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Seungcheol likes to think of himself as resilient, hardworking, motivated, and honestly quite easy on the eyes. He has lived through many hardships—horrible tummy aches, Joshua’s late night wine rants, coaxing Jihoon out of his cabin in the middle of the night, and carrying all of Seungkwan’s sports equipment three floors up to his apartment. Over five shifts. The lift was broken. How coincidental.
Nothing in the world comes close to the slow dread that builds in his inbox all year—the dam always breaks on time. It’s the first Monday of December.
Inbox ✉️ 📅 Monday, 9:12 AM
Yoon Jeonghan ✨ [email protected] → me
Subject: Employee of the Year Nominee! 🏆
Manager Choi,
A glorious Monday to you. (Worse now that Seungcheol is reading this.)
As you know, it is time once again to honor the most exceptional member of our company. And after much deep reflection (a round of gossiping plus two minutes of thinking), I am pleased to present my nominee:
Assistant Manager Lee.
Why, you may ask? Because last week, he attended an entire board meeting while violently hungover and still managed to take flawless minutes.
A true inspiration! A warrior of the corporate battlefield.
Please process this immediately.
- Jeonghan ✨ (Something will forever be sinister about that sparkle emoji. Seungcheol will find a way to delete it off the systems.)
Seungcheol would rather scream and cry and dig himself into a ditch than process that immediately, to be honest.
But his coffee is getting cold, so maybe later. One long sip, then he gulps. “I hate this job.”
“Do you say nothing else?” comes a voice from across the desk. Of course Wen Junhui has time to dictate Seungcheol’s pain. He’s not the one who has the fortune of getting personally terrorised by their CEO.
Seungcheol groans at him and his tiny cat figurines, “It’s this every year.”
Jun hums. “Just ignore him hyung.” he says, flicking his thumb at the orange on the white cat’s head. Like it’s easy for Seungcheol to do that.
“I tried that once.” Seungcheol laughs sardonically. “He sent me a meeting invite titled “Senior Manager Choi’s Monthly Attitude Adjustment.”
That gets a giggle out of Jun as expected. He pries away from his toys and finally looks at Seungcheol, a little more curious. “You should pick someone else before he comes back from his trip.”
That had never worked. But since Seungcheol is resilient, hardworking, and motivated, he sighs and scrolls on his mouse, up and down the email. “Yeah, maybe.”
Then, just to make himself feel better, he deletes it.
(This, of course, will turn out to be a mistake. Seungcheol is hardworking, but he still makes mistakes.)
Only ten minutes later, there’s a sharp sound of a tongue click. A voice that’s too familiar drawls behind him. “Manager Choi,”
It’s always lazy, always tipping low at the ends of sentences and it haunts Seungcheol’s sleep. His nightmares. His inbox. The breakroom.
Still Seungcheol prays. He prays that when he turns around nothing is there. He had a bout of fever in the morning. It’s just delirium from that. He’s just hallucinating. It can’t be.
(He turns around.)
Jeonghan is fresh off his business trip—and the hair salon by the look of it—with his sunglasses pushed up. One hand in his pocket and the other around a perfectly made iced coffee. Seungcheol doesn’t know why he bristles at the sight of it. He usually gets Jeonghan his coffee.
Jeonghan grins, then looks at him like he’s the unreasonable one. Seungcheol has an inkling of what he’s suddenly here for.
“You’re ignoring me.” Jeonghan says, blinking all innocent.
And with the weight of a man truly exhausted, with the weight of a man who has a headache building up, Seungcheol does nothing but sigh. He makes many, many mistakes. He should have called in sick.
⟶ RE: ⟵
Desks are not usually meant to be sat on, especially not in the way Seungcheol’s boss is teetering on the edge of his—Seungcheol keeps reaching out to steady instinctively whenever Jeonghan tips over just a little too much.
He knows it’s on purpose, he keeps cursing himself every time he does it. But he cannot stop for some godforsaken reason. And oh, Seungcheol’s stupid boss has finished his disgusting coffee he probably made someone else get. Now he’s going to start talking.
“I asked you a question,” he says. “You ignored my email.”
Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose. “I read it. Then I deleted it.”
Jeonghan gasps like Seungcheol has plunged a dagger into his heart. “All my hard work?”
“I’m not giving Chan the award.”
Another disappointed tongue click, and Jeonghan shakes his head. “Seungcheollie,” He sighs, dragging it out like he’s addressing a child, “You have to be open minded. This is why you never win Employee of the Year.”
Seungcheol just stares at him. “I’m the one who picks Employee of the Year.”
Jeonghan only hums, tilting his head then nodding at him like this is new information. His brow is furrowed, mouth pursed. He looks weirdly contemplative. “Exactly.”
