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The first time Renjun meets Mark and Jaemin, all he can think is—oh boy. These two are doomed.
“I want to get married in a cave,” Jaemin says, interrupting Renjun’s very thorough explanation of the terms of their contract. “Can you do that? Is that possible?”
Renjun’s smile twitches at the corners before he’s able to school his expression back to placid indifference. As much as he hates being interrupted, he refuses to let it show on his face that much more, because Jaemin is his client, and it’s his job to bend to the client’s will. No matter how rude, or particular, or downright odd that client might be.
And Renjun is excellent at his job. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”
“Hahah,” Mark laughs nervously. “He’s joking! I promise.”
Renjun is not so sure about that.
Mark elbows his fiancé in the side. “C’mon, babe, tell him you were joking.”
“I want to get married in a cave,” Jaemin says again, deadly serious. Mark’s nervous laughter increases in pitch significantly. “And I want to ride a horse down the aisle. And it has to be a big cave, because I want to invite a lot of people.”
“I was thinking we’d do something a little smaller,” Mark says, and squeezes Jaemin’s thigh placatingly. “You know, a little more intimate?”
Is no one else worried about that whole horse thing? Renjun wants to ask, but bites his tongue. “We don’t have to decide on all the details today,” he says, because it’s more polite than saying it would be useful if you two could get on the same fucking page about something instead of wasting my time. “There’s plenty of time to work out the logistics. All we need to do right now is decide on a tentative date so I can start talking to vendors, and maybe work out a timeline.”
The man sitting at Jaemin’s side, quiet up until now, says, “Donghyuck won’t be back until April.” He is presumably Jaemin’s best man. Renjun pities him.
“Donghyuck?” he asks.
“The devil,” Jaemin says darkly.
“My best man,” Mark supplies. “And my childhood friend. He’s out of the country for the next few months, but if we do a summer wedding, he’ll be back by then. I can ask him to get measurements for suit fittings and everything to get to you, too.”
Renjun is starting to understand how this relationship works. At least one of them has some sense. “That’ll work. How about June?”
Jaemin’s best man shakes his head. “That’s his birthday month. He’ll never forgive you two if he has to share the spotlight with you on your anniversary month.”
“Great. Then we’ll do June,” Jaemin says. “Maybe even exactly June 6th, if possible.”
“July. Let’s do July.” Mark smiles apologetically at Renjun, a little bashful, like he’s embarrassed. He shouldn’t be. Renjun’s dealt with a lot worse than a case of animosity between a groom and his partner’s best man. This is easy. This will be a cakewalk.
Renjun looks to Jaemin for confirmation. Jaemin wrinkles his nose and shrugs in a way that does not inspire confidence.
“July it is,” Renjun decides for him. “I’ll get the paperwork drafted and sent over to you before the end of the day, and Jisung will reach out to you to set up another meeting for us next week to start discussing some of the finer details.”
Mark leans back in his seat and grins. “Wow,” he says. “It’s really happening, huh?”
It actually won’t be happening until they put down their deposit for him. But Jaemin’s smile softens into something tender as he reaches to take Mark’s hand. It’s cute. Heartwarming, even. “It’s really happening,” he says softly.
Okay, Renjun thinks. Maybe they’re not doomed, after all.
“So what about that cave?”
Nope. Definitely doomed.
💘
So it turns out Renjun is the one who’s doomed.
Not in terms of the wedding. The actual wedding is perfect, even though it’s not in a cave, and Jaemin walks down the aisle instead of riding horseback, and there’s a last minute panic to change the seating arrangements so Jaemin’s divorced great-uncle and great-aunt won’t be next to one another, and Mark cries and his face gets so splotchy Renjun knows he’ll have to ask the photographer to filter some of the redness out later.
It’s Donghyuck that’s the problem. Bright-eyed, handsome, charming Donghyuck, with his plush lips and cocky grin, glowing underneath the light of the awning of the deck they’ve set up on, and—
Staring right at Renjun with eyes that suddenly seem much darker than they were just a few moments ago.
The nape of Renjun’s neck burns as he turns back towards the bar. Did Donghyuck notice that? Does he think Renjun was staring at him?
“He’s your type, hyung, isn’t he?” Jisung says innocently, like Renjun hasn’t spent the last four hours trying to remain ignorant of this fact. Or at least pretending to feign ignorance.
The last thing he needs is his assistant breathing down his neck, bearing witness to his unfortunate thirst. “Go check on the caterer,” he demands, instead of answering the question. “See if they need anything.”
Jisung blinks. “But the food is done being served, though—”
“Go,” Renjun insists with a scowl, and Jisung scurries away without any further complaint.
Most attendees, including the happy couple in question and their groomsmen, are milling about on the dance floor. Only the stragglers and the dateless singles and the drunk wine aunts are still at the bar. The leftovers of the crowd. And Renjun, too, but he’s not so much an attendee of this wedding as he is its orchestrator. It’s different.
He’s not one of the leftovers. He’s working. Renjun is—again—excellent at his job.
At last, the sound of someone clearing their throat beside him startles him out of his reverie. They’re pressed a little closer to him than is strictly necessary, given that the rest of the bar is nearly empty. Renjun is almost afraid to look. Curiosity killed the cat, they say, but no matter how many cat pictures Yangyang puts his selfies side-by-side with, Renjun is very much human and he can look at attractive strangers if he wants to.
He glances to the side in what he hopes is a discreet way. Donghyuck is leaning his weight on the counter, a light sheen of sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. His suit coat has presumably been abandoned sometime after the reception—it’s just as hot now as it was before sunset, the air heavy with the sort of heat that settles into the skin no matter how many layers of clothing you remove. Donghyuck himself reaches up to his neck to tug his tie loose, then unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt with deft fingers.
He looks good. It’s whatever.
“Sex on the beach, please,” Donghyuck says to the bartender.
Renjun can’t help but snort into the rim of his glass.
