heart from jumping out of his chest.

They head to the nearby beach after lunch, full and warm from the delicious meal. Joochan stares in awe at the white sand beneath his feet, soft and fine as powder. The sea is a bright emerald, glinting in the winter sun, and the waves crash against the shore like an ancient hymn to the forces of the earth. They stand mesmerised, breathing in the smell of the ocean, tasting the tang of salt on their tongues. Joochan sneaks a peek up at Bomin to find the younger man’s eyes closed, lips curved up in a tiny smile as the wind whips his hair around his face. Joochan closes his eyes as well, and focuses on his own communion with nature.

He’s not sure how long they stay this way, peaceful and silent. The lovely and amazing thing, Joochan notes, is that he finds no need to fidget, no reason to talk or move or make a sound. All there is are the wind and the waves, and Bomin next to him.

When Joochan opens his eyes, he finds Bomin looking straight out at the ocean, something unreadable and profound in his expression. His cheeks are less hollowed out, eye bags less pronounced since the time they’d met at the library. He looks like a vision, with the sun shining down on him and his coat fluttering in the wind. A wave of happiness washes over Joochan, content as he is to be able to be here, standing next to Bomin.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Bomin asks. Joochan is about to reply yes when he lets out a loud sneeze, and they decide to take refuge indoors instead. They drive up to a mart, and run around loading their cart full of food, meat and mushrooms and leafy vegetables that Bomin insists on.

They stop for a cup of peanut ice cream, shivering delightfully as they consume the dessert in the open air before make their way back to the villa just as the winter sun is setting. Joochan runs back up to the balcony, toting the groceries with him as he gasps at the view. The sky is a painting of rouge and violet, so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully. Joochan watches as the sun sinks beneath the waves, until the sky is no longer blushing but is now a canvas of inky black dotted with silver specks of stars.

Joochan turns, sighing happily, ready to get the fire going for their barbecue, and stops short at the sight of Bomin behind him, arms stuffed into the pockets of his coat, gaze tender on Joochan.

Joochan’s nose is running, ice cold from the wind. His fingers have been frozen into claws. But he feels none of this. All he knows is the warmth that Bomin gives him by just being here.

Joochan realises his throat is hoarse. He clears it and points to the sky, “It’s beautiful.”

Bomin nods, tilts his head up to look at the stars, and then lowers it back down to look at Joochan. “It sure is.”

They eat dinner on the balcony. Bomin turns out to be terrible at cooking meat, so Joochan takes over the tongs and serves up plate after plate of not only brisket but also buttered mushrooms and grilled corn. The food sizzles deliciously on the grill, smoke rising to mingle with the cold air. Bomin protests as Joochan piles the food onto his plate, and Joochan laughs.

“Now you know how I feel when you give me all the food.”

Bomin chuckles, splitting the food that Joochan has piled onto his plate and placing half of it on Joochan’s. “It’s an act of service,” he says.

Joochan cocks his head to one side. “An act of service?”

Bomin only laughs again and shakes his head. “Eat your greens.” Joochan groans in protest when Bomin stuffs a pepper into his mouth. “Or they’ll eat you.”

They clean up after dinner and decide to call it a night, tired as they are from the eventful day. Bomin hits the showers first as Joochan makes a call to Youngtaek, worry taking over him once again as he questions Taek about his physiotherapy and his meds and whether he’s ready for his press conference. If anyone had asked Joochan, he would have said that it was too early; Youngtaek still walks stiffly, like he’s not used to the stitches in his side. But since Mr Son had certainly not taken into consideration Joochan’s opinion, the press conference is scheduled for the coming week. Taek is meant to be discharged tomorrow, and Joochan voices his regret at not being able to return to Seoul early enough to help out.