Then he shifts back so that he’s actually sitting on the desk properly, and rolls his shoulders. He stretches catlike, prompting a few joint pops that Seungcheol feels vaguely worried about. That’s none of his business really. Jeonghan hasn’t let him approve a single report since he arrived—out of the required fifteen he was supposed to review today.
And then Jeonghan opens his mouth again. “You should be honored, you know. I landed just this morning, and you were the first person I wanted to see.”
Other than the hairdresser, Seungcheol supposes. But he digresses.
“Because you don’t know how to send a normal email with useful information?”
Jeonghan smiles wide. “Because I missed you.”
Seungcheol’s pen clip that he had been fiddling with immediately breaks and flies off. It lands somewhere inelegantly on Jun’s desk. Something hot blooms in Seungcheol’s chest. Jeonghan thinks he’s funny.
“Anyway,” says the bane of Seungcheol’s existence. “As you clearly cannot make a decision on this prestigious award without me, let’s do lunch.”
Seungcheol wonders why his glare hasn’t killed him yet. “No. We are not discussing this over lunch.”
“Okay,” Jeonghan says easily. He crumples his dumb coffee cup and drops it right into Seungcheol’s wastebasket. What a jerk. Seungcheol doesn’t want that in his dustbin. “Dinner then.”
Seungcheol narrows his eyes so that they might sear this time. “I hate you.”
Jeonghan only smiles sweetly and comes closer. “So, so much.” His eyes are so brown.
Then he pushes off Seungcheol’s desk and saunters off to his office like nothing happened.
And Seungcheol goes back to his reports like nothing happened as well. One professional dinner was fine.
⟶ RE: ⟵
Seungcheol doesn’t know how these things happen to him. One moment, he’s at his desk—he’d finished looking over all the reports with a newfound vigor after Jeonghan left him be—now he’s holding two lunch trays and walking towards a cafeteria table.
He squints at the food that somehow made its way onto his tray. He’s supposed to be on a diet, why is there so much meat?
Jeonghan sits down first, crossing his legs under the table, and gestures at the seat across from him politely like he’s inviting Seungcheol into his house. “Sit,” he says, all pleased.
Seungcheol does because he wants to. Because the trays are heavy. Not because Jeonghan says so. And not without complaint either. He thought he’d have more time to prepare for this. “We were supposed to have dinner.”
Jeonghan pokes at his rice. “Mm. And now we’re having lunch. Eat.”
"Why am I paying?”
“I left my wallet upstairs.” Jeonghan says smoothly. He could very well pay with his phone. He raises his eyebrows at Seungcheol next. “Is there a problem?”
Seungcheol’s instinct is to start grumbling again—he’s always fully prepared to argue—but he keeps his mouth shut. There’s no point, he knows exactly how this goes. But he has to complain about something, or he can’t get food down his throat. “You could have brought your own tray.” He decides on, prodding his meat with his chopsticks.
Jeonghan always has an answer, the most infuriating one to be exact. He smiles, “I knew you would.”
Then his eyes glimmer menacingly, and Seungcheol remembers why they’re here.
Jeonghan’s finished playing with his food. Thus, he must move onto his next plaything. It’s sitting right in front of him.
“So,” Jeonghan rests his chin on his palm and sighs. “Employee of the Year.”
Seungcheol lets his forehead hit the table and hopes it takes him down under.
He doesn’t lift his head when he hears Jeonghan click his tongue. Doesn’t move when he feels eyes on him. If he stays perfectly still, maybe Jeonghan will lose interest.
Fingers in his hair bring him back up instead. “I really think Channie should win it.”
Seungcheol groans into the table. But Jeonghan doesn’t move his hand, just taps his nails against his scalp in a lazy rhythm, like he has all the time in the world.
Fine. If he’s stuck here, he’ll at least be difficult about it. He grabs his chopsticks, stabs a piece of beef, and shoves it into his mouth. Big bite. Too big. He almost chokes.
Jeonghan waits, hand still gripping his hair, watching with mild amusement as Seungcheol chews aggressively, buying himself time. But time doesn’t exist around Jeonghan. Nothing ever works against him.
Eventually, Seungcheol swallows. Jeonghan’s fingers curl slightly, like he’s about to start scratching gently, and it pisses Seungcheol off that it almost works on him.
But Seungcheol is resilient. He shakes Jeonghan’s knobbly fingers off and sits upright “No. Someone else.”
Jeonghan leans forward and his foot grazes the hem of Seungcheol’s pants. Accidentally.
“You pick then.”
There’s something apart from the shock of touching his boss’s bare ankle—Jeonghan has never asked him like this before. He blinks and racks his brain, frantic. “Okay, okay. Soonyoung from IT?”
Jeonghan’s nose wrinkles. “He emailed me Dear Sir/Madam last week.”
He then throws his banchan at Seungcheol when he snorts.
“Shut up,” Jeonghan says. “Next."
