Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts harmlessly enough.

"Do something about your brother, will you..." From the other end, a woman voice can be heard, her voice filled with frustration.

"What did hyung do now?" A sigh was let out by Jaehyuk.

"He once again didn't come to the date I arrange for him. Didn't he know how hard it is for me to get Takehara's hotel son to agree on a date with him?"

A silent curse was muttered in Jaehyuk's head. 'Damn it. This again???'

"Mom, don't you think it's time for you to give up? How many time Jihoon hyung said he didn't want to get married?" Jaehyuk let out a big frustation.

"Can you for once do something for your dear mother?" Jaehyuk can feel his mother's voice softened. She always like this when she needs something from Jaehyuk. It's not like he could say no either. After all, as long as expectations weren’t placed on him, freedom had been quietly granted.

What do you want me to do?

“Persuade your brother to come to the blind date I arrange for him.” Her mother answered. “Or perhaps…you could arrange a date for him? Aren’t you quite a socialite? Is there anyone good enough for your brother? Maybe you know a famous actor that is perfect addition to our family?”

“Okay, okay, mother. Let me think first, okay? For now, just get off hyung’s back so he can be in a good mood when I talk to him.” Jaehyuk tried to calm his mother.

The call was ended. For now, at least his mother won’t disturb them for at least another month. Jaehyuk needs to come up with something until then.

But who, really, could even be introduced to his brother? The model who had been met in Milan? Far too shallow — a conversation couldn’t be held for more than three minutes without it circling back to his new nose he got last summer.

The lead actor from his last project? He knows nothing about whats happening in the world but himself. Jaehyuk could already hear it — Jihoon hyung calling the guy stupid before the martini was even halfway gone.

No — not even his most famous acquaintances were considered worthy by the standards silently set around his brother. Who even could handle a crazy person like his brother?

“Jaehyuk? What’re you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to take the English class?” A familiar voice make Jaehyuk jumped from his seat.

Jaehyuk suddenly gets an idea.

A terrible, beautiful idea.

“Hyunsuk hyung, do you want me to introduce you to my brother?”

Chapter Text

“Hyung, do you want to come to the opening of an art exhibition? My agency is hosting it. Great food. Free drinks. A lot of people from the industry.” Jaehyuk put his nicest face in front of his brother.

“No.”

His brother is really a man of few words. But Jaehyuk is also not the type that give up easily.

“Aw, come on, hyung. You never come to my movie premiere. At least come to this one.” Jaehyuk is practically begging now. “This is one of the biggest event from my agency. The artworks I have been working on for the past months will be displayed there. ”

“I’m not interested. I’ll send you flowers.” His brother didn’t even bother to see Jaehyuk in the face.

Jaehyuk leaned back, pretending to be casual. “I heard Mom’s setting you up on another blind date that weekend. Thought you might need an excuse to bail, but hey—I guess I was wrong.”

That earned him a slight twitch of an eyebrow.

Victory. I just need to push few more buttons.

”Hope he asks you how many siblings you have—so you can say one and completely ignore him.” Jaehyuk said completely nonchalant while pretending to play on his phone. “Now THAT’S totally gonna be more fun than supporting your brother. Don’t let me stop you.” 

“Text me the details.”

Jaehyuk peeked up, hiding a grin. “Really?”

“I’ll bring you the flowers and more.”

“Where is that little punk?” Jihoon asked his driver, Mr. Yang, low voice with clear irritation.

“I think your brother still busy with other guest, sir.” He replied.

Jihoon checked his watch again. 4:07 p.m.

Seven minutes late. Jaehyuk promised to meet Jihoon at 4:00 pm and then he just need to stay for 15 minutes to take a look at his artworks, get pictures taken by the press and then go home.

To most people, it was nothing. To Jihoon, it ruined the whole day he has planned.

It made his skin itch.

Jihoon didn’t sit. He didn’t mingle. He stood like a statue.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He supposed to be out of here soon. The music is too loud, the crowds talking about things he didn’t understand.

“Hyung!” a voice called out—too loud, too cheerful for someone who is wasting someone's time.

Jihoon turned, and there was Jaehyuk, finally greeting him at 4:12 p.m., dressed like a man who didn’t know what punctuality meant. Oversized knit cardigan, cropped wide-leg trousers with sunglasses still on indoors.

“I see you’ve met the concept of ‘fashionably late,’” Jihoon said with a flat face.

Jaehyuk flashed a grin. “Relax, it’s not a BOD’s meeting. It’s an art show. There’s a lot of people in line waiting to meet me.”

“I don’t care.” Jihoon grumped. “Let’s just start whatever this is.”

“Ah—you see..” Jaehyuk rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “There’s this director from a Japanese art house here. I gotta go shake hands and charm him. Just wait a little, yeah? Don’t go home yet, okay?”

And just like that, Jaehyuk vanished into the crowd like a gust of wind in designer boots.

“Jaehyuk,” Jihoon snapped, already frustrated, “don’t you dare—”

“If you leave before touring the exhibition with me,” Jaehyuk called over his shoulder, “I’m telling Mom.”

Childish. Ridiculous.

A threat that should only work in elementary school.

And yet, between the two of them, it still worked.

Jihoon was mid-sigh—on his third mental draft of a text that would both scold and guilt-trip Jaehyuk—when someone caught his eye.

Not in the dramatic, slow-motion, thunderclap kind of way.

It was more… accidental. Subtle. A flicker in the corner of his vision that refused to be ignored.

A man, weaving between easels and staff with a kind of unbothered urgency. His shirt was patterned like a fever dream—loud swirls of red and gold—paired with cropped pants that didn’t match in any traditional sense but somehow it looks good on him. The weird glassses hung around the bridge of his nose, a clipboard in one hand, a cold coffee in the other. His hair was a little messy. His mouth moved constantly—talking, instructing, sometimes laughing—but never stopping.

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed.

He should’ve looked like a mess. Should’ve clashed with everything. Should’ve made Jihoon’s meticulous brain flinch.

But he didn’t.

The man moved with too much purpose for Jihoon to dismiss. There was something entertaining in the way he navigated the chaos—grabbing cables, adjusting lighting, tapping someone’s shoulder with a playful scold before darting to the next crisis.

And he was—Jihoon hesitated to even think the word—glowing.

Sharp eyes, expressive hands, and a spark in his expression that made Jihoon forget, briefly, about the time, the noise, the fact that he still hadn’t seen the inside of the exhibition.

Jihoon stared longer than he meant to.

The man didn’t notice.

He was too busy making things work.

Too busy making the whole mess—this late, loud, disorganized mess—somehow come together.

And for the first time since he arrived, Jihoon didn’t feel the urge to check his watch.

“This frame’s not supposed to lean like that!” the man in the loud shirt—Hyunsuk, though Jihoon didn’t know his name yet—called out, rushing to a freestanding structure near the center of the venue.

It was tall, minimalistic, and clearly meant to display something dramatic. But one side of the frame had started to tilt just slightly, enough to look wrong. A few interns gathered around it, whispering anxiously.

“I told them to double-brace it against the floor!” Hyunsuk muttered, dropped everything he was carrying onto the floor and crouching beside the base.

The assistant beside him panicked. “Should we… cancel that section?”

“No. This piece is anchored to the entire concept layout. If we move it, the sequence falls apart. And I am not rearranging the whole damn flow.”

From a distance, Jihoon watched.

He wasn’t planning to get involved. He never was. Jihoon is not the type who meddle with people's problem.

But after a minute of watching three people nearly tip the structure further while trying to “balance it with tape”—tape—his body moved on its own.

He strode over, ignoring the murmur of the crowd, and crouched down next to Hyunsuk.

“You need to stabilize the vertical joint with something stronger. This is hollow aluminum, right?”

Hyunsuk blinked. “Yeah—?”

“Then you’re lucky it didn’t fall on you yet. You need to brace the base plate diagonally with a two-point counterweight system. Do you have sandbags?”

“Uh…”

Hyunsuk looked stunned for exactly two seconds.

Then he barked at the nearest intern. “Get me sandbags. Now. Behind the storage curtain. Go!”

The intern ran like their life depended on it.

Jihoon rolled up one sleeve, inspecting the base. “And someone tighten this bolt. It’s loose.”

"Who are you?" Hyunsuk's face confused.

"Why does it matter?"

“You’re very… calm for someone wearing cufflinks,” Hyunsuk muttered, still crouched beside him.

Jihoon didn’t look up. “You’re very disorganized for someone hosting an exhibition.”

“Touché.”

He should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve snapped back.

But for some reason, Hyunsuk smiled.

Jihoon did not.

But he also… feel glad that he decided to help.

“Hyung?!” a familiar voice called out, part surprise, part delight.

Jihoon stood up slowly, brushing invisible dust off his slacks just as Jaehyuk skidded to a stop beside the display, eyes wide.

“Did you just help with… that?”

“He did,” Hyunsuk answered before Jihoon could say anything, still crouched and tightening the last bolt. “Saved us from a disaster. Also scolded my interns with the scariest calm I’ve ever seen.”

“He’s good at that,” Jaehyuk said, grinning. “Scaring people. It’s his love language.”

Jihoon straightened his cuffs. “It was going to collapse. Someone had to intervene before you ended up on the evening news.”

“Wow. Romantic and heroic,” Hyunsuk said, finally standing. Thanks for saving my exhibit.”

"I only did it to save my brother here." Jihoon said flatly.

Jaehyuk blinked. "Aww, hyung. That's so sweet. Can you say it again so I can record it?"

Jihoon ignored Jaehyuk grinned face.

He held out his hand, playful but sincere. “I’m Hyunsuk, by the way. Chaos-handler-slash-last-minute-set-designer-slash-your-brother-work-friend."

"Hyunsuk hyung, what do you mean work friend? You need to tell people you're the CEO and the Creative Director of our agency." Jaehyuk interupted.

Jihoon didn't expect that this man in front of him is the CEO of the agency where his brother worked. He hesitated, then shook his hand—firm, short. “Jihoon.”

Jaehyuk beamed between them. “You two are finally meeting. Great.”

Hyunsuk’s eyebrows raised. “Finally?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyuk said, too casually. “I was going to introduce you properly after this, but look at fate doing her job.”

Jihoon gave his brother a sharp look. “You're planning to introduce us.”

“Yes,” Jaehyuk said too quickly. “Unless you’re mad at me—then no.”

Hyunsuk giggled. “You’re lucky your brother in a good mood today.”

Jihoon didn’t say anything. But he didn’t let go of Hyunsuk’s gaze either.

And somewhere between the chaos of this unfamiliar set up and Jaehyuk’s meddling grin, something had started. Quiet. Barely there.

But undeniable.

Chapter Text

They would never meet again.

At least that's what Jihoon originally thought. 

But now, Jihoon was standing outside a small restaurant near his office, Lunch at 12:30 with Jaehyuk. Now it's already 12:33, checking a message from his brother, who, for God’s sake, seemed like he was born solely to annoy him for the rest of his life.

Hyung! I can't made it to the restaurant. Emergency meeting! You two eat without me. By two I mean with Hyunsuk hyung. Yes, I invite him too. Yes, he didn't know you're gonna be there. And yes, I don't have an emergency meeting. Order the beef stew, it’s life-changing. Also, behave.

 

Or don’t.

 

You’re both adults (sort of).

Jihoon was about to leave. His brother's dumb prank had already wasted enough of his time. That guy also haven't showed up and it's already 12:36. Jihoon should have just pick up lunch from the convenience store and getting ready for his next meeting at 2 pm later.

When he's about to leave, Hyunsuk showed up. Holding a plastic full of crumpled music sheets jumbled with 3 random mini figurines.

"You're late."  

"A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to." Hyunsuk just quoted the Lord of the Rings while unloading his chaotic collection onto the table.

"You're not a wizard." Jihoon looked at a tiny spiderman head fall beside the soup spoon. “And this is a restaurant. Not your studio. Don’t put your crap on the table.”

“Wow. Not even a hello?” Hyunsuk blinked behind glasses. "And why are you here? I'm supposed to have lunch with Jaehyuk."

"Jaehyuk is not here." Jihoon who haven't back to his seat since Hyunsuk came, then explaining his brother stupid action.