Mistake. Donghyuck turns to him with what can only be described as a leer, and Renjun averts his eyes like he hasn’t just been caught staring. Twice now, maybe. “Sorry, is there something laughable about my choice of beverage?”
Caught off guard by the sudden confrontation, Renjun bides his time by taking a sip of his water, takes the chance to gather himself. “It’s a little cliché to order a sex on the beach when you’re actually on a beach,” he says. “Don’t you think?”
“More or less cliché than meeting eyes with someone from across the dance floor at a wedding?” Donghyuck says, grinning, and Renjun knows for sure now that he’d been caught earlier.
He’s sure the tips of his ears are bright red by now. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Maybe I just imagined things,” Donghyuck drawls. His drink gets placed in front of him in a highball glass Renjun picked out with Jeno just a few weeks ago, the reddish-orange liquid mixing into a color that doesn’t seem dissimilar from the tie hanging loose around his neck. He barely gives it a second glance; leans back instead to look Renjun up and down with very little subtlety. “Renjun, right? We didn’t get the chance to talk much earlier.”
They barely had time for introductions that morning before Donghyuck had to be rushed off to makeup, and Renjun has been on his feet ever since. This is his first spare moment of the night. But they’d exchanged enough words for Renjun to know Donghyuck was dangerous. Dangerous in the sort of way where Renjun knew he probably left a trail of broken hearts behind him, either unwittingly or purposefully.
Truthfully, Renjun doesn't know how to handle the weight of Donghyuck’s attention, focused on him like a sunbeam. He’s not actually sure any human is built to withstand such a thing. “I was busy,” he says. “So were you.”
“Well we’re not busy now,” Donghyuck says, licking his lips. Renjun definitely does not stare at his tongue while he does so. “So can I buy you a drink?”
“It’s an open bar. All the drinks are technically free,” Renjun points out. “And I don’t drink on the job.”
Donghyuck gestures to Mark and Jaemin’s empty seats. “Your job is done. My friends are married. In fact, they’ve already ditched their own wedding to lay together as man and wife. Or man and man, in this case.”
It takes a beat, and then another one, for Renjun to respond, because he is momentarily engrossed with the sight of Donghyuck plucking the maraschino cherry off his drink and sinking his teeth into it. “A wedding planner’s job is never truly done,” he says hoarsely.
“Not even after the last guest has gone home?”
“Not even then.”
“Oh,” Donghyuck says, his lips red and shiny and somehow more distracting than before. Renjun realizes suddenly just how close together they are, and gets the feeling this sort of excessive shamelessness is the kind Donghyuck has cultivated into an art form. “So you’re all work, no play?”
When Renjun takes another sip of his water, he can’t quite tell which kind of thirst he’s hoping to quell. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, making sure to choose his words carefully. “I play plenty.”
Donghyuck takes the stem of the cherry into his mouth, sticks his tongue out after a few seconds to reveal a carefully-tied knot. Renjun’s breath hitches in his throat. “I bet you do,” he says, his mouth stretching in a sly smile as he drops the tied stem into his napkin.
“I just think there’s a time and place for everything.”
“Of course.” Donghyuck licks his lips again, this time with clear purpose. “Time and place. My hotel room, whenever you decide to take off work for the night.”
Renjun is a little ashamed to admit his words send a spike of heat up through his abdomen. “Are you always this forward?”
“I’m not shy about the things I want.” Donghyuck reaches into his pocket, produces a keycard and presses into Renjun’s open palm. He props his elbow on the bar counter and leans in close, his hair falling into his eyes. “Case in point.”
Renjun’s fingers close around the card. Is this really happening right now? He’s never been propositioned so openly before. Donghyuck is unlike anyone he’s ever met, and he can’t decide yet if that’s a good or bad thing. “What is this?” he asks, playing dumb.
“Work with me here,” Donghyuck says, his gaze heavy with want. “Because I’ve been thinking about taking you to bed all night, and if the way you’ve been staring at me is any indication, you’ve been thinking about it too.”
The confidence of this guy, Renjun thinks nervously, half-reproachful and half-admiring. If he had just a fraction of this level of self-possession, his life might be a lot different.
“Room 804,” Donghyuck continues. His voice is like honey; sweet, cloying. His breath fans hot over the shell of Renjun’s ear before he pulls away. “Stop by later, if you want.”
Renjun pockets the card. “Maybe.” He’s only human, and he gets the impression that Donghyuck is the type of person who doesn’t get told no very often. For good reason.
“Then I look forward to maybe seeing you,” Donghyuck grins, and taps the rim of his glass.
Renjun hides his smile in his glass and waves Donghyuck away. “No promises.”
Donghyuck leaves with a wink and another salacious remark that Renjun only half-processes, too busy debating his next plan of action. He could wait it out. Or he could get Jisung to take over for the night–despite what he said earlier, his job is almost done. But Jisung would ask questions, and Renjun doesn’t particularly enjoy lying to him. Or, better yet, he could just not go to Donghyuck’s room at all.
That’s still an option.
“I see you’ve become acquainted with Donghyuck,” Jeno says, sidling up to him with a knowing little smile.
“I don’t know how you and Mark do it.” Renjun shakes his head. “Putting up with him and Jaemin for extended amounts of time would drive me insane.”
Jeno hides his giggle behind the palm of his hand. “They’re really not so bad. You get used to it.” He pauses then, and Renjun turns curious eyes towards him. “But for what it’s worth, I think it wouldn’t hurt to give Donghyuck a chance.”
He and Jeno may have grown close over the past few months of wedding planning, but Renjun is still a little unsettled by the implication of talking about his sex life with a client’s best man. Especially when the other best man is involved. “He seems…” For a moment, he grapples to find the right word. It almost feels like there’s no word at all that could adequately describe Donghyuck. A failure of the English language, not of Renjun’s vocabulary. “Interesting.”
Jeno cracks a grin. “You can be honest with me.”