⟶ RE: ⟵
The air of a man defeated surrounds the office when Seungcheol comes back. There had been numerous, countless nexts.
Seokmin from finance? Again? He’s too suspicious, keeps doing things for me before I ask so that he’ll win this year too. Definitely plotting something. What? Jihoon then. Hmm, too diligent. Makes everyone else look lazy. Bad for morale. Okay, Manager Kim. MINGYU? He’d get too happy and probably start prancing around. Disgusting. Alright, should I kill myself instead? Oh, wait Seungcheollie, I have an idea! What about Senior Manager Choi? I’ll kill you first. Right now.
But it was a good lunch for all Seungcheol considered. He’d eaten more than he had in weeks. He slumps into his chair, slipping his eyes close, about to take a well deserved break.
It’s not until he hears the unmistakable sound of Soonyoung cackling that Seungcheol cracks an eye open.
The office is bustling more than usual—an energy he usually associates with snacks in the break room or the rare sighting of Jeonghan using the printer himself and subsequently breaking it. But the whispers and side-glances are a little too targeted, and he can feel the focus slowly centering on him.
Seungkwan’s the first to pounce, always ready to insert himself into everything that happens, ever. He leans over Seungcheol’s cubicle wall, grinning like he’s won the lottery.
“Enjoy your romantic lunch, Manager Choi?”
“I hope you picked a good dessert,” Mingyu chimes in from across the room, eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s important to end on a sweet note.” Seungcheol can’t believe he vouched for him.
Jeonghan must’ve passed through here first. That snake.
Seungcheol rubs his palm over his face and slouches deeper in his chair. “We were discussing Employee of the Year.”
“Ah, yes,” Seokmin singsongs from the copier. “Very romantic.”
Jun—the traitor—wiggles his eyebrows, leaning back, languid. “Talked for a long time, didn't you?”
The noise swells as people add on commentary—so much overlapping chatter that Seungcheol can’t even make out who says what. Even a nap was out of order for this place.
“Did he feed you too?”
“Hyung hyung, did he steal food off your plate?”
“Please, I bet he made Seungcheol hyung carry his plate too.”
“Oh no, he totally did!”
“Hyung, was he a good date?"
Seungcheol fights the heat rising to his face and forces himself up. “We were. Discussing. Employee of the Year,” he says, more forcefully.
The office falls silent. The eyes on him gleam with anticipation.
Then, Seungkwan speaks up. “So, who’s the lucky winner?”
And Seungcheol freezes. He opens his mouth to answer—only to realize the only name he can remember Jeonghan actually saying was his.
No.
Absolutely not.
“They didn’t pick anyone.” verdicts Joshua. When did he get here?
Seungcheol’s sigh is long and drawn-out. “No.”
Seungkwan leans closer, eyes narrow and taunting. “Then what did you spend lunch break doing? Staring at him?”
“It’s not my fault!” Seungcheol snaps. Immediately there’s a chorus of exasperated sighs and pointed tuts flooding through the room. He doesn’t know when he lost all respect here. That’s probably Jeonghan’s fault as well.
He slams his head down on the desk and groans into the wood. “I hate this job.”
An exaggerated plonk sounds as something hits his head. He can hear Jun tch. “I told you to say something else.”
⟶ RE: ⟵
It’s late and Seungcheol is here overtime. Nothing special. He’d shut himself off all day after the intervention—too well fed and exhausted to deal with any more, courtesy of a certain someone. But Certain Someone was a fickle god, and now Seungcheol’s stuck going through some reports Jeonghan miraculously avoided touching. Delegation.
Jeonghan is perched on Seungcheol’s desk, swinging a leg back and forth, flipping disinterestedly through a file. His foot pokes into Seungcheol’s shoulder every three minutes. This has to be workplace harassment.
There’s one terrifying moment when Seungcheol feels a heel start to graze up his sleeve. He freezes in his chair and whips his head up.
Jeonghan’s already looking at him and batting his eyelashes. He raises his eyebrows as if to ask, What’s wrong? Seungcheol will tell him what’s wrong alright, the asshole, the snake, the biggest nuisance in Seungcheol’s entire annoying life. The thing that’s keeping Seungcheol from his daughter waiting at home—he wonders if his hyung’s taken her out for her walk today. Oh, Kkuma must miss him—
“Lockdown initiated. Security breach detected. All exits sealed.”
This has to be a fucking joke.
He grits his teeth, “What did you do.”
Jeonghan frowns, “Not everything is my fault you know, I don’t run the place.”
Silence.
“Okay okay, don’t explode. It’s probably just a security test. Should pass in an hour.”
Seungcheol grunts and buries his face into his reports. Jeonghan thankfully retracts his stupid foot and crosses his ankles.
The office is unsettlingly quiet as the alarm echoes absently. Seungcheol is resilient. But even he has no idea how to make the best of this. Someone else seems to have an idea.