Hyunsuk just laughed. “Wow. That’s sneaky. Even for Jaehyuk.”

“He set us up.”

“He really did.” Hyunsuk grinned, entirely unfazed. “Sit down, Jihoon. It won’t kill you.”

Reluctantly, Jihoon lowered himself onto the seat across from Hyunsuk. The silence stretched between them for a moment, not awkward, but expectant.

“Are you always this tense,” Hyunsuk asked casually while looking at the menu, “or is it just around people who wear sunglasses indoor?”

“You’re not exactly a picture of calm yourself,” Jihoon shot back. “I don’t know how you function in that much disarray.”

Hyunsuk leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. “Chaos is still a system. You just don’t understand mine yet.”

Jihoon scoffed. “If you even have one.”

Hyunsuk grinned. “Oh, we’re doing this again.”

“You started it.”

“And yet you never leave.”

Jihoon didn’t answer.

Hyunsuk still focus on the menu, didn't see Jihoon in the eye. “So tell me. Why are you still here?”

“Because I was already here.”

“Oh, that's your excuse?"

Jihoon looked out the window. “I had time.”

Hyunsuk smiled, but didn’t push further.

The bickering didn’t stop. But neither of them left.

And when the beef stew came, piping hot and absurdly good, Jihoon took a bite—and didn’t complain once.

Jaehyuk really knows a good place to eat.

"Soooo, how's the lunch?" Jaehyuk greeted excitedly the moment Jihoon stepped through the door.

"The beef stew is good."

"Oh, come on, hyung!" Jihoon smacking his own forehead. "I know you know damn well what I mean."

"Pull something like that again and I will freeze your asset." Jihoon said coldly.

"What do you think of Hyunsuk hyung?" Jaehyuk couldn't hide his curiosity.

"He's..." Jihoon somehow couldn't find the right words to continue. "Something."

"Whatever that means." Jaehyuk rolled his eyes.

"Well...he's different than me. In fact, he's different than anyone I ever known." 

Jihoon's answer didn't satisfy Jaehyuk's curiosity. "Should I just ask Hyunsuk hyung instead about what really happened today?"

"Nothing happened." Jihoon let out a deep sigh. "We had lunch. Then we left. That’s it. We went our separate ways.”

"Oh..." Jaehyuk nodded. "But why you sound so...dissapointed?"

"The hell you talking about."

"Want me to share Hyunsuk hyung's number with you?" Jaehyuk teased, pretending to reach for his phone.

"Just shut up and get out from my room!" Jihoon snapped and threw the pillow at Jaehyuk.

Jaehyuk bolted down the hallway, laughing in triumph.

He had absolutely succeeded in teasing his brother.

One thing Jaehyuk didn’t know: Jihoon already had Hyunsuk’s number saved.

Jihoon also couldn’t quite remember how it happened—how Hyunsuk had so effortlessly led their conversation to the point of exchanging phone numbers. Jihoon usually made it a point to hand out his office number, maybe even a business card if the situation called for it. But this time, without even thinking, he had given Hyunsuk his personal number.

It wasn’t like him to be so casual about it. Yet here they were, and Jihoon couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, even if he couldn’t pinpoint exactly when.

Chapter Text

Jihoon was in the middle of reviewing the tender documents when his assistant buzzed in.

“Sir, there’s a… visitor here. He says he’s a CEO that has something for you?”

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who? I don't remember made any appointment today.”

“Someone named Hyunsuk. Choi Hyunsuk.”

Jihoon’s hand froze midair.

“What does he want?”

“He brought drinks. And a USB. He said it’s urgent, but also… vibe-dependent.” Jihoon's secretary sounded reluctant to even say the last sentence.

Jihoon stared at the speaker like it had personally offended him. “Let him in.”

A beat later, Hyunsuk strolled in like he owned the place—wearing ripped jeans, an oversized cardigan, and colorful hat on top of his head like he was trying to distract the entire office from its grayscale professionalism.

“Nice views you have going on.” he said, looking around. 

“What are you doing here?” Jihoon asked, not bothering to standup.

“I had a meeting nearby. Thought I’d stop by and drop something off.” Hyunsuk pulled out the USB and slid it across Jihoon’s desk. “It’s a track. One of Jaehyuk’s demos. Needs a second opinion. This is the first time he would release something music related.”

“I’m not a music producer.”

“True. But you’re oddly care about your brother and want the best for him. I figured your judgment would be brutally honest.”

Jihoon glanced at the USB, then back at Hyunsuk. “You could’ve sent this through email.”

Hyunsuk shrugged. “Yeah. But missing a chance to mess your office just a little bit?”

He placed the drink on Jihoon’s desk—Apple juice.

Jihoon didn’t touch it. Not yet. But he didn’t push it away either.

“Nice suit, by the way,” Hyunsuk added. “You always wear black?”

Jihoon didn’t miss a beat. "You always wear funny hat?"

"What's wrong with my hat?" Hyunsuk pulled it off and held it defensively.

"Can't you tone it down when you're in professional setting?" Jihoon raised up his criticism.

"Hey, don't be a fashion police." 

Jihoon sighed. “Don’t you have a studio to run?”

“Don’t you have a life to live?”

Jihoon looked up. Their eyes met.

For a second, silence.

Then Hyunsuk laughed. “I’ll let you get back to your cement palace. Just… give the track a listen. Tell your brother what you really think. He really cares about your opinion.”

He turned to leave, pausing just at the door.

“Oh, and Jihoon?”

Jihoon looked up again.

“I do tone it down for business. You’re just an exception.”

Hyunsuk winked, then walked out, leaving Jihoon alone with a USB, a cold apple juice, and a question he didn’t have time to answer.

Why did he feel… the urge to smile?

Jihoon didn’t mean to plug in the USB.

He told himself he was just going to lie to Jaehyuk, say something vaguely supportive and pretend that he liked the song. He had real work to do—drawing reviews, building permits, back-to-back meetings before five.

But the moment he sat down after lunch, he saw it sitting there. The USB. Purple casing with a gold flame sticker. Right next to the bottle of apple juice Hyunsuk left behind.

At 3:20 p.m., with ten minutes until his next meeting, Jihoon—against his better judgment—inserted the drive into his laptop.

The track was untitled.

Just “demo_JAEHYUK_final_Rev2_I SWEAR ITS FINAL.wav.”

Jihoon couldn't help but scoffed when he read the file's name. Of Course.

He clicked play.

For the first time he got a closer glimpse of Hyunsuk's works.

It felt strangely intimate. 

By the time his assistant buzzed him for the next meeting, Jihoon had already scribbled notes on a notepad—listing down the suggestions he had in mind while listening to the song. He wasn’t even sure when he picked up the pen.

That night, Jihoon texted Jaehyuk.

Tell your producer friend the demo needs a cleaner pre-chorus transition. I also think the second bridge feels empty. I'll send him my notes. He could do better than this, right?

Jaehyuk in disbelief. 

…you actually listened to it?

Hyung. Be honest. Did you just… get curious?

Jihoon didn’t answer.

He turned off the lamp in his study and leaned back in his chair, staring into the dark. The scribbled feedback still sat beside him. Next to the empty apple juice bottle.

Why did he listen?

Why did he care?

He never even interested in his brother's work before. Reviewing music had never been in his schedule. He could use his time to work on something else. It's not like he got nothing to do himself.

And yet there he was—half an hour spent analyzing a song for someone he barely knew. With the excuse of helping his brother. Someone who wore chaotic cardigans and said things like “vibe-dependent” without shame.

Jihoon shook his head.

It was a one-time exception.

He told himself that too many times since he met Hyunsuk.

But the notes stayed on his desk.

And when Jaehyuk sent back a photo of Hyunsuk reading them—brows raised, half-impressed, half-offended, pen in his mouth and without a miss, his weird hat covering his messy hair—Jihoon didn’t delete it.

Chapter Text

Jihoon didn’t believe in fate.

But the moment the governor personally requested his company to lead the theater restoration project—with an urgent deadline and a headline sponsor—he felt the beginning of a chaos.

A performing arts venue, of all things. A historic one, the biggest one in the city. Meaning limited remodeling, public interest, and an annoying need for aesthetic consultation.

Which he did not have time for.

So Jihoon dialed a number he had absolutely no reason to memorize.

Hyunsuk picked up on the fourth ring. “Yo.”

“I need you to do something for me.”

There was a beat of silence.

"Ooh...something naughty?" Hyunsuk teasing.

"Shut up. It's a serious job."

“…Is this a prank? The last time I remember you worked in construction. Why would you give a people who work in music studio like me a job?”

“I’m overseeing the remodeling of the national theater and concert hall,” Jihoon said, voice clipped. “They want to preserve the spirit of the original venue while modernizing the facilities. I need input from someone who understands ‘vibe’.”

“You called me for vibe?”

“You owe me.”

Hyunsuk laughed. “Because you gave me notes on a song of your brother?”

“No. Because you ambushed my office and Hijacked my time.” Jihoon’s voice dropped lower. “And because my brother thinks we’re friends now.”

“I see.” There was a grin in Hyunsuk’s voice. “So this is you needed my help.”

“This is debt collection.”

“You’re so romantic, Jihoon.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait—wait. I’m in. I love the old theaters halls. And chaos.”

Jihoon immediately get a headache. “This isn’t a playground. It’s a historical site with delicate structures and strict permits.”

“You don't think I already know about that? That theater is where I performed during my youth. I respect the place. I’ll wear clean shoes.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am not joking either."

There was a pause.

Then Jihoon added, “The stage has water damage. They want to keep the original wood if possible.”

“Oh,” Hyunsuk stopped joking and get serious. “That’s rare. Okay. I’ll bring someone from my sound team too—we might help with the acoustics planning.”

“You’re not getting paid,” Jihoon said, as if Hyunsuk asked for money.

“Wasn’t expecting to.”

Another pause.

“…You could’ve just said you wanted to see me again.”

Jihoon ended the call.

But his ears stayed warm for the next three minutes.

The site was chaos.

Dust, exposed beams, the occasional power tool screeching in the background. Jihoon had arrived early, as usual, in a crisp white shirt with sleeves rolled just enough to imply he might touch a blueprint himself.

By 9:03 am, Hyunsuk arrived. 3 minutes late. His earliest arrival yet.

Hyunsuk arrived at the site in linen pants, a cropped jacket, and glossy white sneakers.

Glossy.
White.
Sneakers.

Jihoon nearly choked on air when he saw him hop out of the car, sunglasses perched on his head like he was headed to a vogue photoshoot.

“Are you lost?” Jihoon asked flatly.

"What? I told you I wear clean shoes." Hyunsuk said, striking a little pose. “I dressed down for you.” 

“You’re not stepping onto that stage like that.” Jihoon gave the deadliest kind of disapproval. “You’re about to walk into an active construction site. You need a helmet and safety footwear.”

"Okay,” Hyunsuk waved a hand. “Hand me a helmet. Easy.”

Jihoon's assistant quickly bring the white helmet and the safety shoes for visitor. Big, ugly, yellow boots.

Hyunsuk stared at them like they’d been plucked from a horror film. “What are those?”

“Your new shoes,” Jihoon said flatly.

“They don’t even match my vibe.”

“You’re a liability like this.”

“You’re murdering my vibe.”

“You’re already made me lost few years of my life.”

Jihoon took the boots, dropped to one knee, and without warning, grabbed Hyunsuk’s ankle.

“Wha—hey!” Hyunsuk sputtered.

“You’re wasting time.”

“Don’t—I can wear my own shoes, thank you—”

Jihoon tugged off one of the white sneakers with frightening ease, slid a thick gray sock on, and started putting up the safety boot.

Hyunsuk was frozen.

Absolutely stunned.

Jihoon was… kneeling. Like it was nothing. Didn't care now his pants are dirty with dust from the ground.

“You—this—this is humiliating.”

“Then next time,” Jihoon said, completely calm, “follow the dress code.”

Hyunsuk didn’t respond. He just looked down at Jihoon’s focused expression, at his broad shoulders bent forward, and the way his hands worked so precisely—gentle, but sure.

Something twisted in his chest.

Jihoon finished putting the second boot and stood.

“Walk carefully,” he said. “We’ll be moving through the scaffolding.”