“I’m honestly still trying to decide if I was more turned on or put off by his confidence.”
“Donghyuck’s confidence is really just half bravado,” Jeno says, and he’s laughing, but he’s still unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. “I know he doesn’t look like it, but he’s secretly pretty soft. A hopeless romantic.”
Yep. Yeah. Renjun is doomed. This is a recipe for disaster.
“Whatever Donghyuck wants, he wants in abundance. He doesn’t know how to want things half-heartedly. It’s the best and worst thing about him,” Jeno finishes. “He throws himself into everything headfirst, which is a quality I actually sort of admire, being a chronic overthinker and all.”
“I guess I’ve been known to overthink occasionally, too,” Renjun says, which is maybe the understatement of the century. “I don’t really know how to turn it off.”
Jeno shrugs, then, and the gleam in his eye tells Renjun that maybe he has some firsthand knowledge of some of this. “Donghyuck is good at getting other people out of that sort of mindset,” he says. “It couldn’t hurt to try, right?”
It could hurt, though. That’s the thing. “How much money did he pay you to come over here and wingman for him after he left?”
“Not enough, my friend,” Jeno sighs, slinging one arm over Renjun’s shoulders and waving the bartender down with the other. “Not enough.”
💘
It’s well past midnight by the time the last guests head up to their hotel rooms, and the keycard sitting in Renjun’s pocket feels like it weighs approximately one hundred pounds. It weighs him down; he drags his feet physically and metaphorically even as he makes his way up to the eighth floor. Even when he’s standing right in front of Donghyuck’s door, Renjun hesitates, nearly wimps out and turns tail.
The truth is that he could still leave now, go home, and Donghyuck probably wouldn’t begrudge him for it. Renjun doesn’t want to leave, though. Part of him wants to see where this will go.
He reaches out to swipe his card against the sensor on the door. Before the green light even flashes the door is swinging out, and there Donghyuck is—his hair damp at the temples and darkened to a soft chocolate brown, his sweatpants slung low on his hips.
“You shouldn’t go around giving your card out to strangers,” Renjun admonishes him, for lack of anything better to say. “Talk about poor self-preservation instincts.”
Donghyuck blinks at him, like he can’t quite reconcile the image of Renjun standing in his doorway. “Finally,” he breathes out, after a pause, and tugs him in around the waist.
The first kiss is frenzied; the press of Donghyuck’s chest against his as they collide nearly pushes all the air out of his lungs. Donghyuck kisses him like he’s starving for it, like he’d sooner devour Renjun than allow even the slightest bit of space between them. The slide of tongues and lips against each other is dizzying; Renjun’s head spins, his mouth parts, and Donghyuck takes. Renjun has never understood what people meant before when they’d say they felt a spark of attraction to someone else before, but he understands now, and once they’ve shed their clothes and fallen into bed the first press of skin-to-skin contact feels even less like a spark and more like a strike of lightning racing up his spine.
Renjun knows lightning never strikes the same place twice, except for when it does, over and over again, Donghyuck’s mouth leaving a white-hot trail from his neck down to his chest down to his stomach. He loses himself in the sensation, curls his fingers into Donghyuck’s head and arches off the bed as Donghyuck takes him into his mouth. It’s sweltering inside, even though Renjun saw the A/C had been set to a breezy 67 degrees when Donghyuck pushed him up against the wall earlier. Sweat plasters Renjun’s back to the sheets and Donghyuck’s body is a furnace, too. He runs hot. Even all of that pales in comparison to the heat that pools low in his stomach as Donghyuck spreads him apart with one hand, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, and opens him up with the other.
His hands are big. As far as hands go, they’re nice ones. Renjun tries to speak, but when he finds the words his voice only fails him. “Please,” he says, because it’s the only word that matters.
Donghyuck has no such issue with speaking. “Look at you,” he says, as if Renjun could look at himself if he tried to right now, as if he would even want to try when the sight of Donghyuck above him is so much more appealing. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding from me for this long.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” Renjun retorts weakly, tipping his chin up, and Donghyuck leans down to nip at his skin, like a moth drawn to the flame of his exposed neck. “We just haven’t met til now.”
“Exactly,” Donghyuck says, and then leans in for another kiss so Renjun can taste himself on his tongue. “Hiding.”
They maneuver themselves until Renjun is in his lap and Donghyuck is pressed back into the mattress. When he sinks down onto Donghyuck’s cock he does it slowly, in increments, in fractions of an inch at a time. It’s been a while since he’s done this, and the stretch burns just enough to make him lightheaded. Donghyuck rubs soothing circles into his hips and whispers meaningless praise into the humid air between them, just a smattering of adjectives—so pretty so good so tight so warm—he’s rambling, and they both know it.
The sound they both make when Renjun finally starts to move in earnest is less a groan and more a sob. Renjun’s thighs tremble, his breath shakes, and he stares down glass-eyed at Donghyuck, who looks back up at Renjun like he’s hung the sun in the sky, and there’s a fluttering in Renjun’s stomach he can’t quite place.
(Butterflies, he’ll realize later. They were fucking butterflies.)
He ignores it in favor of allowing himself to sink into the depths of pleasure. Every movement, however slight, fills him up and makes him weak, and then Donghyuck is spreading his legs wide and holding him by the waist and driving up into him. Renjun makes a shattered noise, his hands grasping at Donghyuck’s shoulders for some stability, and from there the noises just keep pouring out of him. All unearthly vocalizations he’s never heard himself make before. Donghyuck traces his mouth with his fingers and presses them down on his tongue to keep him quiet as he continues to flex his hips up and Renjun whimpers around the digits, saliva pooling under his tongue and escaping at the corner of his mouth.
It takes no time at all for Renjun to come after that, with Donghyuck’s fingers in his mouth and his cock buried deep inside him, and when it happens it’s near-explosive. His spine curves so severely he fears for a moment it might snap in half and he drags his nails down Donghyuck’s chest with a cry. Donghyuck follows soon after that, with his pretty face all screwed up and his abdomen tensing underneath him.