“For a senior manager, you’re quite indecisive.”
“Can we not talk about this right now. Anything but this.”
Jeonghan leans into Seungcheol’s personal space and starts shining his eyes at him. “It’s the most important award of the year Seungcheollie, where are your priorities?”
“Against giving Employee of the Year to drunkards.”
Unimpressed hum. Seungcheol expected that. But Jeonghan continues, “So who deserves it? You?”
Seungcheol scowls, “Stop saying that. You know I’m not eligible.”
Jeonghan focuses on trailing a finger over the edge of Seungcheol’s monitor. “I’d give it to you.”
“Yeah, right.”
When Jeonghan looks back, his gaze is heavy. “I would.”
It’s like a string’s drawn out between them for a minute—Seungcheol holds his breath. Then Jeonghan gets up and pulls Jun’s chair over. “We should make a bet,” he says, flopping into it.
Seungcheol crosses his arms. “Not interested.”
Jeonghan grins his Cheshire cat grin. Seungcheol notes that he has impossibly small and straight teeth. Weird. “Winner decides who wins the award.”
Immediately refuted, obviously. No. This is highly unethical. But Seungcheol is being taunted—you’re scared, you’re just too chicken, no wonder everyone says you have a stick up your ass—then he’s agreeing before he knows it.
“What are we playing.”
Jeonghan’s smile widens like he’s finally got the cream. “Staring contest!”
Seungcheol’s eyes roll of their own accord, but he relents. He can stare.
⟶ RE: ⟵
His eyes are burning. He can feel them welling up and spilling a little over the corners. He will not blink. They’ve been here for ages.
Jeonghan’s endurance is surprising—decidedly not when Seungcheol goes over what lengths he takes to annoy him every waking hour—and his gaze is unsettling. The worst part is that he looks completely at ease.
Seungcheol pushes on, but his eyes flicker over Jeonghan’s face. He doesn’t know when they got so close. He can see the mole under Jeonghan’s eye. He’s overwhelmed with an inexplicable desire to touch.
“You look a little strained, Manager Choi.”
Seungcheol’s eyelid twitches, “Shut up.”
A snicker, but Jeonghan’s voice is silky when he puts his hand on Seungcheol’s armrest. “You’re losing.”
Their noses are nearly brushing, but Seungcheol will not flinch. His pulse starts hammering. He won’t. He will not look away. Jeonghan’s forearm is touching his. Nobody’s blinked yet. But now Jeonghan’s eyes are searching.
He does the same once over Seungcheol did, flickering over lazily, but he stops somewhere. Seungcheol wets his lips almost unconsciously, confused at why Jeonghan is looking at his mouth. He watches Jeonghan’s eyes linger and then snap up. How strange.
Seungcheol’s eyes are stinging hard at this point, the corners are already wet—but Jeonghan looks weirder. His eyes are shifting, something hesitant passing through quickly. Seungcheol is getting tired. He wants to win this so he can go home and sleep.
He hears Jeonghan take a particularly sharp breath that sounds cracked. Before Seungcheol can process that however—Jeonghan comes nearer. Seungcheol’s brain flatlines, and his eyes close.
It’s barely a kiss—more an uncertain peck if anything—gentle, testing, and shockingly, so so shy.
And it’s over as soon as it started.
Seungcheol blinks stupidly as soon as the warmth leaves him. That didn’t happen.
Jeonghan looks red enough to glow and his face is frozen in sheer, unadulterated horror. He looks cute.
Seungcheol blinks again.
The sound of Jeonghan clearing his throat resounds in the office, in Seungcheol’s ears. Then Jeonghan speaks. Stutters. “You, you uh. You blinked.”
Seungcheol’s brain clicks back on. What?
"I said you blinked.”
Seungcheol physically cannot say anything else. “What?”
Jeonghan’s ears are pink, somewhere he seems to have pedaled Jun’s chair back to keep a six foot distance between them. “You blinked, and I won. You’re a loser, I win.”
The alarm still faintly pulses somewhere and Seungcheol wants to speak. His brain supplies him with very helpful things to say: You kissed me. Why are you so far? You cheated. I hate you. Come closer. Can you do it again?
It’s an enormous amount of restraint keeping him from blabbering all that, so Seungcheol just stares. But Jeonghan seems like he’s waiting, though he’s still not looking at Seungcheol, so he racks around his mind to finally say something.
“Jeonghan—”
“Lockdown lifted. All exits unsealed.”
Seungcheol’s breath is caught. Jeonghan stops jittering, and then he starts laughing like he’s mad. “Okay! We’re free, that’s nice. This was fun. See—Ha, I’ll see you. I’ll see you tomorrow Seungcheollie.”