“Stop fussing,” Youngtaek grumbles over the phone. “The doctors say I’m healing well, which is great because the first thing I’m doing when I get out is eating a cinnamon roll at Daeyeol’s bakery. They don’t serve anything sweet here, and Daeyeol keeps selling out by the end of the day. It’s killing me.” He catches himself mid-rant. Joochan can almost picture him narrowing his eyes as he says, “Why are you even calling? I gave you the villa so that you could go enjoy yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself,” Joochan insists as Bomin steps out of the shower, face fresh and hair wet, looking soft in his pyjamas. Joochan tears his eyes away from him and focuses on his conversation with Youngtaek. “But I—”

“Chan,” Youngtaek cuts him off. “This is an order. Go have fun and stop bothering me.”

“Wha— I’m bothering you?” Joochan huffs. “Annoying ass.”

“No, you’re the annoying ass. Also imagine how upset Bomin must be that you’re talking to me while on holiday with him.”

“Why would he—”

“Oh, noona!” Youngtaek gasps loudly over the phone, and Joochan can’t tell if Youngtaek’s sister is really there in the hospital with him or if he’s bluffing just to get Joochan to end the call. It doesn’t matter, because Youngtaek says, “Boyoung’s here. Bye,” and hangs up without another word.

Joochan is left staring, baffled, at his phone until Bomin calls his name.

“Your turn,” Bomin says, handing a set of fluffy towels to him.

The warm water and the full meal make Joochan sleepy, and he stifles a yawn as he steps out of the showers, clean and ready for bed. Bomin is lounging comfortably on one end of a large sofa, head resting on the arm that’s propped up on the top of the backrest. He pats the space next to him, and Joochan goes to take a seat, not so close so as to be intrusive, but near enough to make his heart do little joyful skips in his chest. He crosses his legs beneath him as he dries his hair. Bomin has that look on his face again, unreadable and profound. It’s unusual, and it makes Joochan curious.

Before he can ask, Bomin is turning around and saying, “Do you remember the first thing you said to me?”

“Gee,’ Joochan cringes. “How could I ever forget? It’s perhaps one of the most mortifying moments of my life, right up there with Daeyeol screaming at me in the middle of downtown.”

“What?” Bomin laughs incredulously.

“I probably deserved it, because I’d accidentally thrown his phone down the Cheonggyecheon.”

Joochan chuckles as he recounts the memory.

“I hope at least that you were less afraid of me then than you were of Daeyeol.”

Joochan hums, looks over at Bomin. “You did look pretty intimidating.”

“I did?”

“I went up to you, a perfect stranger, and said, ‘Hey, boy’ out of nowhere. Of course you looked at me strange.”

“It was cute,” Bomin says.

“Don’t tease,” Joochan mumbles, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face in them. His hair flops all over the place.

There is a long pause, and Joochan looks over, notes with curiosity the way Bomin is biting his lips. Then, ”Do you remember what you said to me after that?”

Joochan whines. “Do you really want a reenactment of that embarrassing moment?”

Bomin smiles, but the look in his eyes is turning serious. “Come on,” he reaches out to shake lightly on Joochan’s arm. Bomin pulls his other arm off the backrest of the sofa and scoots closer, turns to face Joochan. There’s something new about this atmosphere, something that Joochan doesn’t recognise. The air shimmers above them as if there were stars hanging from the ceiling. The house seems to hold its breath in solemn anticipation.

Joochan swallows. Bomin’s fingers are still on his arm, warm and feather light.

“Humour me?” Bomin asks.

And so Joochan does. He turns to face Bomin. “I said, ‘If you’re not busy, could you please stay the night with me?’”

The back of Joochan’s neck is prickling with heat, but it’s not from embarrassment. It’s from the way Bomin is looking at him so intensely, eyes reflecting the light so that there are little galaxies within his pupils. Joochan’s breath hitches in his throat. Bomin leans forward so that they are face to face, fingers sliding tentatively down to curl around Joochan’s palm.

“I’m not busy,” he says softly. “I’ll stay the night with you.”

Bomin’s eyes are shining. He’s looking straight at Joochan, right into Joochan, as if he could continue looking at him for the rest of his life and never tire of what he sees.

“That’s my reply to you,” he whispers.

“What—”

Joochan’s head is fuzzy and he can’t seem to understand what Bomin is saying. They are so close that their noses are almost touching. Joochan can count the individual eyelashes on Bomin’s eyelids. He gulps. “You—”

“I think I’ve been pretty obvious this past year.” Bomin’s eyes are blazing. “And I don’t know how to be more obvious. If it hasn’t occurred to you yet, I like you and I’d like to date you.”