This is what Renjun was afraid of. It would’ve been so much easier if Donghyuck was bad in bed. Or if he at least had an ugly orgasm face like everyone else. Now, he’s terrified he’ll spend the rest of his life comparing all his sexual encounters to this empty fucking one-night stand.
Donghyuck holds him until their breathing evens out and their chests stop heaving. Renjun tries not to wince at the way his come drips out of him obscenely when Donghyuck eases out of him, at the way it runs down his thighs and dirties the linens beneath them.
For a moment it’s silent.
“...I think I need a shower,” Renjun breathes out.
“Later,” Donghyuck says, and presses him back into the sheets. “I still have plans for us, baby.”
Renjun’s face burns, even as his cock twitches against his thigh. This is what he was afraid of.
💘
Later is much later, after Donghyuck makes him come with only his mouth and Renjun returns the favor and Donghyuck has fucked him one more time, this time on his stomach with his face pressed into a pillow. They shower together, but even that ends in Donghyuck getting on his knees, so Renjun kicks him out to bathe separately. Donghyuck invites him to stay the night after that, and Renjun agrees, if only because the prospect of heading home at this hour isn’t an appealing one.
When he awakens in the morning it’s to the sun pouring through the windows and the sound of Donghyuck singing in the shower. It’s not the worst wakeup call he’s ever gotten, all things considered. He still briefly contemplates gathering all his clothes and rushing out of the room, and he almost does. But Donghyuck emerges from the bathroom dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his hips just as Renjun tugs on his jeans, like he could sense Renjun was about to leave and didn’t even bother to dry off properly first.
“Nope,” he says firmly. “You’re at least going to stay for breakfast. I refuse to let you go home without at least getting to know a little bit about you first.”
Renjun is too busy looking at the wet glisten of his skin to really protest. “Fine,” he says, mouth dry. “Just for breakfast.”
So he sits there, in a borrowed shirt from Donghyuck and his own half-buttoned jeans as Donghyuck orders up a bottle of champagne and a truly absurd amount of room service and proceeds to grill Renjun over the spread. Asks him how old he is (24, same as Donghyuck) and where he’s from (Jilin) and how many siblings he has (None) and what his favorite color is (Yellow) and how he ended up in this line of work.
“People get married a lot,” Renjun says plainly. “There’s never a shortage of clients. I’m detail-oriented, and I’m good at multitasking and ordering people around. It made sense.”
Donghyuck flings a cherry tomato at him, and Renjun shrieks. “Boo. I was hoping for a more sentimental answer.”
“Right. Jeno did call you a hopeless romantic.”
“He’s not wrong. Aren’t you one, too? I don’t know how it’s possible not to be a hopeless romantic when you watch people get married all day.”
Renjun is a romantic, but not in that way. He idealizes little things, like walking through parks on brisk autumn days and buying bouquets just for himself and stopping to smell the roses along the way.
“I don’t just watch people get married all day,” he says, twirling his fork into a plate of spaghetti. “I plan their weddings from beginning to end, and I think you’d be surprised by just how much weddings actually have a way of bringing out the ugly in people. Bridezilla? It’s a real thing, and not just limited to one gender. It’s because of my job that I have a hard time believing in romantic bullshit. I make the worst couples look perfect on their perfect day. I watch people scream and fight and go at each other’s throats over stupid shit like table centerpieces, and then I watch them declare undying love and devotion to each other just a few hours later. It’s hard not to be repulsed by the concept of love, or marriage, when it seems to mean very little to the people I work with day in and day out.”
He only realizes how much this sounds like a rant once the words have finished pouring out of his mouth and Donghyuck is staring at him with wide eyes. “Sorry,” he says, ducking his head back down, suddenly embarrassed. Donghyuck just asked a simple question. He didn’t ask for Renjun’s life story. “Didn’t mean to say all that. Too much?”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not too much.” Donghyuck leans back against the headboard, blows out a sigh. “A wedding planner who doesn’t believe in marriage. That’s a Hallmark movie waiting to happen.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in marriage on the whole,” Renjun argues. “I mean, I just don’t think I’m particularly suited to it. I think love makes people stupid at best and self-destructive at worst, and marriage only amplifies those things. I don’t have time for that.”
Donghyuck tilts his head to the side. “Don’t you want someone to cook meals with? To share a bed with? Just to hold, even?”
“I’m a bad cook. And I don’t like sharing my bed with people, because they always mess up all my throw pillows or they steal the blankets or they snore. And I don’t need to be in love with someone to be held.”
“Well, I’m a good cook. And I won’t mess up your throw pillows or steal the blankets, and I don’t snore, and I’m holding you now, so that has to count for something, doesn’t it?”
Renjun swallows nervously. A weaker man might think Donghyuck was being serious. “All this talk about my job,” he says, a poorly-concealed attempt at deflection. “What about you? What do you do for a living, huh?”
Donghyuck takes the bait anyway. “Me? I’m a lawyer.”
“What type?”
“Family law.”
Renjun, halfway through a sip of champagne, nearly does a spit take. Family law is code for exactly one thing. “You’re a divorce attorney,” he says in disbelief. “And you want to preach to me about love and romance and marriage?”
“Family law isn’t just divorce!” Donghyuck exclaims, inflecting his voice with a whine. “I’ll admit that’s most of it, but it’s also like—child custody disputes, and prenup agreements, and—”
“Oh,” Renjun says flatly. A glance down at his phone shows that it’s almost noon. He should really get going. “Yes. The pinnacle of romance. All of these things.”
Donghyuck reaches out to catch him around the wrist when he slides out of bed. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I work weekends,” Renjun says by way of explanation, tugging his wrist gently out of Donghyuck’s grasp and discarding his borrowed shirt for his own. “I told you, didn’t I? My job is never really done.”