Jeonghan’s the fastest Seungcheol has seen him be in his entire life when he sprints towards the exit. There’s the hurried click of his shoes and Seungcheol watches dumbly as he disappears.
Seungcheol’s still rooted to the spot, still reeling. He can hear his heart pound louder without the drone of the alarm. Then he packs his things on autopilot, stuffs the reports in his bag to review in the morning, and slowly walks out of the office, locking the door behind him.
When he opens the door to his apartment, Kkuma’s fast asleep. He touches his lips absentmindedly on the way to the bedroom. It’s weirdly disappointing when he doesn’t feel the ghost of the kiss anymore.
⟶ RE: ⟵
The meeting room is way too small for this many people. It’s borderline dangerous the way there are more elbows than space—definitely not enough to maneuver around the wobbly snack table. It’s packed with the smell of three different colognes and Mingyu’s overly spiced chicken sandwich from lunch.
He’d woken up this morning sweating after a horrifying dream involving flashes of a CEO’s suite, soft clicking heels, and a sigh of Manager Choi floating in his ear. He took a cold shower immediately after. Whatever that was. He really doesn’t want to think about it.
Now Seungcheol’s here. Pressed uncomfortably into Hansol’s side. Hansol doesn’t seem to mind though—Seungkwan’s complaining to him about his volleyball team losing or something, and he looks completely content listening. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at them.
Suddenly he realises he hasn’t seen Jeonghan all day. Maybe he just didn’t notice.
Everyone else definitely doesn’t seem to care—nobody is treating this like a serious award presentation. He sees Jihoon trying to glare everyone into silence, Seokmin looking wistfully at his portraits already on the wall, and Seungcheol thinks he hears Soonyoung telling Chan that it’s definitely you Chan-ah, I saw your notes that day! So good, so pretty, I was the one who showed Jeonghan hyung anyway. I’m telling you it’s you. Junnie told me.
But all of that is not Seungcheol’s business today. He didn’t win the contest, and he’s a man of principle. He’s going to congratulate Chan wholeheartedly when he wins.
Some of the noise dies down when Jeonghan walks in. Seungcheol winces when he hears him approach. Jeonghan looks—Jeonghan looks perfectly fine. He doesn’t look like he’s lost any sleep off what happened, and definitely not like he ran away from Seungcheol like they were in a poorly written drama last night either. He’s got ease wrapped around him like an expensive coat.
Of course he does. Everything’s normal. It was just a game.
It gets more quiet when Jeonghan clears his throat. He’s holding an engraved glass award—elegant, weighty, and clearly made with intent. It catches the light, polished edges gleaming.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Jeonghan says, a touch of something rough in his voice like a cough—maybe the cold got to him last night.
“Thank you for coming to our little ceremony. I see you’re all very busy,” he adds dryly, gaze sweeping over the chatterers who immediately pretend to be deeply invested in the cold brew.
Seungcheol feels a flicker of something—not relief, but something close. Maybe Jeonghan won’t drag this out and make it a spectacle. A quick announcement, a photo for the company website, and he can get back to his spreadsheets. Seokmin and Chan are practically fizzing around like shaken soda cans in their seats.
“Employee of the Year,” Jeonghan’s fingers twitch where they hold the award. Seungcheol sees him sweep over the entire room. He feels cold air in his ears when Jeonghan lands on him for a split second.
“Senior Manager Choi Seungcheol.”
Everyone goes dead quiet. Someone coughs and the silence stretches uncomfortably—it’s Soonyoung who breaks it.
“Uh, wait,” he says slowly, “You picked yourself?”
The back of Seungcheol’s neck is burning. The chatter picks up again—Seokmin is whispering furiously into Mingyu’s ear, Chan looks confused, and somewhere Seungcheol hears something about him sleeping his way to the top—his skin crawls.
With fury creeping up and the immediate need to defend himself, he starts, “I didn’t—” Jeonghan cuts him off, “I did, it was me.” Then he places the award on the table, and finally looks at Seungcheol properly. “You deserve it, congratulations.”
Another wave of anger washes over Seungcheol now that Jeonghan’s watching him. He doesn’t know why. He’s not a teenager, and Jeonghan’s antics shouldn’t be affecting him.
Hansol nudges at his side, urging him to stand. Seungcheol does. He locks eyes with Jeonghan and clenches his jaw. This is normal. “Thanks.”
Things recover quickly. Claps begin, slow and confused, then steady. Seungcheol tears his eyes away from Jeonghan at the rising uproar in the meeting room—there’s words of congratulations, some clapping on his back that would usually warrant a scowl and a scolding, he’s being pulled to sit down and Wonwoo even gives him the last kimbap roll he had been so desperately guarding.
The award only reaches Seungcheol after everyone’s had their look at it. He looks at the print under his name, In recognition of outstanding dedication, leadership, and passion. He feels something coil in his stomach.
When he finally looks up, Jeonghan’s already gone.