“…Okay,” Hyunsuk mumbled.

And as they walked—one in sleek black, the other clunking in construction boots—every worker they passed tried very hard not to stare.

Hyunsuk smiled to himself, face warm, trying very hard not to trip over his giant shoes.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Hyunsuk grinned, “you still haven’t kicked me out.”

Jihoon stood, brushing his hands off with clinical detachment. “Because this theater isn’t going to survive your fashion choices. Come on. The main support beam needs acoustic consideration.”

“Look at you, talking dirty to me with architectural terms.”

Jihoon didn’t respond.

But he walked a little slower—just enough for Hyunsuk to catch up.

And Hyunsuk noticed.

They walked into the theater’s main hall, where the major renovation will take place. The old seats had been removed few days ago, and the stage was sealed off with warning tape, wood planks stripped to their bones.

Jihoon pointed to the exposed support structure above. “They want better sound without compromising the original acoustics. Impossible, almost. Unless you know what you’re doing.”

Hyunsuk took few steps forward, stretching his neck, eyes scanning the structure Jihoon pointed earlier. His mouth pouted.

He didn’t speak for a while.

Which, for Hyunsuk, was rare.

“You ever stand on this stage?” he asked softly.

Jihoon looked up from his tablet. “No.”

Hyunsuk stepped onto the broken stage, arms slightly out like balancing on a tightrope. Then, he clapped once—sharp. The sound echoed unevenly and oddly flat for such a tall space.

“Dead corners,” he muttered. “Do you see these rafters? they’re angled weirdly. They trap the high frequencies and dump the lows. Probably a design flaw.”

He then snapped his fingers. Once. Twice. Strangely made Jihoon couldn’t took his eyes away from him.

 “Too much bounce from the back wall. You will need acoustic paneling behind those curtains.“

Jihoon blinked. “You got all that from a clap and few finger snaps?”

“Sound’s like light,” Hyunsuk said, turning back to him. “It reflects, bounces, disappears. You just have to know where to listen.”

Hyunsuk started to sketch something on his tablet. He looked around the stage once again. Took some pictures and scribble something on his notes.

Jihoon stared at him.

He hadn’t spoken for a full twenty seconds.

Which, by Jihoon’s standards, was a speech.

“I sent you my suggestion. Open it.” Hyunsuk gestured Jihoon to open his tablet. Hyunsuk just air-dropped something.

“…That’s actually a viable solution,” Jihoon said after studying Hyunsuk’s plan.

Hyunsuk smirked again. “Don’t look so shocked. I do more than create a mess and make synth drops cry.”

Jihoon turned back to his tablet. “I’m not shocked.”

“You’re impressed.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re saying you’re not,” Hyunsuk said, hopping down from the stage. “But I saw it. That little eyebrow lift. You respect me now.”

Jihoon exhaled. “Don’t make this weird.”

“Too late,” Hyunsuk sang.

They walked the perimeter again—Jihoon making notes, Hyunsuk pointing out structural quirks with surprising accuracy.

And though Jihoon didn’t say it aloud, he’d already revised his mental blueprint.

The new plan?

Included Hyunsuk.

Chapter Text

It was one of those stupid, hallmarks movie-level moments, which Hyunsuk used to believe could never happen in real life.

One second everything was fine. Jihoon now took Hyunsuk to tour the rest of the theater hall since he got curious.

The next, his foot slipped off the edge.

“Whoa—!”

Jihoon turned just in time.

He grabbed Hyunsuk’s wrist before he could fall, pulling him close—too close—until Hyunsuk collided against his chest with a muffled thud.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved.

The workers nearby gasped, then all subtly turned away, but Hyunsuk now that they all saw what just happened.

Jihoon’s arm stayed firm around Hyunsuk’s waist.

“You okay?”

Hyunsuk looked up, startled. “Y-Yeah. I just—these boots. I told you they killed my vibe.”

“They’re literally here to prevent you from dying.”

“Yeah, well, I almost died from embarrassment.”

Jihoon didn’t let go. He didn’t even budge.

Instead, he adjusted his grip until their fingers were intertwined, and said, very matter-of-fact:

“I’m holding your hand until we get back to the car.”

Hyunsuk stared. “That’s unnecessary.”

“The site will be close if an accident happened.” Jihoon answered flatly.

“I’m not gonna fall again.”

“You don’t even understand the basic safety warnings.”

Hyunsuk tried to pull away—but Jihoon’s hand tightened slightly, firm but not forceful.

“I’m not letting go.”

So Hyunsuk went quiet. Mostly because his heart was hammering in his throat like it had found a drum set. And maybe also because Jihoon’s palm was really, really warm.

They toured the whole site like that.

People stared. No one said a word.

At one point, Hyunsuk could swear all the workers stop working for a good 30 seconds and stared at them walking side by side holding hands.

By the time they returned to the car, Jihoon opened the door for Hyunsuk, who awkwardly climbed in. Jihoon slid in beside him.

Still holding hands.

"Let's go, Mr. Yang." Jihoon ordered his driver to go.

The silence stretched.

Then—softly:

“Hey, Jihoon?”

“Hm?”

”You don’t have to take me home. I could call my driver to pick me up.” Hyunsuk said.

“No need to waste more energy. We are going the same direction anyway.” Jihoon answered.

”And also…”

”What now?”

Hyunsuk wiggled their still-joined hands slightly.

“You’re… still doing it.”

Jihoon looked down at their hands, then at Hyunsuk, who looked flushed and adorably disgruntled.

“So?”

“We’re not on the site anymore. I won’t fall here on your car.” 

Jihoon simply looked ahead,  and said:

“Yeah. But now you’re stuck with me.”

Hyunsuk looked out the window to hide the dumb smile growing on his face. He swore he could see the driver's laughing at them too.

After the site visit, Jihoon drove them to a small, quiet restaurant tucked behind the theater. It wasn’t anything fancy—a warm and familiar family restaurant—but it had the kind of comfort that made the tiredness from the day gone just like that.

Hyunsuk collapsed into the booth with a dramatic sigh.

“My feet is hurt from that boots. I’ve aged twenty years.”

Jihoon slid in across from him, deadpan. “Because you wore the wrong shoes to a construction site.”

“Because you gave me an ugly boots,” Hyunsuk corrected. “I was tricked into a lifestyle I didn’t choose.”

Jihoon ignored him and flagged the waiter.

Soon enough, their table was filled with sizzling meats, side dishes, and steam rising off bowls of rice.

They ate quietly for a while.

At some point, Jihoon refilled Hyunsuk’s water glass without looking.

At another point, he picked out a bone from Hyunsuk’s cut and passed it back.

When Hyunsuk sneezed, Jihoon handed over a packet of tissues before he even finished.

Hyunsuk stared at the tissue.

Then he slowly grinned.

“You’re so oddly nice today. Did I hit my head earlier or this is your way to say thank you?”

Jihoon blinked, chopsticks mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“You literally princess-handled my shoes, held my hand like I was your runaway bride, opened the car door—”

“You were falling.”

“—and now you’re peeling meat for me like I’m don't have a hand myself. What’s next? Tying my bib?”

Jihoon sighed and dropped a lettuce wrap on Hyunsuk’s plate.

“Eat.”

“Yes, Husband,” Hyunsuk said, batting his lashes.

Jihoon coughed—once, sharply—and looked away. His ears, if you squinted, had turned a little red.

Hyunsuk took a bite, chewed happily, then said more quietly:

“…But really. Thanks for today.”

Jihoon looked back at him.

“For the shoes,” Hyunsuk continued, “the saving-my-life part, the hand-holding. Even though you act like a grump, you’re kind when it counts.”

Jihoon picked up a piece of grilled garlic and set it on Hyunsuk’s rice.

“You’re useful when it counts. Still reckless, but useful.”

Hyunsuk grinned.

“So what you’re saying is—we balance each other out?”

Jihoon didn’t answer. But he didn’t deny it either.

And for the first time in a long while, Hyunsuk felt something gentle settle in his chest—quiet and steady.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t just bickering anymore.

Chapter Text

Lunch at Impersia Gallery this Sunday. I invited someone you should meet. He’s smart, good looking, from a very good family. Don’t be late.

Jihoon stared at his phone like it personally offended him. It’s that time of the month again.

He made a call immediately.

“Mom,” he said as soon as she picked up. “Cancel it.”

She wouldn’t just accept Jihoon’s request. “He worked at the City Hall. You’ll get help a lot from him. There is nothing wrong with making a new friend.”

“I can’t come.”

“You said that the last three times.”

Jihoon paced the length of his office, scowling at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. “I’m busy. When will you stop disturbing me?”

“Then bring my future in law, I promise I won't disturb you after.” she said, with heavy sarcasm. “Oh, wait. You don’t have one.”

It just slipped out.

Jihoon didn’t even mean to say it.

“I do.”

Silence. 

“You what?” His mother unsure what she just heard.

Jihoon squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Who?!”

Pause. Panic. Instinct.

“…Hyunsuk.”

Another silence. Jihoon Immediately regret it.

A dangerous one.

“The agency CEO?”

“Yeah. He’s also the creative director and the producer,” Jihoon muttered. He wish he could take all back.

“You’re dating Jaehyuk’s boss?”

“Technically,” he said, stretching the truth into the next galaxy, “we’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

His mother let out a long hum. “Well, then. Bring him.”

Click.

Jihoon stared at the phone.

Then bolted out of his office.

Hyunsuk was halfway through recording vocal takes when the door flung open.

“Hyunsuk.”

He jumped. “Hey, you can’t just barge into people’s studios like that, man—wait, are you okay? You look like someone set fire to your power point presentation.”

Jihoon didn’t even sit down.

“I need you to go on a date with me.”

Hyunsuk blinked.

Then smiled way too wide. “Excuse me?”

“My mother set me up again,” Jihoon said, pacing like a man possessed. “I panicked. I told her I was already dating someone.”

“And you picked me?”

“You were the first name that came to mind.”

“Aw. I’m honored.” Hyunsuk leaned back in his chair, looking delightfully smug. "I wonder why."

“I’m not asking you to actually date me,” Jihoon said, with face still as flat as ever. “Just pretend. One lunch. Say some nice things. I’ll owe you.”

“Oh, you already owe me. In emotional damages.”

“Hyunsuk.”

“What do I get in return?”

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

Hyunsuk grinned. “There’s this Batman figurines I’ve been eyeing for a while. But it’s only available in Hongkong.”

”Deal. I’ll send it to your front door.”

And I want to pick your outfit.” Hyunsuk added.

“No.”

“Then no fake date.”

“…Fine.” Jihoon sighed.

Hyunsuk clapped his hands. “This is going to be so fun. What’s the dress code? Should we match? Are we holding hands? Or maybe a kiss?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Oh, I’m going to push everything, Jihoon. You asked for this.” Hyunsuk grinned.

Jihoon felt like his head is about to explode.

But he didn’t walk away.

Jihoon never really shopping for himself. He has people for that. In fact, he has people for everything. He could’ve easily hired someone to play the part of a fake date instead of dragging Hyunsuk into this mess.

But no. His mother was too sharp. You couldn’t easily fool a woman who’s known you since you were a screaming tomato in a hospital blanket. She’d run a background check without blinking and figure it out in seconds if Jihoon hired someone.

Choosing Hyunsuk—someone she already knew, someone she wouldn’t question—was the safest option if he wanted to keep her from getting suspicious.

That's what Jihoon told himself.

Jihoon wasn’t a stranger to high-end clothing, but shopping with Hyunsuk felt like willingly stepping into a fashion ambush. “I changed my mind. I’ll just tell her we broke up. Or maybe you died.”

“You would wish death on me instead of admitting you need help dressing yourself.” Hyunsuk hung the hanger on his hands as he started circling around the store pulling out options. 

“You’re not choosing anything purple,” Jihoon said as they passed a mannequin in a lavender suit.

“Correction: you’re not choosing anything. I am.” Hyunsuk tugged him toward a display with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated stylist. “And purple happens to be my favorite color. So yes, I’m absolutely putting you in it.”

Jihoon blinked. “Oh, we're sharing favorites now?”

Hyunsuk picked up more items than he could carry. “Yeah. Just accept your fate.”