“Wait, let me walk you to the door at least,” Donghyuck insists, like the door isn’t just several feet away, scrambling out of bed to tug on his hastily-discarded sweatpants from the night before. Renjun watches with some degree of amusement as Donghyuck trips over one leg and stumbles toward him with a grimace. “When am I seeing you again?”
This isn’t going to be easy. Renjun needs to let him down gently, at the very least. “Donghyuck,” he starts. “This was fun. But you know it would never work. I am diametrically opposed to nearly everything you stand for. Making relationships out of one night stands never works, anyway.”
Donghyuck opens his mouth to say something, and Renjun doesn’t let him start.
“You have a good job, and you’re handsome, and you’re not half bad in bed, and you’re ready for commitment. You can find someone who wants all that in a partner. But it’s not me.”
“So you agree,” Donghyuck says, smiling, totally unfazed. “I’m good in bed. And a major catch.”
Renjun laughs and does not deny either of these things. “Goodbye, Donghyuck,” he says. “Maybe I’ll be planning your wedding in a year or two.”
Donghyuck allows the door to slam shut, but not before he pulls Renjun in for one last kiss, short and sweet. “I think you will be,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eye Renjun isn’t sure how to interpret. “I’m going to count on it.”
💘
It’s been a week since the wedding, a week since he slept with Donghyuck, and if Renjun is being honest, he’s hardly thought about Donghyuck at all. There are new clients to focus on. New weddings to plan. New vendors to wrangle.
(If Renjun is being a little more honest, he’s thought about Donghyuck a lot. Mostly at night. Mostly alone, in bed, with a hand wrapped around himself. So what.)
“Look at me, Chenle,” Renjun says, holding up a fabric sample. “What color do you think this is this?”
Chenle averts his eyes. “...Brown.”
“No. Try again.”
“Tan.”
“Wrong. This is tan,” Renjun says, gesturing to his sweater. “This fabric sample that you’ve given me for the tablecloths is oatmeal.”
“So what?” Chenle whines. He thinks he can get away with anything, just because they’ve known each other since college. He’s wrong.
“So the tablecloths are oatmeal, and the napkins—which we’ve already ordered—are beige.”
“They’re the same color! I’m sorry that my youthful eyes just can’t be bothered to distinguish the difference compared to y—”
Renjun scowls. “They are not the same color. And don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he warns. “And don’t you dare come back until the tablecloths match the napkins either.”
Chenle sticks his tongue out at Renjun as he leaves, and Renjun rolls his eyes. Brat. He knows Chenle knows the difference; he just likes to annoy Renjun. Unfortunately, it works every time.
A low whistle comes from behind him, and Renjun whirls around so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. “Wow,” Donghyuck says, grinning. He looks exactly as beautiful as he did when Renjun left him a week ago, even with his hair messy and unkempt, and Renjun is somehow disappointed that he still does not want him any less. “That was kind of hot.”
“Donghyuck,” Renjun replies stiffly. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re harassing me at work.”
Donghyuck, undeterred, steps forward into his space. Jeno had said Donghyuck’s confidence was half bravado, but Renjun is having a hard time believing that. “I can’t just drop by for a visit to my favorite wedding planner’s office?”
“Well, are you getting married?”
“That depends. Have you changed your mind about marriage yet?”
Renjun tries to level him with his most unimpressed look, but the flush rising to his cheeks probably dampens the effect. “Seriously. You’re not just here to flirt, right?”
“As much as I wish I was, no.” Donghyuck sighs. “I’m just here to pick up Mark and Jaemin’s wedding prints, since they’re on their honeymoon. And to get your number.”
When Jeno replied to his email and said he would send someone to pick up the photos, Renjun really didn’t think he meant Donghyuck. “You don’t need my number,” Renjun says, walking over to his desk. Donghyuck follows, hot on his heels. “There’s no reason for me to give it to you.”
“See, I thought you might say that. But actually, I do. You said it best, right? Your job as a wedding planner is never done.”
“…Sure. It’s not.”
“So as the best man of one of your clients,” Donghyuck continues, looking very proud of himself. “Wouldn’t you agree that it makes sense for me to have your number? You know. In case of a wedding-related emergency.” He’s clearly given this a lot of thought.
“A wedding-related emergency,” Renjun repeats. “For a wedding that happened a week ago.”
Donghyuck offers Renjun his most winning smile. “Yes?”
Ugh, Renjun thinks. Why are the cutest men also the most persistent. He grabs a pen, scrawls his ten-digit number on the manila folder housing Mark and Jaemin’s photos, and shoves it into Donghyuck’s chest. “This is my number,” he says. “I won’t pick up past 10. And you’re only allowed to call for wedding-related emergencies. Do you understand?”
“Yep,” Donghyuck says, staring at him, lips parted. “Wedding-related emergencies. You got it.”
Renjun takes a moment to stare, too, draws his gaze across the play of light and shadow on Donghyuck’s face with a hunger he doesn’t care to examine. “So is that it, then?” He asks, trying to even his voice. It doesn’t work. “Because I have a pile of emails to get back to.”
Donghyuck is leaning into him already, like their convergence is a foregone conclusion. Maybe it is. “One more thing,” he says.
“Yeah?” Renjun asks, breathless, knowing what comes next. “What might that be?”
“This,” Donghyuck says, and presses his lips to his mouth.
The kiss is a clash of tongues and teeth, desperate for reasons Renjun can’t place, and he scrambles to get a purchase on Donghyuck’s hair to pull them closer together. Donghyuck licks across the seam of his lips, and then pulls back as quickly as he’d surged forward. He only laughs when Renjun makes a noise of protest at his withdrawal, which offends Renjun on several levels.
“Don’t make that face, baby,” he says. Renjun fucking hates pet names, the same way he hates most things others might consider romantic. He intends on making that known, but Donghyuck just smooths a palm over his cheek and smiles warmly. “You’re not the only one with a job to get back to.”
“I’m not making a face. And don’t call me baby.”