⟶ RE: ⟵
Seungcheol’s ears are still ringing from all the noise. Everything’s echoing in his head, the claps, the jeers, Senior Manager Choi Seungcheol and the slight wobble in Jeonghan’s voice he’d been imagining.
The award feels like it’s going to break with how hard he’s gripping it. He doesn’t care. This is all just some elaborate joke—everything from lunch to the lockdown to the kiss to today. Seungcheol moves fast, weaving through the desks and down the hall. He knows he’s being irrational, but he has a feeling.
Jeonghan’s door stares at him, almost mockingly. Like everything and everyone has been the entire day. Seungcheol’s chest is going to explode. He kicks, and the hinge creaks.
He’s right.
The chair at the desk is empty, Jeonghan’s standing by the window. He doesn’t look back and continues tapping his fingers against the glass.
Seungcheol scoffs.
When Jeonghan turns, his eyes look red.
The anger in Seungcheol dulls momentarily out of confusion, but picks right back up. What does Jeonghan have to feel bad about?
“Congratulations Manager Choi,” Jeonghan says, still maddeningly even.
“Don’t,” Seungcheol spits. It takes everything to not slam the award onto Jeonghan’s desk. He puts it down, trembling, and takes a safe step back. “Why did you do this?
Jeonghan always replies like it’s easy. “Do what? You won, that’s all.”
The laugh tears out of Seungcheol harsh and bitter. “No, no I didn’t.” He’s not talking about the award. He doesn’t know why he’s taking this so seriously. It’s not a big deal. He should be used to this.
“Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol draws the fire in him into a bow and pulls. “All you fucking do is play with me. I let you. Everything’s a joke to you.” Jeonghan’s face twists in something that looks pained. An ember of satisfaction sparks in Seungcheol’s stomach.
He scoffs again, a tight little thing. He doesn’t want to choke. “But I thought you at least had some respect for me. I was stupid enough to hope.”
Jeonghan’s jaw clenches. Seungcheol’s looking at him hard enough to notice. He knows what’s next—something cutting—some easy, cruel quip to remind Seungcheol he’s out of his depth.
Seungcheol’s fists clench as he waits, but Jeonghan just breathes out slow.
“You really think that’s all this is?” He asks, low and flat. The waver in his voice is clear now. He looks at the award on the desk, then back at Seungcheol. “You think I’d put myself through this for a joke?”
Seungcheol’s laugh sticks in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say to that. His heartbeat thunders, and his anger knots itself sharper and colder. “You’ve done worse for less.”
Jeonghan actually flinches visibly—but his gaze turns steady. It’s unnerving. “You think I love screwing with you, making myself look pathetic.” He’s gripping the desk now, and Seungcheol sees his knuckles lose colour.
Jeonghan’s eyes are trained on the award when he speaks. “I didn’t do that last night for fun. It wasn’t to win the fucking contest.”
That drops like an anvil.
“What?” The fire in Seungcheol snuffs out—he’s back in the dark. He’s staring the same way as yesterday, and the pounding in his ears is drowning all reason. He has to say something else this time. “Then why.”
He doesn’t get an answer right away, Jeonghan’s eyes are squeezed shut and his breathing has gone heavy. “Because, I like you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I was being selfish.”
The sound is scathing when he continues. “This isn’t breaking news. Forget it.” His voice cracks when he tries to laugh, “Take your stupid award and get out of my office.”
Seungcheol needs a pacemaker. He can’t tell if everything inside him is going too fast or too slow. Hot rage feels distant now, there’s something else, icy and terrifying.
Jeonghan is already retreating from the desk, moving towards the window again. Seungcheol doesn’t know he’s pulling him back until he’s already doing it. He’s grabbing Jeonghan’s collar and yanking him close over the desk. Jeonghan’s eyes go wide, redder than before. He’s angry. Seungcheol sees him steady the award when it wobbles between them.
“What did you say?” He asks. He’s holding his boss’s collar in his office. Jeonghan likes him. “I don’t believe you.”
He gets a glare doused in fatigue. “Seungcheol, I told you to fuck off.”
“No. I don’t want to go. Tell me what you said.”
Jeonghan gets angrier. He pulls Seungcheol’s hand away from his shirt and grips tight. “It’s a joke, remember? I’m just fucking with you. I said get out.”
Seungcheol’s wrist is cold with Jeonghan’s fingers caged around it. His pulse is still off rhythm, and his circulation feels like it’s stopping. It doesn’t matter. Seungcheol has been blessed with two hands. Jeonghan looks frazzled. He’s so pretty. Seungcheol pulls him by the neck.
It’s awkward and clumsy. Jeonghan tenses against his mouth like he’s wound tight. Seungcheol presses further, trying to coax him in. Soon, the fingers slacken at his wrist and come up to his jaw. Jeonghan opens up, and Seungcheol goes gladly. The table is uncomfortable where they’re both pressed against it, so Seungcheol holds Jeonghan’s hip to bring him around, and even closer.