“I still refuse to wear Barney’s funeral suit.” Without a word, Jihoon reached over and took the pile from Hyunsuk, freeing him from the struggle.

Hyunsuk rolled his eyes and started to pick more items into his arms. “Fine! But you need to put something purple even if it's just the tie because this lunch is half about impressing your mom, and half about letting me have fun. It’s been a long time since I’ve dated anyone. Let me live.”

Jihoon hesitated. That last part caught him off guard.

“You haven’t dated in a while?” he asked, tone casual—too casual.

"Yes." Hyunsuk answered nonchalantly. He turned toward another rack, “I’ve been busy. Running an agency doesn’t exactly scream work-life balance.”

Jihoon followed him, curiosity inching closer despite himself. “So you’ve been… completely single?”

Hyunsuk chuckled. “Why? You worried I might be bad at pretending?”

“No,” Jihoon said too quickly. “Just surprised. You seem like the type who always has someone. I mean, you're so attract-”

Jihoon stopped. In disbelief he almost say something that he shouldn't.

Hyunsuk heard it and laughed it off. “Well, I don’t,”

Jihoon glanced at him, then looked away. “Not that I care. Just… curious. Professionally.”

Hyunsuk snorted. “Professionally?”

“I need to know what kind of backstory we’re selling, right?”

“Oh, so now you care about authenticity.”

“I care about not getting blackmailed at family events.”

Hyunsuk handed him everything he choose. “Then wear this. Look devastating. Make my tragic, workaholic dry spell look worth it.”

Jihoon took everything, eyes lingering on Hyunsuk a beat longer than necessary.

“Fine." Jihoon rolled his eyes and headed toward the fitting room.

But inside the quiet space, as he slipped into everything Hyunsuk choose for him, Jihoon couldn’t figure out why he didn’t hate this—even a little.

The restaurant was his mother's favorite. High ceiling, sleek marble and painfully quiet—every sound reverberated like it was being judged.

Jihoon arrived exactly at 12:00 p.m., suit pressed, jaw tense, still in disbelief that he get caught in all this mess.

Including lying to his mother.

And especially dragging Hyunsuk into it.

He scanned the room—and there she was. Impeccably dressed, sipping tea like a CEO of every social event in the city. Next to her was an empty seat.

And across her—an even emptier one.

Where Hyunsuk was supposed to be.

Jihoon checked his watch. 12:01.

“Late,” his mother said without looking up.

“He’ll be here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If he exists.”

And that’s when the doors opened.

And in strolled Hyunsuk.

Wearing a shirt the same color as Jihoon's tie, sleeves rolled to the elbow, just one silver earing on his left ear, awfully plain for his usual looks, yet somehow, he still stood out like a burst of color in Jihoon’s otherwise monochrome world.

“Sorry I’m late,” Hyunsuk said brightly, sliding into the empty seat. “I step out on the wrong floor earlier.”

Jihoon stared at him like a warning light. Afraid that Hyunsuk will say something out of line.

“And you must be Jihoon’s mother,” he said, reaching out to shake her hand. “He told me you’re the only person scarier than his project cash flow reports.”

Jihoon nearly choked on air.

His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Did he?”

“He says it fondly,” Hyunsuk added, eyes twinkling. “In a traumatized sort of way.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

The waiter arrived to take orders, and Hyunsuk pointed at the menu without even looking. “I’ll have whatever he’s having. Jihoon makes terrifyingly good decisions.”

Jihoon muttered, “I regret this already.”

But his mother? She was intrigued.

“So,” she said, sipping her drink. “How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Three months,” Hyunsuk answered smoothly.

His mother narrowed her eyes again. “And how did you meet?”

“At an art exhibition,” Hyunsuk said. “He hated the music. I told him he should take a chill pill. It was love at first fight.”

Jihoon rubbed a hand down his face.

His mother was silent for a long moment, then let out a soft, reluctant chuckle. “He needs someone who’ll argue with him. He’s been on his high horse for far too long.”

“Oh, I do that professionally.”

By the time dessert came, she was smiling. Not a big one—but a rare, dangerous smile that made Jihoon nervous.

“You’re a mess,” she said to Hyunsuk. “In a good way. I could tell you're smart. You might be what my son needs.”

Hyunsuk winked. “He’s growing on me too.”

Jihoon glared at Hyunsuk. “Stop encouraging her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Hyunsuk said, voice softer this time. “You are growing on me.”

Jihoon stared at him.

Too long. He lost for words.

His mother was still watching. But for the first time, Jihoon didn’t feel the need to worry about how he looked.

Chapter Text

Hyunsuk stared at the Batman figurines that standing in his studio.

"I can't believe he really bought me one." Hyunsuk couldn't help but smile.

It had been a week since their fake date. Hyunsuk hadn’t heard a word from him since.

Well, it's not like they keep contacting each other on the daily. But Hyunsuk was hoping that Jihoon was gonna delivered the figurine himself. Maybe over coffee? 

So Hyunsuk texted him,

The figurine is here.

I guess you're too busy for hand-delivering toys, huh?

Anyway, thank you. Guess I'm just gonna hang out with the Batman for now.

Suddenly, the door to the studio creaked open.

"What the hell is that?" A familiar voice entering the studio.

"Oh. My new support system." Hyunsuk couldn't help but grinned.

"You looked suspiciously happy...." Jaehyuk raised his eyebrows.

"I'm always happy when I got a new toy."

"Like a child."

"Shut up!" Hyunsuk tossed the lyrics sheets on his hand to Jaehyuk.

Jaehyuk quickly caught it and started to take a look on it. This is his recording day and Hyunsuk supposed to give him a new song today.

"So..." Jaehyuk flipped through the pages, "I guess things with my brother going well?"

"Hahaha what do you mean?" Hyunsuk laughed nervously.

"Everything written here is basically a love song." Jaehyuk gave the biggest grinned.

"Well-" Hyunsuk murmured. "I just think that will be the best concept for your debut album. You know, who doesn't like a catchy, happy love song?"

"Right."

“Can we just start working now?” Hyunsuk blurted, shoving him toward the recording booth.

His face was starting to turn red.

"Fine. Fine."

Thankfully, Jaehyuk gave up easily and not attacking him with more questions.

The messages from Hyunsuk went unanswered.

People liked to say Jihoon was good at everything—calm, competent, the dependable eldest son who never made mistakes. He wore the title like a tailored suit.

But he knew, he had never been good at feelings. Not his own, anyway.

He always said that this is a one time thing. This is an exception.

But he said that for too many times now. He get involved with him longer than he liked to admit.

That fake date feels like a wake up call for Jihoon.

How could a so-called fake date feel more genuine than anything Jihoon had ever experienced?

Hyunsuk made it look too real. Like he belonged there—at his side, in his life, in that seat next to him.

He started to feel things. Feelings he never thought he was capable of.

Jihoon was used to keep things in control, scheduled, and organized.

Hyunsuk was none of this things.

That was the first mistake.

So he pulled away.

Jihoon kept the messages from Hyunsuk unanswered.

Even after Hyunsuk checking up on him for days after the first message.

No matter how much he wanted to reply it as fast as he could. 

Because the truth had started to settle in his chest like weight.

And the truth meant opening doors Jihoon had kept locked for years. It meant vulnerability. Mess. Risk.

They didn’t belong in the same life. That's what he wanted to belief.

He repeated that to himself as the silence grew louder.

At first, Hyunsuk thought Jihoon was just busy.

He gave Jihoon the benefit of the doubt

He sent a joke, a gif, even try to call once. But nothing came back. Not even the usual angry message about how annoying Hyunsuk is.

So Hyunsuk took the hint.

He sat alone in his office, scrolling through their old texts.

Hyunsuk thought they had something going on between them. Jihoon had never been the type to say what he meant, but he had meant something.

And for a while, Hyunsuk let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t imagining it.

But people don’t ghost you when they want to stay.

They ghost you when they’re afraid to tell the truth.

"Hyung, I hate seeing you like this." Jaehyuk brought a black coffee for him.

Hyunsuk smiled bitterly.

"Should I smack some sense into him? Maybe I need to hit him in the head so he would answer your text."

"Don't-" Hyunsuk raised his voice for no reason. "Don't say anything to him."

Hyunsuk didn't want someone else to meddle between the two of them.

If Jihoon wanted to text him back it should be coming for himself.

"Maybe he's just too busy. I also almost couldn't get hold of him lately." Jaehyuk tried to cheer Hyunsuk up. 

But it didn't work. 

Hyunsuk knew Jihoon is avoding him.

He leaned back in his chair, phone on his chest, unread message thread still open. It wasn’t anger he felt—it was something quieter.

Disappointment. Resignation.

He’d known people like Jihoon before. Closed off. Terrified of closeness until they ruined it just to prove themselves right.

And yet, he expected Jihoon to be different.

He wished Jihoon was different.

“Guess I overestimated you,” he muttered to the ceiling.

And that was it.

He went back to work. To being the guy with too many mess in his hand and not enough hours in the day. To the studio. To interviews. To parties where people smiled too easily and said all the right things but meant none of them.

Someone asked him at an event if he was seeing anyone.

“No,” he said, smiling like it didn’t sting. “Just focused on work.”

It wasn’t a lie.

But it wasn’t the truth either.

He still thought of Jihoon sometimes. Still caught himself imagining what might’ve happened if Jihoon hadn’t run. If they’d had one more lunch. One real date.

One honest conversation.

Hyunsuk wished he’d been more honest with him. Less teasing—fewer arguments for the sake of hiding how much he cared.

Maybe if he had said it first—out loud, without the jokes —Jihoon wouldn’t have been so afraid to say it back.

But those were just thoughts. Nothing more.

He didn't block Jihoon.

He just never sent another message.

And Jihoon never replied to the last one.

Chapter Text

The invitation sat on Hyunsuk’s desk, in mint condition and untouched.

A blue velvet envelope with gold embossing. The perfect description for elegant, extravagant, excessive. Fitting, he thought, for the grand reopening of the City Theater Hall.

It had come with a personal note from the mayor, thanking him for his help during “the Cinderella boots on site” accident, as people liked to call it now. It had gone viral amongst the site worker even the Major himself hear the story. The city loved a dramatic rescue, especially when it looked like a choreographed dance.

Funny how it became an event, people still connect him with Jihoon.

"You'll come to this?" Jaehyuk asked when he saw the envelope on Hyunsuk's desk.

"I don't really feel like coming..." Hyunsuk sighed. "But the Mayor invites me personally. It'd be rude not to show up."

"Why didn’t you want to come? You’ve always loved supporting the arts—you never miss an opening like this." He followed up with another question.

“It’s just… I’ve got an early flight the next morning. My stamina hasn’t been great lately,” Hyunsuk admitted. “I might drop by for a bit, say hi to the Mayor, then head out.”

Jaehyuk let out a breath of relief. “Good. I was worried you were skipping it because of my jerk brother.”

Hyunsuk chuckled softly.

Jaehyuk has been feeling guilty for a while because Hyunsuk and Jihoon didn't work out.

Jaehyuk leaned forward. “Seriously—don’t let him be a reason for anything. He’s not worth getting in the way of your work.”

Of course Jihoon would be there. Of course he would.

Hyunsuk didn't think about it before since they hadn’t spoken in a month.

Not since… well, whatever that was. The silence with too many meanings. The rejection.

He didn’t hold grudges. People come and go. That was just life.

Jihoon was just another person passing through.

Right?

Right?

The theater was glowing that night. Lights strung like stars across the ceiling, the red carpet rolled out ready to welcome all the honorable guests. Hyunsuk arrived fashionably late, just enough to avoid the photographers but not the tension coiled in his chest.

He wasn’t looking for Jihoon. Not really.

But he found him anyway.

Near the grand staircase, Jihoon stood in his favorite kind of suit, a black one, stoic as ever, his gaze sweeping over the crowd like he was searching for something. Or someone.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second, everything stopped.

No fireworks. No cinematic music swell. Just that cold, quiet recognition of someone who used to know your heart.

They walked toward each other, almost instinctively, then paused when they were only a step apart.

Jihoon gave a small nod.

Hyunsuk nodded back.

Jihoon’s lips moved—Sorry.

Hyunsuk just shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Like it never did.

And then they passed each other.