“Joochan,” Bomin looks at him intently. “Do you like me?”

The house is quiet. There are no sounds within or without. The only thing he hears is Bomin’s voice, Bomin’s question.

This is it.

This is it.

Joochan could run away, stop himself from going any further, because he feels like a monster who has no right to be this happy, because he’s afraid of the day he robs Bomin of his smile, becomes the reason Bomin loses faith in love.

But isn’t that just him?

He’s the one who’s afraid. Joochan is the one who’s been pretending all this while that Bomin couldn’t possibly like him, that his friends couldn’t possibly love him, that he couldn’t possibly be allowed to love himself.

But he knows that he’s done being prey to fear’s sharp talons. It’s not going to ever make a home out of his heart again. So he takes a deep breath.

“Bomin,” Joochan lets out a tiny laugh-sob. “I like you very, very much.”

Relief sweeps over Bomin’s features at the sight of Joochan’s smile, as beautiful as the first day he’d seen it, on a rainy May evening over a strange conversation that was to become the beginning of something beautiful. He ducks his head, unable to hide the grin that is spreading across his face. When Bomin looks up, he finds that Joochan’s eyes are wet. He reaches out to thumb the tears away, fingers sliding down to cup his jaw and finally— finally— allowing his palm to stay there, pressed against Joochan’s skin.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Bomin announces, “Three seconds to say no.”

Joochan doesn’t say no.

Notes:

squeeeeee

am getting a little emotional now that we're so close to the end :')

Chapter 10: Truth and Tomorrows

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Joochan wakes the next morning, and the first thing he does is pinch himself hard.

“Ow,” he hisses, then claps a hand over his mouth as Bomin stirs beside him. He holds his breath as Bomin stretches and kicks at the duvet, but the younger man only snuggles deeper into the pillows and carries on sleeping.

Joochan can’t help but stare. He buries himself up to his eyes in the duvet, and looks at Bomin lying beside him, young and peaceful, cheek squished by his pillow and fingers wrapped loosely around the hem of his pyjamas. His lashes brush against the top of his cheeks. His hair curls at the nape of his neck. His lips are turned up in a little smile.

Those are lips Joochan had kissed yesterday.

Joochan can’t believe that Bomin is sleeping next to him, just as he can’t believe that yesterday had even happened, so he pinches his arm again, harder this time. He yelps despite himself.

This time, Bomin wakes up.

Joochan’s heart stutters in a panic as the younger’s eyes open. He’s not ready yet, not ready to face the aftermath of yesterday, which, despite the two angry red splotches on his arm, he still refuses to believe has happened.

The memory of yesterday is almost like a dream, clad and cloaked in the darkness of night. With the sun streaming through the windows now, washing the room in light, Joochan wonders if maybe he’s only imagining the way Bomin had pressed his lips to his, warm and feathery soft.

But then Bomin blinks, vision clearing, and sees Joochan lying next to him, eyes wide and frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He only laughs, leans down, and presses a kiss to Joochan’s forehead.

“Good morning,” he says, voice husky from sleep. He reaches out, fingers sliding along Joochan’s jaw until his palm is pressed against his skin. His thumb strokes the apple of Joochan’s cheek.

“Good— Good morning,” Joochan stutters, staring at the duvet.

“Sleep well?”

“Uhm—” Joochan gulps. “Yes. I’m fine, thank you. And you?”

“Me too,” Bomin replies, but his voice sounds funny. Joochan looks up to realise that Bomin is trying to stifle his laughter, lips pressed together so hard that creases form around the sides of his mouth.

Joochan’s face flares red, and the laugh finally escapes Bomin’s lips.

“Sorry,” Bomin retracts his hand from Joochan’s cheek to cover his mouth instead in a gesture of apology, but his eyes still dance with mirth. “You just look so flustered right now.”

“Am not,” Joochan says sullenly, and that only prompts more laughter from Bomin.