Jeonghan makes a soft noise when they’re finally against each other. Seungcheol chases it, desperation bleeding through embarrassingly, and Jeonghan makes another, and another. Seungcheol thinks he’s going to die. Dying feels good when Jeonghan’s hand is in his hair.
Soon they separate. If only for air. Jeonghan doesn’t go too far, his touch is still glass against Seungcheol’s cheek. Seungcheol is appreciating the view, his eyes lingering on lips that look slightly swollen. But his focus is broken when Jeonghan speaks, raw and soft. “What does this mean?”
Seungcheol’s gaze flits up to meet Jeonghan’s—he looks worried and scared. Seungcheol feels his chest ache. He grasps the hand that hasn’t left his cheek. He faintly thinks he’ll just kiss Jeonghan again if he opens his mouth, but he perseveres. Resilient, and all that.
His voice is bare when he answers, a little dumb. “I like you too.”
Jeonghan’s eyebrows raise an inch. He bites down on his bottom lip, and rakes his eyes all over Seungcheol’s face like he’s trying to spot the lie. “Yeah?”
Seungcheol thinks he really might die. He opens his mouth again, and kisses Jeonghan this time like he was meant to. Maybe he was made to do this. He keeps moving forward so Jeonghan has to lean against the desk, arching back.
There’s a dull thud on the table—they jolt apart. Jeonghan sighs and turns back to place the award somewhere else, far away from them. Seungcheol watches. He’s still confused about one thing. “Wait, I still don’t know why you picked me.”
Jeonghan looks at him and laughs. Seungcheol doesn’t feel patronised anymore. He wants to hear it again and again.
“You work hard, Seungcheollie. You deserve to win at least once.” Jeonghan braces himself back against the desk properly and taps on it, impatient. “I’m also horribly biased. Come here.”
Seungcheol’s chest is too full. Everything’s too tight. He loosens his tie, and Jeonghan’s eyes flash dangerously. Seungcheol grins at him, cheeky. Jeonghan opens up for him again, and Seungcheol goes gladly. He wants to stay there.
Maybe he doesn’t really hate this job.
⟶ RE: ⟵
The break room is packed. The coffee machine gurgles ominously in the corner, long out of beans, but nobody’s left to fix it—too busy whispering and peeking over shoulders. Jihoon’s already exhausted, one foot barely in the door. He mutters a prayer for patience.
“So anyway,” Seungkwan announces, one of his poison americanos in hand, perched on the arm of the couch. “Seungcheol hyung’s been weirdly… cheerful lately.”
Mingyu nods earnestly, balancing a cup of watery coffee and passing Jihoon his coke zero without looking. It makes Jihoon startle, but he outright flinches when Mingyu starts talking too. “Right!” he exclaims, “Last week he growled at me for breathing too loud, but just now he ruffled my hair and called me a good boy?”
Seungkwan scrunches his nose pointedly. “Gross. I bet you loved that.”
Mingyu flushes down to his neck and quiets. Jihoon sighs, something fond laced in it, and goes back to his papers. He’s been getting more work done without Seungcheol’s annoying ass trying to surgically extract him from his cabin. Everything’s worked out in his favor as far as he’s concerned.
From Jihoon’s left, Soonyoung suddenly gasps like he’s discovered gravity. “No,” he says, nearly dropping his energy drink, “You think he’s finally getting laid?”
That opens the can of worms. It’s Jihoon’s fault for letting Mingyu lug him to the break room.
His coke’s the only thing that’s cool and sweet and not frying his brain, he sips long and slow. He watches Seungkwan reenact the alleged hair ruffle on Mingyu, who is still visibly recovering.
It’s not that Jihoon enjoys withholding information. He just doesn’t get paid enough to be a gossip. He's HR. Not a babysitter.
He already helped them fill out the damn disclosure forms. He is not emotionally liable for whatever happens next.
The chatter rises and falls in waves, Seokmin swears he saw Jeonghan smile at Seungcheol in the elevator. Chan counters that Jeonghan doesn’t have feelings. Jihoon keeps sipping.
Then, there’s a lull. A hush, dramatic and very unnatural, falls over the room like a bad musical cue. Jihoon doesn’t need to look up.
He hears them before he sees them—Jeonghan’s idiotic heels and Seungcheol’s dumb laugh echoing off tile and glass like the ghosts of HR violations past.
The sounds get closer, and everyone keeps comically still.
Jihoon finishes his coke and rolls his eyes. This isn’t a horror movie.
Jeonghan walks in first, with an iced coffee that Jihoon knows Seungcheol got for him. That’s stayed the same. Just that they’re more disgusting about it now. Seungcheol still whines like he always does, but it’s—it’s different. He gets stars in his eyes now.