As if that was all they were ever meant to be—two people with who can figure out everything but each other.

Hyunsuk had barely made it to the refreshment table, sipping champagne he didn’t want, when he heard his name.

“Hyunsuk! Jihoon!”

The mayor’s voice cut through the chatter like a spotlight.

Hyunsuk turned. Jihoon, a few meters away, did the same.

Of course. Of course this would happen.

Hyunsuk should have known that this won't be a peaceful night for him.

The mayor stood between them, beaming, one hand on each of their backs like they were prized guests. “I was just telling the deputy how lucky we are to have the two of you here tonight. Such talented young men.”

Jihoon’s expression barely changed. Hyunsuk forced a polite smile.

“So,” the mayor continued, clearly delighted with himself, “are you two good friends?”

A beat of silence.

Hyunsuk’s gaze flicked to Jihoon. Jihoon looked at the mayor, then at Hyunsuk, then away again.

“We know each other,” Jihoon said calmly.

Hyunsuk laughed, short and dry. “That’s one way to put it.”

The mayor chuckled, oblivious. “Well, I hope you two catch up tonight. You make a great pair—both so serious, but with such different energy! Like fire and ice.”

Jihoon’s jaw tensed. Hyunsuk tilted his head, raising his glass slightly. “More like fire and a locked door.”

The mayor blinked. “Ah… metaphors. Artists! Always so poetic.”

Jihoon nodded politely, but said nothing. The mayor was already drifting toward someone else, leaving behind a silence louder than the music playing overhead.

Hyunsuk sighed, finished the rest of his drink in one go, and turned to leave.

Jihoon’s voice stopped him. Quiet, careful.

“Hyunsuk—”

He didn’t turn around.

“What?”

A pause.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Hyunsuk finally looked back, eyes unreadable. Then he lied. “Yeah. That makes two of us.”

Hyunsuk told himself he didn’t hold grudges.

People leave. That’s life. It's not the first time something that felt like love slipped through his fingers.

He had said that. Believed it.

But standing there pretending to smile with a champagne on his hand, the aftertaste of Jihoon’s presence thick in the back of his throat, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Because right now?

Hyunsuk was pissed.

And he didn’t know why. Not really. Maybe it was Jihoon’s calmness. His stoic expression that didn't change at all. The quiet sorry with no explanation. The nod like nothing had happened. Like Hyunsuk hadn’t spent weeks trying to forget the time they have spent together. Trying to remember what his life was like before someone came along—nagging him over every little thing, yet somehow always patient with him.

Maybe it was the mayor’s comment, dumb and cheerful—“You make a great pair”—as if the universe hadn’t already played that cruel joke.

Or maybe it was the fact that Hyunsuk’s chest suddenly felt too tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the theater to keep him standing upright.

He didn’t cry in public. That was a rule. A solid one.

Hyunsuk might seems like a guy who never follow a rule, but no man on this earth will ever make him betray that one rule for himself.

Not even Jihoon.

So he left.

Not dramatically. Just slipped out, silent as a shadow, weaving past people with practiced ease until he was pushing open the side exit, stepping into the cool night air.

His hands were shaking.

He shoved them into his coat pockets.

What he didn’t know—what he couldn’t see—was the pair of eyes that had been following him all night. Watching from across the theater hall. From the reflection in a glass. From behind polite conversations and forced smiles.

Jihoon hadn’t said much. But he had never looked away.

Not even now, as Hyunsuk disappeared into the dark.

Chapter Text

Jihoon woke up feeling... off.

The party last night felt like a blur.

He didn’t remember who he talked with. What he talked about.

What he drank. What he ate.

Everything after Hyunsuk walked out of the theater just folded into noise and color and alcohol.

Not sick. Not tired. Just unsettled. Something inside him had been knocked slightly out of place.

Sunlight leaked in through the curtains of his bedroom, far too bright for how he felt. His room was quiet. Too quiet. 

His phone keep on buzzing since this morning. Work message. No unread messages from a certain person who used to send three in a row just to make sure the notification went through.

He hadn’t texted Hyunsuk.

He hadn’t called.

He told himself he was doing the right thing, creating distance.

Protecting himself from a chaos and mess called relationship. Protecting Hyunsuk from the confusion and complication that Jihoon still hadn’t sorted out in his own chest.

Jihoon wasn’t someone who jumped blindly. He liked plans, frameworks, decisions that made sense. And whatever this thing between them had been, it didn’t feel like it had structure. It felt... alive. Unpredictable.

But now, sitting in his own house, in his own bed, Jihoon was starting to wonder if all the structure in the world was worth waking up like this.

He kept thinking about Hyunsuk’s face last night at the theater hall. The way he smiled—timid, his jaw tightened, like it hurt a little.

Jihoon had never seen that expression before. Not on him.

Hyunsuk usually smiled like the sun had finally arrived. Bright and full, like he didn’t care who was watching. His laughter was crisp—sharp around the edges, sometimes too loud, always real.

But last night?

That wasn’t a real smile. That wasn’t his smile.

Jihoon wanted to say something more than a sorry but he stopped himself. Jihoon had walked away. In uncertainty.

And now, that uncertainty was eating his brain out bit by bit.

He pulled himself out of bed, mechanically going through the motions of his morning. Shower. Morning Shot. Suit. Everything sharp and in order. But none of it felt real. None of it settled the noise in his head.

He glanced at his phone once. Just once.

He thought about sending a message. Something neutral. Casual. "Hope your day is going well." 

But then what? What even were they now?

They weren’t friends before any of this. Not really. And now? They couldn’t exactly pretend to be friends after everything.

So every message he wanted to send sounded wrong. Too cold. Too eager. Too late.

So he didn’t send anything.

The next morning, his mother called. Lunch at home. He accepted without thinking. The more Jihoon avoided to meet his mother, the more she will nag him. And he didn’t want that.

The moment he stepped into the house, Jaehyuk was already there, peeling an orange like he had nothing better to do in the world. Looking annoyingly cheerful next to his mother like he usually would.

“You look pale. Are you eating properly?” his mother began to nag. “If you’re sick, call the doctor and have them visit. A CEO should take care of himself—how else can he take care of the company?”

Jihoon mumbled his usual assurances and followed her into the dining room.

Halfway through lunch, between bites of grilled fish and kimchi, his mother spoke without looking up:

"Let’s invite Hyunsuk for dinner this weekend. I haven’t seen him since last time you introduced me."

Jihoon froze.

His chopsticks hovered midair. His heart, which had been unbothered by the spicy radish soup or the predictable chatter until now, did a strange little lurch.

"I can’t," he said, maybe a little too quickly.

His mother glanced up. "Why not? Is Hyunsuk busy?"

Jihoon opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Then Jaehyuk jumped in, his voice infuriatingly casual. "He’s not busy. He just doesn’t want to see Jihoon hyung anymore."

Silence fell across the table.

Their mother blinked. "What?"

Jihoon still can’t see his mother in the eye.

”Are you two fighting?” His mother continued. “Come on, Jihoon. You two are an adult. Just be a bigger person. Apologize and talk it out.”

Jaehyuk kept peeling his orange, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of family lunch. "They broke up.”

Jihoon didn’t look up. He wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or curse his brother for going along with the lie, that he was dating Hyunsuk, just to keep up appearances in front of their mother.

He knew his little brother is not on his side and blame him for hurting his beloved Producer so he threw him under the bus in front of their mother.

His mother stared. "You broke up? And you didn’t say anything?"

He gave a vague shake of his head. Not quite a confirmation. Not quite a denial.

”You didn’t even last 6 months with Hyunsuk?” his mother sounded disappointed . “I thought you finally found someone who could keep up with your antics.”

"It’s fine though," Jaehyuk continued, popping a slice of orange into his mouth. "Hyunsuk’s already seeing someone new. I think he’s a producer too. Real sunshine energy. Very different from our Jihoon hyung.”

Jihoon flinched internally.

It was probably a lie. Jaehyuk was always exaggerating. Always poking.

But the image still formed. Too easily.

Hyunsuk, smiling. Leaning close to someone else. Laughing in the way he used to laugh when teasing Jihoon about his all-black wardrobe or the way he lined up his pens.

"Well," their mother sighed, clearly disappointed but not surprised. "I’m not shocked. Hyunsuk always seemed like a fun person. People like that don’t stay single for long."

Jihoon felt the words settle deep in his chest.

Not sharp. Not cutting.

Just heavy.

He picked at his food in silence. The grilled fish was perfectly done. The side dishes were his favorites. The conversation had moved on.

But all Jihoon could think about was how it had taken one sentence—he doesn’t want to see Jihoon anymore—to make his pulse spike like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

And maybe he had.

He had walked away.

He had left.

And now, maybe he is too late to go back.

Chapter Text

Ever since the Mayor took office, he’d increased funding for public arts programs, launched grants for young creatives, and, most noticeably, begun revitalizing cultural facilities that had sat ignored for years.

Libraries, studios, theaters, even abandoned school halls were suddenly getting a second life. And Hyunsuk—thanks to the wildly successful reopening of the renovated municipal theater—was now caught in the middle of it.

In the weeks following the event, his inbox exploded. Proposals. Invitations. Collaborations. Everyone wanted a piece of the man who’d “breathed life back into the city’s heart,” as one headline put it.

And many of those projects?

They were under Jihoon’s company.

Somehow, people think they are a package deal now.

For two people not speaking again, Jihoon and Hyunsuk were suddenly seeing a lot of each other.

Neither of them wanted to be there.

But neither of them could leave.

Hyunsuk had considered it—rejecting the offer he got. There were plenty of excuses he could use: scheduling conflicts, overlapping commitments, burnout.

All technically true. He never even consider a career in consultation in the first place.

But every time he sat down to write the email, he’d stop.

Because despite all the chaos—despite Jihoon and the walking icebox of unresolved emotions—he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from it.

Inspiring and supporting youth in art was the kind of project he believed in.

Spaces like this didn’t exist when he was a kid. No one had told him back then that his chaos could be called creativity.

No one had handed him a keyboard or a paintbrush or even a pen to write. He had clawed his way into the arts world with duct tape, luck, and pure stubbornness.

If this project gave even one teenager a head start, it would be worth it.

Even if it meant working side-by-side with a man who once made him laugh just by raising an eyebrow—and now wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

Jihoon, on the other hand, definitely wanted out.

Every email exchange was an exercise in self-control. Every design meeting a minefield of awkward tension and buried looks. He hadn’t spoken a full sentence to Hyunsuk outside work terms in weeks.

They only talked through email or Slack. And it's alway in the team's chat group. Never personal.

But he couldn't walk away either.

Because his mother would kill him.

Not literally—but close enough.

The Mayor adored Hyunsuk. He always praise him during project meetings—calling him "a visionary,"  and "art genius".

Which was true, Jihoon supposed.

Jihoon's mother, who sat on two city development boards and wielded political influence like a wine glass, was very aware of that.

And all she seemed to understand now was this: her son had fumbled a golden opportunity to stay in the Mayor’s favor… by breaking up with the Mayor’s favorite.

“You could’ve given me a useful son-in-law,” she had said, half joking, but also very serious. “But no. You had to scare off the one person who actually made you interesting at family dinners.”

She could have a useful son in law, is what she said.

Jihoon couldn't make this worse by not taking the project the city gave him. So Jihoon stayed.

To make thing worse, the Mayor had decided to send a select group of city representatives to an international arts conference in Las Vegas. A chance to showcase the city's bold vision. A perfect opportunity for partnership, press, and profile.

Subject: Cultural Exchange Delegation – Las Vegas

Delegation list:
Park Jihoon – Lead Project Consultant
Choi Hyunsuk – Creative Director

Of course.

Jihoon's phone buzzed.

Hyunsuk must have read the email too because Jaehyuk just send Jihoon a message.

You’re going to Vegas with your ex. This is your punishment from God.

Ex? It's better if they were Ex.

They never be something but just like that they turned into nothing.

And so, ten days later, Jihoon found himself at the same hotel with Hyunsuk, standing awkwardly in matching government-issued lanyards.

Three days passed faster than he expected.

Panels, workshops, tours, networking dinners. Hyunsuk found himself talking with curators from Madrid, lighting designers from Montreal, producers form Los Angeles, choreographer from Japan. It was the kind of creative chaos he thrived in.