He rolls out of bed before he can further embarrass himself, running to the bathroom with the excuse of washing up. He emerges, face and teeth squeaky clean, and escapes to the kitchen on the pretext of making coffee (which Bomin knows he doesn’t drink). He can hear Bomin’s chuckle all the way from the living room as the latter gets up as well.

Joochan doesn’t enjoy the taste of coffee, but the aroma of it is fragrant enough. By the time Bomin emerges from the bathroom, he’s got the kettle going and is rummaging around in the cupboard for cups and plates.

“What happened to your arm?”

Joochan looks down and cringes. He tries to rub away the marks, but Bomin’s caught him red-handed.

“I uh— I pinched myself.” Joochan stammers. “Just to check if this were all a dream.”

“Oh my god,” Bomin covers his face with his hand, running his fingers through tousled strands of hair as he approaches. “Joochan.”

Joochan almost expects to be berated for doing something stupid and reckless, but Bomin only catches his fingers in his. He settles the plates in Joochan’s hands down and peers into his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m here to remind you that none of this is a dream.”

“Oh,” Joochan lets out stupidly.

Bomin’s face is so close that Joochan can see himself reflected in his eyes. And he’s only leaning in closer, closer, closer, until he’s laying a peck on Joochan’s mouth, lips turning up in a grin at the gasp that Joochan lets out.

Bomin peers at him, gaze tender. “Not a dream, okay?”

Joochan gulps, tries to still his beating heart. “Okay.”

He’s barely had time to recover before Bomin chuckles, fingers sliding up his neck, brushing against the line of his jaw to bury themselves in his hair. He leans down again to press another kiss against Joochan’s lips. When they part, his eyes are shining.

“Not a dream,” he assures.

Joochan can only nod now, robbed of his ability to speak.

And then Bomin is leaning closer again, and whatever thoughts Joochan might have had fly out of the window as Bomin kisses him in earnest, angling his head so that his nose nudges against Joochan’s cheek, fitting himself just right along the contours of Joochan’s face. He catches Joochan’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs softly. Joochan lets out a sound somewhere between a yelp and a squeak, palms landing on Bomin’s chest as his legs almost give way. Bomin’s other hand moves to cup the other side of his neck, steadying him but never breaking the kiss.

“Not a dream,” Bomin murmurs against his lips, and Joochan doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed at the terrible sounds coming from his mouth because he’s giving in, moving with the pulse of Bomin’s kisses, taking it all in and pushing back eagerly, heart expanding with light until he feels like he’s going to burst. It feels so good, so warm and right, and all he wants to do is continue kissing Bomin, continue feeling Bomin’s fingers carding through his hair, Bomin’s heartbeat right beneath his fingers, even as he’s forgetting to breathe and the kettle is about to boil over.

He lets out a tiny whine when Bomin’s hands leave his neck, but they only move to grip his own, fisted as they are against Bomin’s chest. He’s feeling so breathless and euphoric, and it’s not primarily from the lack of air.

When they pull apart, lips raw and red, Bomin’s gaze is calm, firm, determined in making Joochan see. And Joochan lets out a laugh because yes, of course he sees. He doesn’t have to chase thrills to cover up his fears, no longer has to taunt death just to prove that he’s alive. He’s going to feel everything from now on, deeply and truthfully, going to allow himself every bit of happiness he deserves.

“This is real,” Bomin says quietly, beseechingly.

And Joochan laughs again, presses his forehead against Bomin’s. He feels light enough to fly away.

“I know.”

They touch down in Seoul just as the sun is setting. The wind picks up, but Bomin reaches his hand out in a silent offer, and Joochan takes it readily, a smile on his face as the warmth envelops him.

“Oh,” Joochan gasps as they step out of the airport. Tiny flakes of snow are drifting in the wind, little specks of white that flurry around in circles and settle on their coats and hair. An ice crystal lands on Joochan’s nose and he laughs, scrunches his nose at the cold.

“It’s the first snow of the season,” Bomin notes happily. He turns to Joochan, beaming.