“I’ll call you later tonight.”
Renjun groans. “Don’t call,” he says to Donghyuck’s retreating back. “Not unless it’s a—”
Donghyuck looks over his shoulder with all the smugness of a man who’s gotten exactly what he wanted. “A wedding-related emergency, yeah. Don’t worry. I got it.”
💘
Renjun is used to men saying they’ll call, and then never following through on it. Which isn’t to say he expects Donghyuck to do the same, but rather that he’s ready for the possibility.
Donghyuck does actually call. Which would be fine, except he calls at 11 PM, right as Renjun is getting ready to settle into bed with a book and maybe a glass or two of wine. The only reason Renjun picks up is so he can properly chew him out for calling so late at night.
This is what Renjun tells himself, at least.
“I was about to head to bed, Donghyuck,” he says, his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder. “Is this an emergency?”
“Of course it is,” Donghyuck replies, sounding distracted. “I wouldn’t have called otherwise—wait. Did you say you were about to go to bed?”
Renjun sighs. “Yes.”
“...What are you wearing?”
“...Goodnight, Donghyuck.”
💘
So Renjun is no stranger to turning down persistent men. He usually doesn’t make a habit of sleeping with them, but he figures even then, it’s a non-issue. Who cares if Donghyuck is a good lay? A person like Donghyuck, who probably has people falling at his feet left and right, is bound to get bored of pursuing him at some point. He’ll realize Renjun isn’t interested in being more than friends, and then he’ll lose interest, stop reaching out.
Except Donghyuck doesn’t stop, and Renjun doesn’t really want him to stop. Just because he doesn’t want to date Donghyuck doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy the attention of an attractive man—so sue him. And he isn’t just persistent, he’s sweet.
Donghyuck hasn’t called since the first time Renjun hung up on him, but they text all day long, from the time Donghyuck wakes up to the time Renjun goes to bed. It’s gotten to the point where Jisung has started to pull a sour face at Renjun every time he stares at his phone for a little too long or giggles a little too much at a picture Donghyuck has sent. Donghyuck drives half an hour out of the way just to drive Renjun home most nights, holds open every door, carries every bag—Renjun doesn’t think he’s lifted a finger in the two or three weeks since he and Donghyuck started hanging out regularly.
He doesn’t realize how debilitating this has become until he’s out running work errands with Jisung, and they come to an awkward stop in front of his car. Renjun waits out of reflex. Jisung stares.
“Are you…waiting for me to open the door for you?” Jisung asks, his hands full of plastic bags. “Surely you don’t expect me to do that while I’m carrying all of this, right?”
“Of course not,” Renjun says quickly. “Sorry. I just spaced out.”
But he had been, is the thing. He’s gotten used to Donghyuck falling over himself to tend to his every need, before he even realizes the need is there. It’s a terrifying thing to realize, for someone like Renjun, who has prided himself on his independence his entire life. Independence is good; dependence is dangerous. Dependence is one step removed from codependence disguised as love.
You get used to someone being around, and the next thing you know, you’re making concessions and giving up long-held dreams for the sake of your partner, who you will inevitably come to resent for these sacrifices, and yelling at your wedding planner over floral arrangements, and walking down the aisle with someone who you really know very little about.
These thoughts all feel very ironic when Donghyuck stops by the office near closing time the next day, comically large bouquet in hand.
Renjun’s stomach flutters. Fucking butterflies. “What are you doing here?” he asks, closing out of his email. Doyoung and his wedding cake crisis of the day can wait.
“Got off work early,” Donghyuck says, coming around to sit on the edge of his desk. “Thought I’d drop by to say hi.”
“And the flowers?”
“For Jisung, obviously.” Renjun stares. “Okay, okay. They’re for you. I was just joking.”
Renjun reaches out to accept the bouquet from Donghyuck’s outstretched hands. “I look at flowers for work all day, Donghyuck.”
“So?” Donghyuck says, characteristically unperturbed. “You don’t like them, then?”
“…No, I like them,” Renjun mumbles, a flush rising to his cheeks at the admittance. He feels a little bit like he hasn’t stopped blushing since he’s met Donghyuck. He hasn’t grown any more used to his sweet talking over the past few weeks.
Jisung, passing by, frowns in their direction. “Don’t you have a job?” he complains. “Stop distracting him.”
“I’m not distracting anyone,” Donghyuck says, leaning over the desk and blinking coquettishly at Renjun, over-exaggerated and shameless. ”Am I, Renjun?”
“You’re actually really distracting,” Renjun says.
Donghyuck’s grin stretches wide. “Distracting because you want me so badly. I get it.”
Renjun sighs. No work is going to get done at this rate, and it’s almost the end of the day. “Jisung,” he says, ignoring Donghyuck’s fluttering lashes. “Can you find a vase for these?”
Jisung whines quietly about this not being in his job description, but complies anyway. Renjun gets the feeling he might find the flowers in the garbage tomorrow morning, but that’s a separate issue for now.
“One drink,” Renjun says. He rises to his feet, turns to Donghyuck, presses one finger into his chest firmly. “I’ll get one drink with you. And then you’re going to go home to your apartment, and I’m going to go home to my apartment, and we are not going to go home together.”
“One drink,” Donghyuck agrees, then pauses. “Is Jisung walking towards the dumpsters?”
💘
They rescue Donghyuck’s flowers from an untimely fate, and Donghyuck drives them both to a nearby bar where one drink turns into two turns into three. Renjun stops keeping count after that.
“Sometimes I think there’s something wrong with me,” Renjun confesses, just tipsy enough that his head can’t quite catch up with his mouth. “Sometimes I think the problem isn’t that I think I’m not suited for love, it’s that I’m scared of it.” The fear of love doesn’t come from a lack of feeling or a lack of want. It’s that he wants and feels too much, so much, so often, that at a certain point it became easier for him to pretend he felt none of it at all.