Even better: he didn’t have to take the same flight as Jihoon.

Some miracle of scheduling had split their travel itineraries, and Hyunsuk had never been so grateful for bureaucracy.

Yes, they were both part of the delegation. Technically on the same team. But the event was massive. Between back-to-back sessions and being pulled into different circles of artists, planners, architects, and city officials from all over the world, their paths barely crossed.

A polite nod here. A stiff greeting there. Maybe once or twice, they stood on opposite sides of the same reception room, pretending not to notice each other.

It was professional.

It was distant.

It was... safe.

And Hyunsuk hated how relieved he was about that.

But he could never avoid Jihoon forever since they stayed in the same hotel.

At the last night in Vegas, Hyunsuk wandered into the bar downstairs, needing something strong and quiet, only to freeze halfway to the counter.

Because there, at the far end of the bar, nursing a neat whiskey like he owned the place, was Jihoon.

Dressed down in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, eyes catching the dim light like they were made for it.

Hyunsuk faltered.

Jihoon looked up.

Their eyes locked.

Last day here and they had to meet…

Jihoon’s brows lifted slightly. Surprise. Maybe hesitation.

Hyunsuk let out a breath through his nose and muttered to himself, Of course.

He turned, considering escape.

“Leaving already?” Jihoon’s voice cut through the low music, smooth and calm like they were just two acquaintances who hadn’t seen each other since brunch.

Hyunsuk turned back slowly. “Didn’t think this hotel bar was your vibe.”

Jihoon’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Hyunsuk said dryly, pulling out the stool next to him like the universe hadn’t just smacked him in the face with unresolved feelings and a free cocktail of anxiety.

Jihoon gestured to the bartender. “Still a wine guy?”

Hyunsuk paused, eyes narrowing. “Still pretending you remember the little things?”

Jihoon didn’t answer.

Instead, he just ordered two drinks.

And for a moment, neither of them moved. The music played.

But at the bar, time pressed pause.

Two drinks between them.

Two people pretending they didn’t feel the pull.

The second wine glass turned into a third.

By the time midnight hit, they weren’t just tipsy—they were circling the edge of drunken honesty, where everything you’ve shoved down claws its way out.

“You’re a coward,” Hyunsuk slurred, glassy-eyed, voice too loud for the quiet bar.

Jihoon blinked, slow and unamused. “What?”

Hyunsuk leaned in, jabbing a finger against Jihoon’s chest. “You heard me. A coward. You don’t commit. You don’t choose. You just—float through things until they disappear. Like—” he gestured wildly, nearly knocking over his drink, “—poof. Gone.”

Jihoon’s jaw clenched. “You think I didn’t want to choose you?”

“Did you?” Hyunsuk snapped. “Because all I remember is you backing off like I was a bad deal—like loving me was some kind of liability—”

“I said sorry,” Jihoon bit out.

“You call that sorry?” Hyunsuk shot back, voice cracking. “You didn't answer my text, my calls, never explain anything to me.”

Jihoon opened his mouth to respond, but right then, the bar doors swung open.

And in walked Elvis Presley.

Or rather—a man in a bedazzled white jumpsuit and sunglasses, crooning “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to a couple in the corner, hips swaying like his life depended on it.

Hyunsuk froze mid-rant.

His mouth dropped open. “Holy sh— Is that Elvis?”

Jihoon blinked at him. “You can’t be serious. He’s dead.”

Hyunsuk’s eyes were wide, childlike. “No. Look at him. That’s Elvis. We have to follow him.”

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re not doing this.”

Hyunsuk stood up, wobbling slightly. “You’re doing it again.”

“What.”

“Being a coward!” Hyunsuk pointed at him, like he’d just uncovered the greatest conspiracy of all time. “You won’t even follow Elvis. Elvis, Jihoon. How do you say no to that?”

“Because it’s a man in a costume,” Jihoon snapped, “not a mystical sign from the universe.”

But Hyunsuk was already swaying toward the door, arms outstretched. “Come on! He’s leading us somewhere!”

Jihoon stared after him, exasperated. He could’ve let it go.

Could’ve finished his drink and forgotten the whole thing.

But then Hyunsuk turned, grinning, a little sad, a little drunk, and said—

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Something in Jihoon snapped.

He stood up.

“Fine.”

“What?”

“I’ll follow your fake dead Elvis.”

Hyunsuk beamed. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

And just like that, Jihoon found himself chasing a man in a white jumpsuit down the Strip, Hyunsuk laughing beside him like his heart hadn’t just shattered a month ago.

Like maybe—for one night—they could forget everything else.

They followed Elvis.

Down the Strip, past tourists and street performers, past flashing neon signs and the overwhelming scent of churros and alcohol and something vaguely burnt.

“Where are we even going?” Jihoon asked, slightly breathless.

“To destiny,” Hyunsuk replied, giggling like this was the best idea he’d ever had.

Jihoon should’ve turned around. Any rational person would’ve. But logic had already been drowned in gin and regret. So he kept following.

Eventually, Fake Elvis turned a corner and stopped in front of a chapel.

It was small, but aggressively bedazzled—silver trim, heart-shaped neon lights, a glittery sign that read “Love Me Tender Wedding Chapel.” The whole building looked like someone had designed it during a sugar high and a breakup at the same time.

Fake Elvis waved at them, then strutted inside.

Hyunsuk gasped. “He’s inviting us in.”

Jihoon sighed. “He’s doing his job.”

But Hyunsuk was already pulling him forward. “Come on, scaredy cat. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.

Chapter Text

Inside the chapel, everything was even more ridiculous. Rhinestone curtains, disco ball chandeliers, velvet seating in hot pink.

“Let me guess,” Jihoon muttered. “You’re going to propose I marry you as a joke.”

 
Hyunsuk turned to him, unsteady but suddenly serious. “What, too afraid?”

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed. “You know, you keep calling me a coward. But maybe you're just coming too strong.”

 
Hyunsuk scoffed. “No, I am not. I don't play with people's feelings.”

The air turned sharp.

 
Neither of them moved.

Then Hyunsuk crossed his arms. “Fine. If you’re not a coward, marry me right now.”
 

Jihoon stared at him.

“I dare you,” Hyunsuk added, voice shaking only a little. “Do it.”
 

Jihoon didn’t blink. “Fine.”
 

“Fine.”
 

They both turned to Elvis.
 

“We want to get married,” Hyunsuk said, chin high.

Elvis gave them a thumbs-up and winked. “That’s what I like to hear.”
 

The ceremony was absurd.
 

Plastic rings. A glitter-covered Bible. Background karaoke of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

They kept interrupting each other mid-vows.

“Do you take this man—”
 

“Barely,” Jihoon muttered.
 

“Do you—”
 

“I guess,” Hyunsuk said, crossing his arms.
 

“You may now kiss the groom—”
 

“We’re not doing that,” they said in unison.
 

Elvis declared them legally-ish married, handed them a novelty certificate with a big heart around their names, and offered them half a cupcake from behind the counter.
 

They walked out into the Vegas night, certificate in hand, dead silent.
 

Then Hyunsuk snorted.
 

Jihoon cracked a reluctant smile.
 

“This is a joke,” Hyunsuk said.
 

“Obviously,” Jihoon agreed.
 

A beat passed.
 

They looked at the certificate again.
 

Neither of them laughed.

It's been two weeks since they left Vegas.

Hyunsuk remembered everything in blurred. The fact that he woke up alone in his room with glitter in his hair, a fake ring on his finger, and the worst hangover he’d had since he graduate university.

He remembered when he woke up he stared at his reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror, hair sticking up in defiance of gravity and dignity. There was a vague memory of rhinestones. And Elvis. And Jihoon yelling something like “See? I am not a coward like you said!” before dramatically dropping a plastic ring into his palm.

“God,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Never drinking with Jihoon again.”

He already tossed the ring into his bag and flew home after, thinking nothing of it.

Until—

“Wait, wait—you did what?” Jaehyuk, said between bites of bibimbap. “With my brother?”

“It was just a joke. Vegas Elvis. We were drunk. It’s not real,” Hyunsuk said, waving it off like it wasn’t the weirdest part of his month.

Jaehyuk put down his chopsticks. “You know it’s legit, right?”

Hyunsuk blinked. “What.”

“If you sign the paper and Elvis files it—which 90% of those places do—it’s a legal marriage. Doesn’t matter if it’s Elvis or Iron Man performing the ceremony.”

Hyunsuk’s face drained of color. “…No. That can’t be real.”

Jaehyuk pulled out his phone. “Bro. I witnessed enough Elvis marriage during my shoot in Vegas last year. I know things.”

“How could they let two drunk people get married?” Hyunsuk talked fast. “Should I sue that Elvis or something?”

People get married drunk in Vegas all the time,” Jaehyuk sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just didn’t think it would be you two.”

Hyunsuk stared into the void. "Well, I'll be damned."

Mr. Yang was going through a stack of mail when he found it.

The envelope was plain, but inside was a shiny, official-looking certificate.

He read it once.

Twice.

And then, in calm demeanor asked,

“Sir, are you married?” holding up the paper like evidence in a trial, “to Choi Hyunsuk?”

Jihoon, walking in from a run and still wearing gym clothes, froze when he saw the certificate. “Oh. That.”

“Oh that?!” Mr. Yang confused.

“I… forgot?”

“You forgot getting married?!”

Jihoon sighed. “It was Vegas. It was fake.”

"Sir, but it's not."

Silence followed.

“It’s legally binding.”

Jihoon buried his face in his hands. “I need a drink.”

“You need a lawyer,” Mr. Yang continued.

Jihoon was a man of order. Of logic. Of consequence.

And yet, there he was, staring at a marriage certificate on his kitchen counter like it might spontaneously combust and send a signal flare straight to his mother’s house.

He paced.

Then paced faster.

Then stopped, took a photo of the certificate, deleted it immediately, then took another photo from a more “deniable” angle, just in case he needed to send it to a lawyer.

“Okay,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, okay. It’s fine. We’ll annul it. Quietly. Quickly. No one has to know.”

He turned to Mr. Yang.

“You didn’t tell anyone, right?”

Mr. Yang, far too calm for the situation, simply shook his head. “Of course not. I value my continued employment.”

Jihoon exhaled in relief.

How could one drunk night—one night of glitter, fake vows, and a plastic ring—completely derail the life he had built with such precision?

He had a master’s degree from prestigious university. He spoke at conferences. He designed cities to withstand earthquakes, for god’s sake.

And yet somehow, somehow, he hadn’t realized that getting married in Vegas was legally binding.

Jihoon wanted to scream.

He followed procedures. He read fine print. He planned his days down to a minute. But give him three glass of wine, a rhinestone-covered chapel, and Hyunsuk’s infuriating dare, and suddenly logic left the building with Elvis.

What was worse is that he remembered thinking he was proving a point. That by saying “yes,” he was showing Hyunsuk he wasn’t a coward

Now?

He was just a married man with a very inconvenient secret. Worse he married someone who still made his chest ache, and a mother who would throw a fundraiser-sized tantrum if she ever found out.

He needed to call Hyunsuk.

He had to. There was no way Hyunsuk knew about the marriage being legal—he would’ve said something. Or yelled. Or sent one of those voice notes where he sounded way too cheerful while clearly furious underneath.

But then what?

What was he even supposed to say?

“Hey, remember that fake wedding we did for fun? Surprise! It’s real, and now we might need a divorce lawyer instead of a DJ for our second fake reception.”

No.

That wasn’t going to work.

Should he apologize?

But for what, exactly?

For marrying Hyunsuk in a fit of pride-fueled spite? For not knowing Vegas marriages could actually stick? For not reading the fine print—even though he, of all people, always reads the fine print?

Jihoon dragged a hand down his face.

Whose fault was it, really?

Hyunsuk had dared him.

But Jihoon had said yes.

Hyunsuk had laughed through the vows.

But Jihoon had signed the paper.

And now here they were—tied together by glitter, a plastic ring, and one extremely official piece of paper sitting in his kitchen drawer like a live grenade.

He sighed.

Then pressed the call button.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Jihoon closed his eyes.

Here goes everything.

Chapter Text

"Well, well, well look who’s calling.”