They spin around in the cold for a while, uncaring of the strange looks that people give them, before the flakes turn to pellets and the snow starts falling in earnest. They grab their bags and hurry down into the subway station.

“There’s somewhere I need to go,” Joochan says as they sit side by side on the train back to the city. “Something that I’m ready to do.”

“Yeah?” Bomin glances sideways at him, reaches over to slide his palm over his. Joochan has a feeling that Bomin knows what he’s referring to.

“Yeah,” Joochan confirms, curling his fingers so that they lock together with Bomin’s.

“You’ll be okay?”

“‘Course,” Joochan smiles. “I’ll be okay.”

Bomin doesn’t probe further, doesn’t offer to shoulder the burden either, because he knows that this is something Joochan has to brave through alone. Instead, they take the train all the way to where they will part, Bomin off to transfer lines and Joochan onto a bus to the bakery. Bomin presses a kiss to the side of Joochan’s head at the gantry, raises their interlocked fingers to rub his cheek against the back of Joochan’s palm.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, and Joochan can only nod, heart swelling with happiness.

The bus ride there is too short, and Joochan doesn’t even have time to completely calm his nerves before he’s tapping his card and alighting and tripping down the sidewalk, slipping sideways on the ice that has formed on the ground. He sneaks a peek into the bakery, finds that he’s still too jittery to enter, and makes two rounds around the block just for something to do while he psyches himself out of his nervousness, almost unaware of how the falling snow is melting into his coat and shoes.

It’s not easy being honest when he’s spent his whole life running away. But he’s ready, he knows he is. And nothing will change if he doesn’t do this for his friends and for himself. He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door to Daeyeol’s bakery. The little bell on top of the door cheerily announces his arrival.

“Welcome—” says Daeyeol, greeting on autopilot until he looks up and sees Joochan standing on the threshold, hair damp and flat from the snowfall. “Oh.”

Daeyeol is by the counter, sorting through some orders. Seungmin is bent over beside him, helping to wrap what looks like a mountain of chocolate chip cookies. Youngtaek is chewing on a piece of bread from the samples basket. His eyes widen as he sees Joochan, but his mouth never stops gnawing at his little stolen treat.

Joochan feels a rush of love for his friends, crowded around the counter like they do so often on weekend evenings, and promises himself never to forget how precious this image is. And while he’s standing by the entrance, one hand clutched around his carry-on and another on the doorknob, he reminds himself that this is a scene he belongs to, too. It’s a place filled with the warmth of home.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Daeyeol chides. “You’re all wet and cold.”

Joochan approaches slowly, dropping his bag onto the floor. Youngtaek toes a stool over, pointing at it in a silent invitation to sit. Joochan accepts, removing his sopping coat and nervously clasping his fingers on the counter. It doesn’t help that Seungmin is standing right opposite him, eyes stubbornly on the little pile of decorative wire wrappers the bakery uses to secure cookie packages. He shivers.

“Uhm— I have something to say.”

Daeyeol puts down his pen and walks off, and for a moment Joochan’s heart sinks at the prospect of Daeyeol ignoring him, refusing to listen to his apology, cutting off all ties with him. But all Daeyeol does is go to the kitchen to turn the heater up on higher. When he comes back, he pushes his accounts book away and looks at Joochan expectantly.

Seungmin is still staring at his cookies. Youngtaek chews on his bread like it were popcorn at the movies.

It’s quiet, too quiet, but Joochan raises his head to meet Daeyeol’s eyes, takes a deep breath and forges on, determined.

“I’m sorry,” Joochan says. “Daeyeol hyung, I’m sorry.”

Daeyeol crosses his arms, looking like he’s expecting more, which is fine, because Joochan has loads to say.

“I’ve had some time to think about things,” Joochan begins. “And I know that my actions haven’t always been the nicest. I’m sorry for being such a brat, always taking advantage of your kindness and invading your personal space whenever I want.”

“Joochan,” Daeyeol says, uncrossing his arms. “We’re not angry because of that—”

“Seungmin hyung, I’m sorry for thinking that I had the right to make light of your work and your relationships. I— It’s stupid of me to say this, but I’ve never seen you act this way around anyone before and it scared me that Donghyun was going to take you away from me.”