Donghyuck hums. “I think we’re all a little bit scared of love, though. It’s natural. Comes with the territory.”
Yeah, maybe. But not Renjun. Renjun isn’t supposed to feel like this. He’s always known love wasn’t for him. He can’t start now, no matter how pretty Donghyuck looks under the low light of the bar, no matter how much he wants to reach up and kiss him.
“Sorry,” he says, suddenly feeling as though he’s overshared. It feels like déjà vu, like sitting in a hotel room across from Donghyuck in a borrowed shirt and accidentally revealing too much of himself over breakfast. “I feel like I always talk way too much when I’m around you.”
Something in Donghyuck’s expression turns pained. “What kind of assholes have you been with who made you feel like you couldn’t just talk about your feelings?”
“Assholes like you, mostly,” Renjun jokes. It seems to fall flat, because nothing comes out right when Renjun is the one who’s saying it. “In the sense that I thought you might secretly be an asshole when I first met you.”
“And what about now?” Donghyuck asks, voice low. He props one elbow on the table, leaning all his weight into it. “Still think I’m an asshole?”
“No,” Renjun says honestly. Donghyuck is maybe objectively one of the best people he’s ever met. “Not anymore. Now I know your biggest flaw is how shameless you are about digging for praise.”
Donghyuck presses a wet kiss to his cheek in the way he always does. “Aw, Renjun. I knew you were falling for my charms.” He says it with the tone and cadence of a joke, but Renjun is discomforted for a moment by just how true it might be.
Is he falling? Maybe. Who knows.
“Can I ask you something?” Renjun asks, because it’s been nagging at him for a while. Donghyuck nods, so he continues. “When we first met, you said something like—I don’t understand how it’s possible not to be a hopeless romantic when you watch people get married all day. But I don’t understand how you can be a hopeless romantic when you basically help break couples up for a living. You see firsthand how relationships fail—how love fails—and it doesn’t terrify you? Not even a little?”
Something shifts behind Donghyuck’s eyes. His playful demeanor softens, which is good, because Renjun needs a serious answer now more than ever. “I don’t know if I’ve ever agreed with the concept that divorce is the sign of a failed relationship,” he says. “I see a lot of couples. Some of them hate each other. A lot of them don’t. Most of them tried whatever they could to keep their relationship intact. So why do we consider it a successful marriage when two people who shouldn’t be together stay together, and a failed marriage when they decide to go their separate ways?”
“I don’t know,” Renjun admits. “I guess it’s silly to assign terms like success or failure to relationships to begin with, when you put it that way.”
“Exactly,” Donghyuck says, and grins at Renjun like he means it. There’s a sharpness that underlies his softness, even at a time like this. It’s confusing. Renjun wants to figure it out, or at least kiss him for long enough that he might come close to it. “As for love failing—nothing is foolproof. Sometimes people fall out of love. Sometimes love just isn’t enough. These relationships are often done by the time they even get to my office. All I do is file the paperwork, and I tell myself that this is opening the doors for them to find love again later on. But when love is enough, and the conditions are right—”
Renjun doesn’t realize he’s been sitting on the edge of his seat until he’s leaned forward as far as he can go without it being entirely inappropriate for a public setting. “Then what?” he asks. “When it’s enough, then what?”
“Then it’s a wonderful thing,” Donghyuck finishes quietly. “A precious thing. I think love can only be as good as the person you fall in love with. It’s all about who you entrust your heart to. And I would be careful with yours, if you let me.”
Renjun exhales loudly through his nose, and there they are again. Fluttering wings roiling, churning in his gut. Some lessons, he supposes, can only be learned the hard way. “Donghyuck,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Oh.” Donghyuck blinks, oblivious. “Okay. I think I’m still good to drive, or I can call you an Uber, or—”
“I meant that we should go to your place.”
“I thought you said—”
Renjun reaches out and threads their fingers together. Everything about Donghyuck is warm, warm, warm. Even his hands. “I know what I said. I want you to take me home. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Donghyuck says, his eyes shining. “It’s perfect.”
💘
“So what’s the problem?” Chenle asks, kicking him underneath the table. “Hurry up and finish your food.” He only ever invites Renjun over for dinner when he doesn’t feel like doing the dishes, and this is entirely transparent to both of them, but Renjun is never one to turn down free food anyway.
“The problem is that I think I’m actually starting to like him,” Renjun groans. “Or that I’ve liked him for a while now. I don’t know. I can’t think about that right now.”
Chenle sits back in his seat. “Wow,” he says. “This is big. I was beginning to think that thing was broken.”
“What thing?”
“Your heart.”
Renjun kicks him underneath the table, too. “It’s working as intended actually, you brat.” A pause. “Or it was. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know if he’s still interested.”
Logically, looking only at the facts, Renjun is maybe 90% sure that Donghyuck is still into him. Factor in Renjun’s inability to parse his own emotions and the fact that Donghyuck has been out of the country for a week on business (seriously, Renjun’s phone has never been drier), and that 90% drops to a middling 55%. Despite his fears about (co)dependence—which are still very real, and very present—Renjun still has to admit there’s a certain kind of ease that comes along with being taken care of. It’s a weight lifted off him, except Renjun hadn’t even known that weight was there or for how long he’d been forcing himself to shoulder it alone. Not until Donghyuck came along and suddenly Renjun wasn’t being crushed into the ground anymore, suddenly he could breathe again, suddenly everything felt easier to bear.
When they’re together, Donghyuck always makes him feel safe, and it has nothing to do with their physical connection because Donghyuck hasn’t truly made a move on him since they first slept together. Even that first kiss in the office didn’t lead anywhere. But flirtation and casual touches have become the norm for them, and the kisses pressed to cheeks—it feels like play. Renjun has seen him do the same to Jeno, and to Mark, and to a lesser extent, even Jaemin, if only because Donghyuck knows it annoys them more than anything else. So there’s an ugly voice in the back of Renjun’s head that asks—what if he finally got bored? What if he acts this way with all of his friends? What if you revealed too much to him, and in the process, made yourself undesirable? If he really wanted you, he would have tried to ask you out again by now, wouldn’t he?