Jihoon thinks he’s seen that look before—on someone who hands him cokes and drags him into unnecessary break room meetings. He doesn’t want to think about it.
Seungcheol trails behind Jeonghan with the goofiest smile in the history of man plastered on his face. Seungkwan side-eyes, Seokmin’s lips press into a straight line, and Soonyoung arches an eyebrow—testament to their idiocy really. How could they still not tell?
Then Jeonghan and Seungcheol stop by the snack shelf like they’re normal people. Jihoon knows from years of working here and the worst legally mandated conversation he’s ever had that they definitely aren’t. He’d prefer a million HansolandSeungkwans any day, thank you.
He watches Seungcheol grab the grape jellies and wordlessly place the ojingeochae in Jeonghan’s empty hand.
The room collectively gasps in horror.
Bad move. Jeonghan turns like a shark catching scent. “Good morning,”
Nobody replies. They’re frozen still by the sight of Seungcheol with Jeonghan’s cup now tucked in his arm, fixing the twisted strap of Jeonghan’s watch with a frown, like he can’t help himself. Jeonghan seems entirely too unbothered. He starts scanning the room. He goes over the open mouths, death glares, and one yelp that is quickly muffled. (Seokmin; Minghao)
Then Jeonghan reaches Jihoon. "Morning, Jihoonie," he says. Jihoon wishes he didn't.
"Good morning."
And that should be it. That should be the end of it.
But Seungcheol looks up from the unruly watch strap with a pout, eyes crinkling when they follow Jeonghan’s line of sight. “Ah, thanks again Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon doesn’t respond. He wants to bash his head against the wall. Why are you doing this to me, he asks with his eyes, but Seungcheol doesn’t seem to get it. He doesn’t get anything nowadays. His entire brain must be filled with wool and whatever pastel nonsense Jeonghan feeds him for breakfast.
Smugness clings to Jeonghan like static when he walks off with Seungcheol in tow. He looks insufferably pleased. Seungcheol looks confused but Jihoon sees Jeonghan whisper something into his ear. Jihoon hears giggles.
It’s no matter. The bomb’s already gone off. Jihoon braces for impact.
Seungkwan all but shrieks. “You bastard!”
Minghao tilts his head, thoughtful. “Thanks again,” he muses.
Chan immediately echoes, his eyebrows furrowed. “Thanks for what?”
Jun tsks and flicks him on the forehead.
Still at Jihoon’s left, Soonyoung is getting Wonwoo to devise a timeline to determine the exact date and time Seungcheol got laid.
Seokmin is complaining passionately to anyone who will listen that this was why he didn’t win this year. Joshua nods along with a serene expression on his face. Jihoon can’t make out Seokmin's argument exactly, but it’s about nepotism and what not.
There’s yelling all over. Someone’s knocked over a chair. Hansol is still holding Seungkwan back from murdering Jihoon in front of all their colleagues.
Amidst everything, Jihoon tilts his empty can upside down. A single, tragic drop lands on his thumb. He stares at it for a second. Maybe this is his villain origin story.
Something cold bumps his elbow.
He turns. It’s Mingyu, standing there like a golden retriever with a treat in his mouth—except it’s a fresh coke zero, condensation beading down the side, and his tail might as well be wagging.
“Here,” Mingyu says, gentle, like Jihoon’s a spooked cat he’s trying not to startle. “This one’s from the fridge.”
Jihoon blinks at him. Then at the can. He cracks it open. The fizz sounds like relief.
Mingyu’s still looking at him like he needs permission to sit. Jihoon shuffles his papers off the chair beside him and gestures meaningfully.
It’s a small chair, and Mingyu is not small, so Jihoon bites back a smile when Mingyu crams himself into it, nothing less than determined.
Jihoon sips. Lets the silence sit. Mingyu’s warmth seeps in where their arms brush.
Behind them, someone’s started playing back Seungcheol’s earlier laugh on full volume. Jihoon hears Seungkwan yelling Enhance! like this is CSI. He does not turn around.
Mingyu coughs beside him, “Sorry, I thought you needed some light—didn’t know it would be this bad.”
“It’s alright Manager Kim,” Jihoon says sagely. “It had to happen someday.”
Jihoon turns to look at him then, and Mingyu’s ears are pink again. It’s astonishing how easily he gets shy.
“Anything wrong, Manager Kim?”
“No.” says Mingyu, arranging Jihoon’s papers on the table before them with razor sharp intensity.
Jihoon laughs for the first time in a while. He leans back in his chair. Mingyu’s head turns at the loss of contact, and he makes a sad dog noise when he notices Jihoon smirking at him.
Everything’s all background noise now. Jihoon shifts a little forward to give Mingyu what he wants.
He thinks he will come out to the break room more often.