At this, Seungmin raises his head. He looks at Joochan, something like surprise in his eyes.

“And Taek,” Joochan forces himself to look at his best friend. Youngtaek’s arm is still in a cast, and the bandages around his torso show whenever his shirt rides up, but he’s looking better, if better can be used to describe someone who’d survived an assault less than two months ago. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess.

“There are some things about myself that I want to change,” Joochan gulps, “and I know it’s going to take some time, but I promise I won’t go chasing danger just for pleasure. I promise I won’t worry you all anymore.”

Joochan stares at the counter as his voice tapers off into a whisper. He feels all hot and self-conscious, his own words ringing in his ears. This is probably the first time he’s bared his feelings to anyone like this. It makes him feel so raw, but also unbelievably relieved.

“Well,” Youngtaek says. “I already told you I don’t blame you, so there’s no need for this apology to me. Daeyeol hyung?”

Daeyeol’s gaze is soft when Joochan looks over at him. In his eyes Joochan sees years of midnight movie parties, afternoons at the bakery, inside jokes and adolescent adventures and the steady, comforting presence of a brother.

“Joochan,” Daeyeol begins. “You’re always welcome to sleep over at my place. Always have and always will be.”

Then he stills, fixes Joochan with a serious look that wipes away all traces of his usual friendliness. “But promise me that you’ll never again have to need someone to patch up your wounds, ever.”

Daeyeol looks so stern that Joochan feels his back straighten subconsciously in an effort to sit up properly.

“I promise,” he whispers, and Daeyeol nods, finally smiles that smile he reserves for the quartet, full of brotherly love and pride.

“Seungmin hyung?” Joochan asks quietly. He’s afraid of what Seungmin will say, given how he’s wholeheartedly sure that his actions have at least in some part affected Seungmin’s relationship with Donghyun.

When he looks up meekly at the elder boy, he sees that Seungmin’s eyes are dark and that his jaw is clenched.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Seungmin says, voice clipped.

And Joochan is about to resign himself to the fact that he’s damaged his relationship with Seungmin, and that the best he can do right now is give the older boy space, when Seungmin reaches over the counter and crushes Joochan in a tight embrace. Joochan yelps, the wooden edge of the tabletop digging into his stomach, but his arms come up to wrap around Seungmin’s shoulders.

“If you do something stupid one more time,” Seungmin whispers fiercely. “You best be assured I’ll kick your ass so far into the future you’ll need a time machine to get back.”

Joochan can only laugh in relief. He squeezes Seungmin tight, feels how Seungmin is holding onto him like he’d been afraid of losing Joochan, too, and exhales shakily. Daeyeol pats them both on the back, moving to insert himself into their hug. Youngtaek throws his hands up and does a little celebratory dance. Joochan had been freezing when he arrived, but now, in their little huddle, he feels hope peek out of its shell, damp wings stretching for the first time as it curiously explores its warm cocoon home.

When he blinks, Joochan finds his lashes wet with tears.

On the way home, he calls Bomin.

“I did it,” he announces, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. “Bomin, I did it.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Bomin says, and Joochan can hear the smile in his voice. It propels him to voice out the proposition he’d been entertaining in his head ever since he’d parted with Bomin earlier this evening.

“I’ll be home soon, and I was wondering…” Joochan hesitates, feeling his face turning hot. “Do you… Do you want to come over to my place tonight?”

There is a little pause over the phone, and Joochan thinks that maybe he should retract his request when Bomin laughs.

“Isn’t this exactly what you said the first time we met?” Bomin teases. “‘Hey boy, if you aren’t busy, could you please stay the night with me?’”

“I—” Joochan’s cheeks flush as the realisation dawns on him. He cringes at the memory, still embarrassing but more fondly looked upon now that him and Bomin have ended up where they are. “Never mind,” he says hastily. “Stay home.”

“I’m not saying no,” Bomin laughs. “But we just spent the whole weekend together. Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”

Joochan makes a little whiney sound, shakes his head before realising that Bomin can’t see him. “Never,” he declares, and he’s amazed at how brazen he’s being.