“So dramatic,” Chenle says, rubbing his ankle sadly. “Never thought I’d live to see serial commitment-phobe Huang Renjun catch feelings. Didn’t you just go home with him the other day?”
“We just cuddled,” Renjun grumbles. “It’s like he doesn’t want me anymore. He didn’t even try to kiss me.”
“You cannot possibly think he isn’t into you.” Chenle’s stare is unimpressed. “He’s been chasing after you for over a month now. Maybe he just didn’t think it was the right time. This could probably be easily solved if you just talked to him, you know. When does he get back into town?”
Renjun was afraid Chenle would ask that. “Well. Today, but—”
“Today? Like today today?”
“What other today is there?”
“Ugh,” Chenle says. “If he got back today, then why the fuck are you with me, and not him?”
Renjun’s hands twist in his lap. “I don’t want to be clingy,” he argues. “What if he’s jetlagged?”
“Then you can kiss him awake or something. Like Sleeping Beauty. I don’t know.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Chenle says, leans forward, takes Renjun’s face between his hands to look at him very seriously. Renjun stares, shocked into stillness. “You’re going to get out of my apartment, and you’re going to go to Donghyuck’s place, and you’re going to use your big boy words and talk to him like an adult instead of forcing me to listen to your melodrama. Okay?”
Renjun nods quietly.
Chenle appears very self-satisfied for a moment. Then his eyes drift to his sink. “But before you do that, you’re going to wash the dishes. Okay?”
Renjun nods again.
💘
Renjun stands in front of Donghyuck’s door, hesitates, thinks about wimping out and turning tail, and realizes—oh. Now this is déjà vu. He can tell that the lights are on, but no matter how hard he strains his ears, he can’t hear any signs of life from within the apartment. Maybe Donghyuck really is asleep. It’s not that late, but it’s still late, and he had a long day and a long flight, and—
“Renjun?” Donghyuck asks. Renjun jerks his head up, and there he is, standing in the doorway and looking exactly as beautiful as he did when Renjun dropped him off at the airport terminal one week ago, if not a little more tired. “Were you just planning on standing there all night? Because if you want to come inside, that’s an option.”
“I was going to knock,” Renjun says, feeling a little short of breath. He would’ve worked up the courage to do it eventually. Probably later rather than sooner, but the intent was there. “How did you know I was here?”
Donghyuck shakes his head in mock-exasperation. “You texted me. Remember?”
“Oh,” Renjun says. “Right.” He swallows. Opens his mouth. And Donghyuck, as he does, as he always has, waits patiently. “Sorry. I’m just going to come right out and say it.”
Maybe Donghyuck can read the tension in Renjun’s face, or in the set of his shoulders, because normally this would be accompanied with a light tease. Something like—you missed me so much you couldn’t even wait another day to see me? Or—you want the neighbors to start gossiping, is that it? “Go ahead,” he says, his gaze carefully leveled on Renjun.
“Do you still like me?” The question tumbles out of his mouth, and Renjun cringes at the delivery. “As in—are you still interested in me? Attracted to me?” The more he tries to clarify his words, the worse it becomes.
“Yes,” Donghyuck says, with no hesitation, no reluctance. He gives Renjun exactly what he wants, what he needs. “Yes. And yes. I thought it was obvious?”
This time, Renjun’s mouth snaps shut. It is very easy to convince himself that he might be unlovable, or undeserving of love, or otherwise lacking of it, when there is no one willing to prove him wrong. It is much harder to contend the same thing when Donghyuck speaks so openly, so honestly. Renjun is not good at that—the whole speaking openly thing. He’s used to sentences with layered meanings and reading between the lines and forcing others to do the same. But still, he tries. He has no other choice but to try.
He grapples with his words for a while. What comes out is: “I don’t like pet names.”
Donghyuck seems confused, but even with the bewilderment in his face he can’t manage to wipe away the fondness underneath it. His mouth softens at the corners. “Okay,” he says.
“And I don’t like to depend on other people—”
“Okay.”
“I’m not done,” Renjun says. “I was going to say that I don’t like to depend on other people. But I think depending on you hasn’t been as bad as I thought it might be.” He likes being able to rely on Donghyuck, in the same way Donghyuck seems to enjoy having Renjun rely on him. Their needs don’t seem so disparate when he thinks of it this way.
“Wow,” Donghyuck says, smiling. “High praise.”
“And you said you would be careful with my heart.”
“That’s right, I did say that. And I would be.”
“And I want it on the record that I tried to warn you, alright?” Renjun explains very carefully, very slowly. “I tried to warn you this might be a mistake, and that you might regret this—regret getting to know me more, because no one has ever gotten to know me in that way and not regretted it, and—” He is interrupted then by Donghyuck’s hands on his cheeks, turning his face upward and into their first kiss in what feels like entirely too long a time. Renjun melts into it the same way he always has, because Donghyuck’s mouth is his greatest asset in many ways, especially this one. He understands suddenly what Donghyuck might’ve meant all that time ago when he said Renjun was hiding from him.
“I’m not going to regret it,” Donghyuck says when he pulls back, pressing their foreheads together. Renjun reaches up to hold him around the shoulders, and patience is not one of his virtues, but this is another one of those things he thinks he might have to work on. For Donghyuck. For them. “But okay.”
“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” Renjun mumbles, his eyes slipping shut.
Donghyuck angles his head down, kisses the side of his neck. “I can,” he says, and Renjun is too tired to argue. “So does this mean what I think it means?”
“I don’t know,” Renjun replies. “What do you think it means?”
“I think it means I’ve made a hopeless romantic out of you,” Donghyuck laughs.
“I hope you haven’t,” Renjun says, to Donghyuck’s great amusement, and holds him tighter.
I hope you have.