Hyunsuk’s voice was calm. Too calm.

“I thought I was dreaming when I saw your name pop out.” Hyunsuk scoffed. “Didn’t you already delete my number?”

Yeah, right.

Like Jihoon could really delete Hyunsuk’s number and not spend nights staring at it, thumb hovering over the call button, cycling through every stupid excuse he could think of to press it.

Now that he finally had a real reason to call… it didn’t feel good at all.

“Hey,” Jihoon said, carefully. “So, uh… I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah,” Hyunsuk said. “I already know.”

Jihoon blinked. “You—what?”

“The marriage thing. Vegas. Real. Legal. All that.”

Hyunsuk sounded like he was reading off a grocery list.

Jihoon sat down hard on the edge of his couch. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”

A pause. Then, matter-of-fact: “I was busy.”

“Busy?! We accidentally got married, Hyunsuk!”

“Well, we were pretty drunk.”

Jihoon groaned. “You dared me.”

“And you accepted it.”

“You provoked me like we were twelve!”

“You’re the one who took it seriously!”

The silence hit hard.

Jihoon ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard.

“Look,” Hyunsuk finally said, “I didn’t call because I figured you’d be freaking out. And you are. So… I was right.”

“This isn’t just freaking out. This is a—a scandal waiting to happen.”

He dropped his voice to a whisper, as if the walls could hear.

“We can not let anyone knows about this.” Jihoon murmured. “My mother cannot know.”

“Wow,” Hyunsuk said. “Thanks. That really makes a guy feel special.”

Jihoon froze. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re embarrassed. I get it. I’m just the reckless drunk who got you glitter-married. Doesn’t look great on your résumé.”

There was a pause long enough to feel like guilt.

“Hyunsuk…” Jihoon said, softer this time.

“It’s fine,” Hyunsuk cut in. Still calm, still quiet—but that edge was there now, tucked beneath every syllable.

“Like you said. We’ll get it annulled. Quietly. No one has to know.”

Jihoon swallowed.

It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

So why did it feel so… wrong?

“Okay,” he said finally.

“Okay,” Hyunsuk echoed.

Another long silence.

“You still have the ring?” Hyunsuk asked, voice unreadable.

Jihoon stared at the drawer where the stupid plastic thing was sitting like a cursed relic.

“…Yeah.”

“Me too.”

They didn’t say a word. There is no reason for them to keep the toy ring but they still do.

“Oh shoot!” Hyunsuk break the silence.

”What? What happened?” Jihoon tensed.

”Jaehyuk already knows.”

“Oh no.” Jihoon hissed. “You told Jaehyuk?!” 

“I was just trying to tell him what I thought a funny story.” Hyunsuk tried to defend himself. “Anyway if I didn’t tell him I might never found out that all that marriage is real.”

“You should’ve lied! You say, ‘Haha, just kidding, we didn’t drunkenly get married in Vegas, I would never do something that catastrophically stupid!’”

Hyunsuk was quiet for a moment.

“He’s your brother. You think he wasn’t going to figure it out?”

Jihoon groaned into his hands. “If Jaehyuk knows…”

Hyunsuk beat him to it. “Yeah. Your mom probably knows too.”

Jihoon felt the blood drain from his face.

“No. No no no no. Why is she staying quiet if she knew—”

“Maybe she’s okay with it?”

“Are you insane?! You’ve met my mother.”

Hyunsuk didn’t answer. Jihoon could hear the shrug through the phone.

He stood up from the couch, pacing again.

“I need to stop this. I need to intercept whatever phone call or FaceTime horror is coming. I need to delete throw my phone out.”

“You need to breathe,” Hyunsuk said.

“You’re very calm for someone who may be about to be murdered by my mother .”

“I told you,” Hyunsuk sighed. “I’ve been busy. I didn’t have time to freak out. And now we’re here, so what’s the point?”

Jihoon stopped pacing.

That was… oddly rational.

Suspiciously rational.

“…You’re taking this way too well.”

“You’re taking this like a man who just realized his planner didn’t warn him about a surprise marriage,” Hyunsuk said. “I’m just rolling with it.”

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s just… let’s not talk to anyone else. No friends. No press. No wedding hashtags. We file for annulment. We move on.”

There was a long pause on Hyunsuk’s end.

“…Right,” he said.

But Jihoon caught it. That hesitation.

“Unless…” Jihoon said, carefully, “you don’t want an annulment?”

Hyunsuk was quiet for a beat too long.

Then he exhaled.

“No. I do. I mean—I should. Of course. Obviously.”

Jihoon’s brow furrowed.

That didn’t sound like someone who was sure.

“We’ll talk later,” Hyunsuk said before Jihoon could ask.

“And tell your mom I say hi. Or maybe don’t.”

And then he hung up.

Jihoon stared at the screen again.

Oddly Hyunsuk’s calmness made him less freak out about everything. 

He didn’t know what was worse:

That they were married.

Or that part of him… didn’t want to undo it right away.

Jihoon didn’t sleep that night.

Between calls with lawyers, scanning marriage laws, and the growing suspicion that Hyunsuk wasn’t in any rush to annul this thing, Jihoon had run entirely on energy drink and regret.

So when his mother’s name popped up on his screen the next morning, he knew he was about to pay for it.

“Mother” he answered, voice wary.

“Jihoon” she sang sweetly.

Oh no. She was using the happy voice.

“Hi,” he said, cautious.

“I just landed. Let's have a dinner tonight.”

Jihoon’s stomach sank.

She knew.

The only reason she asked for dinner the moment she landed is because she already knew.

His mother showed up at 7 p.m. sharp, a bottle of wine in one hand and something suspiciously dessert-shaped in the other.

She stepped into the dining room, took one look at him, and smiled.

“So,” she said, setting the bottle down, “you finally did it.”

Jihoon blinked. “Did… what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Got married.”

Jihoon’s soul left his body.

“So you found out...”

“Jaehyuk told me.” She waved it off. “He's not gonna cover for you."

Jihoon sat down before his knees gave out. “Mother. It was a mistake. We were drunk. We didn’t mean it.”

“You married Hyunsuk by accident?”

“Yes?”

She tsked. “You know what I think?”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“I’m happy.”

Jihoon froze. “…What?”

She smiled, genuinely. “I’m happy. I like Hyunsuk. He’s fun. He’s got personality. You’ve always been so… stiff.”

Jihoon’s eye twitched. “That’s not a reason to stay married to someone.”

“No,” she agreed. “But chemistry is.”

Jihoon sat forward. “We’re going to annul it. Obviously.”

His mother’s smile dropped like a brick.

Her expression sharpened.

“Excuse me?”

Jihoon stiffened. “It’s not a real marriage. It was an accident.”

“So now you’re going to make it worse by annulling it?” she snapped, stepping forward. “Do you know what that will look like?”

“Mother—”

“No, listen to me.” Her voice rose. “You, a public figure with mayoral ambitions, just got secretly married and now you want to erase it like it’s a typo? You think that won’t come out? That it won’t look like you used someone and threw them away?”

Jihoon’s jaw clenched. “It’s not fair to Hyunsuk either—”

“Exactly,” she cut in. “It’s not fair to anyone. Not to you, not to him, not to me, and certainly not to your reputation.”

She crossed her arms. “Do you care about how this makes him look? A man you married, in public, in front of a witness, and now what? You want to pretend it never happened?”

Jihoon faltered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Intentions don’t matter anymore. Actions do.” She held up her hand, fingers trembling with frustration. “You’re not annulling anything until we’ve spoken to him. Properly.”

Jihoon blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. We’re calling him. I want to have a conversation with him. If you want to end this marriage, you’ll do it with me in this room.”

“Mother, that’s not necessary—”

She was already unlocking her phone. “I need to let Hyunsuk knows the situation here. Your position, my position, the company's future...”

Jihoon buried his face in his hands.

She clicked on the contact, turned the phone around, and held it toward Jihoon.

“Press call,” she said.

Jihoon looked up. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” She narrowed her eyes. “Call your husband.”

And just like that, something in Jihoon’s chest lurched.

Husband.

The word hit harder than it should have.

His stomach flipped. His pulse kicked up, unexpected and unwelcome. He wasn’t even sure what startled him more: the sound of the word, or the way his body reacted like it meant something.

Your husband.

He stared at the contact on the screen. One word: Hyunsuk. Clean. Clear. Familiar.

Too familiar.

“I—” he began, but nothing useful came out.

His mother didn’t budge. “Call. Your. Husband.”

Jihoon blinked.

The word echoed again. Louder this time. Husband.

It felt terrifying and tender all at once.

Not just a label. Not just a joke.

Something that shouldn’t have felt like it fit—and yet…

Chapter Text

Jihoon stood by the window of the family estate’s dining room, stiff in a blue button-up and black slacks.

He had briefly considered fleeing the country—or, at one point, death had even seemed like the easier option. But neither plan had worked out in time.

He’d been too busy worrying about his own parents to remember there was another set he should be dreading: Hyunsuk’s.

In his defense, Hyunsuk had been way too calm about everything the last time they talked.

Jihoon had let himself believe his mother was the only one he needed to worry about—until Hyunsuk casually mentioned that they’d have to wait for his parents to fly back in before arranging the meeting.

And just like that, reality hit.

Not only was this the first time Jihoon would be meeting Hyunsuk’s parents—it was also under the worst possible circumstances.

He had, after all, married their one and only son in a drunken haze... and then had the audacity to ask for an annulment.

If Hyunsuk’s parents decided to punch him in the face the moment they walked through the door, Jihoon honestly wouldn’t blame them.

The sound of the doors opening snapped Jihoon out of his thoughts. Hyunsuk’s parents entered like they owned the room.

His mother led the way—elegant in a muted gray suit. Behind her came a man Jihoon almost didn’t recognize until he caught the unmistakable weight of familiarity in his features.

Jihoon’s mother stood, her expression unreadable as she greeted them with a nod and a polite smile. “Mr. Choi. Mrs. Choi. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Hyunsuk’s mother replied, taking a seat without waiting to be invited. “We heard our son created another mess.”

Jihoon’s mother merely offered a pleasant smile in return. Nothing in her tone wavered. She was the picture of grace.

But when she sat back down beside Jihoon, she leaned in just slightly, her lips barely moving.

“Do you know about this,” she murmured.

Jihoon confused. “Know about what?”

She didn’t look at him. Still smiling. Still perfect. “That Hyunsuk's father is the former spokesperson for SK Group. Back when they were restructuring. He used to be on the news every week.”

Jihoon felt his soul leave his body.

“He retired,” she added, tone light but not casual. “But he still has pull. Be careful what you say.”

Then, as if discussing the weather, she looked up again and said brightly, “Shall we begin?”

And just like that, Jihoon knew he was in deep.

“So,” Hyunsuk’s father said, his voice calm but heavy enough to silence the room, “I hear we’ve become in-laws… by accident.”

“I apologize that we have to meet like this,” Jihoon said, manage to make his voice to sound calm, though his throat felt painfully tight. “This… wasn’t how I imagined introductions would go.”

“I told you this is my fault, Dad,” Hyunsuk jumped in quickly, sitting up straighter on the couch. “I dragged Jihoon into it. I wasn’t thinking.”

But Mr. Choi didn’t look at his son. His eyes stayed on Jihoon.

“I apologize” Jihoon's mother turns, still composed, but with an edge that made the air tighten. “It’s also my son’s fault. For being reckless.”

Hyunsuk let out a soft groan and slouched deeper into the couch.

Jihoon, meanwhile, sat frozen in place—uncertain if now was the moment to talk more, or just pretend to pass out.

Hyunsuk’s mother adjusted the cuffs of her blazer and spoke at last, tone smooth and measured. “We’re not here to assign blame. We’re here to decide what happens next.”

Jihoon wished he could sink into the floor. Or the next dimension.

Jihoon cleared his throat, trying to find the right words—any words—that didn’t sound like please don’t kill me.

“We’ve already talked about it,” he began carefully. “Hyunsuk and I... we agreed. We’ll file for annulment.”

Hyunsuk nodded beside him, more casually. “Yeah. We figured it’s best to just clean it up, no drama.”

Silence.

Then, Hyunsuk’s mother spoke, her voice cool and precise. “That’s not going to happen.”