“Well, if you’re sure, I can be there in an hour.”

“Great,” Joochan says happily, glad that he’d asked. “Can’t wait.”

He’s about to hang up when Bomin suddenly stops him.

“Joochan,” Bomin’s voice is soft, a warm duvet on a cold winter’s day, but it also dances in amusement, lilts and twirls like the little snowflakes outside the windows. “Have I ever told you how much I like you?”

“Silly,” Joochan laughs. “Many times over this weekend, yes.”

Home comes in many forms, and Joochan counts himself infinitely lucky to find it in his friends, and in Bomin. He promises himself that he will never lose sight of the people who love him, will never let harm befall those he treasures.

“Ah,” Joochan can almost imagine the way Bomin’s eyes are smiling as he speaks, crinkling at the corners in that endearing way that had Joochan falling for him in the first place. “Well, I’m going to continue telling you how much I like you, okay?”

And as the days pass and they grow into the future, Joochan keeps his promise. He learns to quiet his brain, sets rules for himself and learns how not to seek out every dangerous thing that calls to him like a beacon of light in the darkness. After all, he is his own light now.

“Okay,” Joochan nods, again forgetting that Bomin can’t see him. “And in case you haven’t heard it enough from me this weekend, I like you very much too.”

Nowadays, when Joochan wakes up, he doesn’t check his phone for work messages or dash off on some errand or new adventure. Instead, he lies in bed, enjoys the quiet hum of the morning, Bomin sometimes beside him if the latter stayed the night, watches as the sunlight chases shadows across his ceiling.

There is silence over the phone again, and Joochan is about to think that maybe the call has been cut off when Bomin laughs softly. “You make me really happy.”

Of course, it isn’t easy. He finds himself jittery for action some times, out of the blue. Some days his old enemy fear finds a foothold in his defences and makes to claw its way back out of the abyss Joochan had banished it to. During those times when he can’t find it in himself to be brave, the light comes to him in the form of wonderful friends, and a devastatingly handsome boyfriend.

“You’re being sappy,” Joochan laughs, but he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face. He burrows into his coat and looks out the bus window, at the flurry of snow and at his own reflection, smiling back at him.

He still wants to go bungee jumping, much to Bomin’s chagrin, but it’s no longer in hopes of plummeting down to oblivion. Rather, it’s to remind himself of the beauty of the world, and of the people in his life.

“Get used to it,” is all Bomin says.

They share a chuckle, and Joochan is maybe a little too happy on the bus, smiling so wide that people are looking over at him curiously, but he’s going to be happy, because he is. He’s going to allow himself this feeling, and every other feeling that comes in the future. He doesn’t have to hold people in his vice-like grip anymore just to make sure they won’t leave him. He knows— and will keep repeating this to himself again and again in the future, on days when he forgets— that he matters to the people who matter to him.

He’s happy, excited even, to go home to his empty apartment, to take his time unpacking and looking around his living room and finally deciding on maybe putting up some pictures and trinkets around the place. He’s looking forward to waiting for Bomin to arrive, to spending the night talking and laughing, or just sitting in companionable silence— whichever, it doesn’t matter.

Joochan will grow, will keep taking what the world throws his way, shaping himself into someone he can hopefully one day be proud of. But some things he prays will always stay the same. Daeyeol’s firm, reassuring presence. Seungmin’s quiet, tough love. Youngtaek’s carefree laughter and trusting nature.

And maybe Bomin will really stay the night, like how Joochan had asked him to on that rainy May evening, or maybe he’ll leave after staying for an hour or two, because it’s the start of a new work week the next day. But when Bomin goes and Joochan is finally by himself, he will look around his home and feel fine, not alone, not lonely, because in his heart he has people who love him.

Most importantly, he’s learning how to love himself.

Notes:

Aaaaand that's it! The end. Scene. Thank you very much. Much appreciation to everyone who's stuck around until the end <3 Please leave a comment or a kudo if you'd like!

Now time to learn how to gamble so that I can write the Tagbeom Game-inspired fic that's been promised in the tags.

let's be friends on twt!