Jihoon couldn't believe his ears. “I—sorry?”

“We’ll not be entertaining an annulment,” Mr. Choi added flatly. “Do you realize what kind of coverage that would bring? What kind of narrative that spins?”

Jihoon’s mother nodded, her tone measured. “Exactly. I also agree with you. Our families in headlines for a drunken Vegas wedding and an annulment? No. We won’t have it. People talk.”

Jihoon turned to her in disbelief. “You were just lecturing me about responsibility—”

“Yes. And now I’m telling you to be responsible publicly,” she said, cutting him off smoothly. Then she smiled, turning her gaze to Hyunsuk’s parents with practiced elegance. “And truly, it’s a pleasure to be in-laws with your family. We couldn't ask for a more distinguished connection.”

There was something in her tone that made Jihoon sit straighter—part admiration, part calculation. She was laying foundations. Building alliances. Jihoon could practically hear the PR headlines forming in her head.

Mr. Choi nodded once, accepting the olive branch. Hyunsuk’s mother smiled politely, though her eyes were still sharp.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Hyunsuk muttered under his breath.

“Clearly. But it did,” Mr. Choi replied. “And since we can’t erase it, we contain it.”

Hyunsuk raised a hand lazily. “Just to clarify... are we saying we have to stay married?”

“That is exactly what we’re saying,” both mothers said in unison.

Jihoon stared at them.

Hyunsuk turned to him, face brightening. “Well. Husband, looks like we’re stuck together.”

Jihoon didn’t answer.

He was too busy wondering if faking a coma was a viable exit strategy.

Then Jihoon's mother spoke again, calmly folding her hands in her lap. “Naturally, I am not unreasonable. I understand that... circumstances were less than ideal. Which is why I want to propose a solution.”

Jihoon flinched. Nothing good ever followed proposing a solution.

“A trial marriage period,” she said.

“A what now?” Jihoon echoed, voice cracking slightly.

“Well, how about three months?” Mr. Choi is so quick to agree. “Both of them will live as spouses—publicly, at least. Appearances must be maintained. We’ll assess things after that.”

“If after three months it still feels impossible for the two of them?” Jihoon’s mother asked smoothly

“We’ll consider the next steps privately. Quietly. Without scandal.” Hyunsuk's father said.

“But during those three months,” Jihoon's mother cut in, “You will both refrain from publicizing anything, filing anything, or causing unnecessary headlines.”

“And,” Mrs. Choi said, now looking directly at Jihoon, “you will treat each other like family. Because whether you meant to or not—you are.”

Jihoon opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “This is absurd.”

“This is damage control,” his mother corrected. “And frankly, it’s generous. You’re lucky the person you drunkenly married was Hyunsuk.”

Hyunsuk blinked, brows raised. “So... we’re doing a test run of being married?”

“No,” Jihoon said firmly.

“Yes,” both sets of parents said at the same time.

Hyunsuk looked at Jihoon, lips twitching. “So, do you sleep with lights on or off?”

“I swear to God, Hyunsuk—”

“Just asking. We have three whole months to find out.”

Jihoon buried his face in his hands.

It's finally quiet the moment their parents were gone.

Silence settled in the room like dust.

Jihoon then turned to Hyunsuk with a look that was part disbelief, part betrayal. “Why did you just accept that?”

Hyunsuk, still lounging like nothing happened, glanced at him with a lopsided smile. “Accept what?”

“The whole trial marriage thing! You just sat there and let them decide our lives like it was a business deal.”

Hyunsuk raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I punched someone?”

“I thought you were—” Jihoon stopped himself, frustrated. “I thought you were the type to push back. You act like you don’t care about anything. I figured you’d be the one to stand up and say no. To rebel.”

Hyunsuk lets out a heavy breathe.

His smile faded slowly, eyes drifting toward the now-empty seat his father had occupied moments ago.

Then, quietly, he said, “Don’t you see what kind of man my father is?”

Jihoon blinked.

Hyunsuk didn’t look at him. “He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t threaten. But when he decides something—it’s done. He’s not someone you fight. He’s someone you survive.”

Jihoon’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

“I learned a long time ago that picking battles with him is just… burning your own house down for the sake of looking brave.” Hyunsuk looked at him then, tired but honest. “You think I’m reckless. I’m not. I just know when I’ve already lost.”

The silence returned, heavier this time.

Jihoon didn't know what to respond to that.

He’d expected Hyunsuk to be chaotic, impulsive, unpredictable.

But this—this quiet resignation?

That scared him more than anything else.

Hyunsuk watched him for a moment. Jihoon wasn’t speaking, but the anxiety was all over his face—eyes unfocused, breath shallow, shoulders wound tight like a wire about to snap.

Then, gently, he nudged Jihoon’s foot with his own.

“Come on, Jihoon,” he said, his voice softer now, teasing just enough to lift the air. “It’s just three months. Let’s take it easy.”

Jihoon didn’t respond.

“Let’s just treat it like you got a new roommate,” he added casually. “A really handsome one, obviously. How bad could it be?”

“Don’t you hate me?” Jihoon asked quietly. “For running away... back when things were starting to feel real between us? Don’t you still resent me, even now? How can you be okay with staying married to me?”

Hyunsuk didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, “I was hurt.”

Jihoon’s chest tightened.

Hyunsuk gave a soft, humorless laugh. “But I never hated you, Jihoon. I just... got used to pretending it didn’t matter.”

He turned his head, meeting Jihoon’s eyes. His voice was steady—gentle, but clear. “And now? I’m not staying married to you because I’m okay. I’m staying because you looked more terrified in that room than I’ve ever seen you look before—and I know what it’s like to feel trapped.”

He paused, then added, “If we’re stuck in this together, I’d rather be the one who makes it bearable.”

Jihoon stared at him, feeling more guilty.

Hyunsuk gave him a faint smile—nothing dramatic, just quiet reassurance. “Besides... it’s just three months. Time will pass before you even realize it. I’d rather make it bearable than miserable.”

He paused, eyes soft. “They promised we could walk away after that. If we still want to.”

Jihoon swallowed hard, nodding slightly, though a knot still twisted in his stomach. Somehow, Hyunsuk’s calm made him feel worse—not because it lacked care, but because it held too much.

Chapter Text

Hyunsuk could’ve sworn he’d just walked into one of Elsa’s castles, except there was no blonde-haired princess in sight. Just a man in a suit with perfectly neat hair, welcoming him with no smile in his face.

Because seriously, what was that immediate blast of cold air the moment he stepped into Jihoon’s place?

"You're late." Jihoon said coldly.

Today was the day Hyunsuk officially moved into Jihoon’s place. Another step in this ridiculous charade they were forced to commit to.

Their parents insisted it was necessary. “People will get suspicious if you’re still living separately after the wedding,” they’d said, like the press had binoculars aimed at every window.

So here he was, with his suitcases on both hands ready to play house with the man he accidentally married.

Why did you bring so many bags? Are you moving your whole house in?” Jihoon grunted the moment he saw Hyunsuk struggling with a tower of colorful luggage.

Still, without waiting for an answer, he reached over and took two bags from Hyunsuk’s hands, carrying them inside without comment.

“I told you I already have everything here,” Jihoon said, setting the bags down in the hallway. “If you need anything, we can just buy it. You only needed to bring your clothes.”

Hyunsuk blinked. “That is my clothes.”

Jihoon stared at the stack of luggage, expression unreadable. “How many outfit changes do you plan on having per day?”

Hyunsuk shrugged. “I like options. Sue me.”

I still have boxes being sent here,” Hyunsuk added, completely serious. “It’s just my essentials.”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “Essentials.”

“I know it’s only three months,” Hyunsuk said quickly, hands up like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “That’s why I only brought, like, a quarter of my stuff from home. I swear.”

Jihoon looked at the rainbow-colored luggage already clogging his hallway.

“…I’m afraid to imagine the other seventy-five percent.”

Hyunsuk paused in the hallway, peering into one of the rooms with a visible grimace.

“Did someone die in there? What’s up with the red light?” he asked, pointing toward the dim, crimson glow spilling out from beneath the door.

Jihoon didn’t even look up. “It’s my room to relax.”

Hyunsuk blinked. “Relax? In a vampire cave?”

“It’s ambient,” Jihoon replied flatly.

“It’s alarming,” Hyunsuk muttered.

“This is your room,” Jihoon said, pushing open the door and stepping aside.

Hyunsuk walked in, surprised to find the room... actually spacious.

“Oh. Huh. Bigger than I thought,” he muttered, setting his bag down and glancing around.

Of course, the relief didn’t last long. The room was clean, but it lacked any trace of personality. The walls were bare. The furniture was sleek and soulless. The bedding looked like it came straight from a catalog labeled Executive Minimalism.

“It’s nice,” Hyunsuk said slowly, turning in place. “In a ‘corporate housing before you decorate’ kind of way.”

Jihoon crossed his arms. “I give you the largest spare room in my house. Grateful for the space.”

“Yeah, but this is more like an emotional space.”

Hyunsuk dropped onto the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly. “So… can I decorate a bit? Just to make it feel less like I’m sleeping in a display unit.”

Jihoon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “No permanent changes.”

The words hung in the air longer than either of them expected.

No permanent changes.

Neither of them spoke.

It wasn’t just about paint or furniture anymore. That one sentence sucked the air out of the room—reminding both of them, at the exact same time, that this was temporary.

That no matter how large the room was, or how lived-in it might become over the next few weeks… it wasn’t supposed to last.

Hyunsuk looked away first. “Right,” he said lightly. “Temporary prison cell. Got it.”

Jihoon didn’t respond.

He just stood there, unmoving, like maybe if he didn’t say anything, he wouldn’t have to admit the weight of it either.

“Anyway… have you eaten dinner?” Jihoon asked suddenly, voice stiff but clearly trying to cut through the silence. “Do you want me to order you something?”

Hyunsuk shook his head, not quite meeting his eyes. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me.”

His tone was light—too light.

“You can do your usual stuff. I’ll take care of dinner myself. I don’t want to disturb you.”

Something about the way he said “disturb you” made Jihoon’s chest tighten.

It wasn’t sarcasm. It wasn’t bitterness.

It was Hyunsuk quietly stepping back. Pulling away. Respecting the line Jihoon had drawn just minutes ago with three words: no permanent changes.

Jihoon said nothing for a moment, standing there as Hyunsuk busied himself opening a suitcase that didn’t really need organizing.

He realized, too late, that he hadn’t just rejected throw pillows or posters.

He’d rejected comfort. Warmth. The idea that this could feel even slightly like home.

“…I didn’t mean it like that,” Jihoon said finally, voice lower now.

Hyunsuk looked up, his expression unreadable. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t.

And Jihoon didn’t know how to fix something they’d both agreed was never meant to stay.

The next evening, Jaehyuk arrived right on time—arms full of wine, energy, and zero sense of boundaries.

“Wifey!” he called as he stepped into the house. “I brought snacks and social grace. You’re welcome.”

Hyunsuk peeked out from his room with a grin. “Oh, thank God. Someone with a soul.”

Jihoon exhaled quietly. Mission accomplished.

He was the one who invited Jaehyuk tonight. Something that immediately made his brother think he was losing his mind, since Jihoon never did that.

He hadn’t invited Jaehyuk over out of sentiment. He just… didn’t want to say the wrong thing again. Not in front of Hyunsuk.

He didn’t want to watch Hyunsuk go quiet because of him again.

Jaehyuk’s presence filled the house fast—voice loud, laughter easy, dragging warmth into every corner like sunlight pouring into a cold room.

And Hyunsuk… lit up.

He laughed at Jaehyuk’s dumb impressions, offered him a drink before Jihoon could, and shared stories Jihoon had never heard before.

They even ended up talking about work, something Hyunsuk genuinely enjoyed. He loved his job, and it showed in the way his eyes lit up mid-conversation, hands moving animatedly as he spoke.

Jihoon sat across the table, watching them.

Something in his chest loosened a little. At least tonight, Hyunsuk would go to sleep with a smile. Not like yesterday.

It was a relief.

And, somehow, also a little painful.

“So,” Jaehyuk said as he dug into the takeout containers sprawled across the table, “the wedding’s out. Officially.”

Jihoon’s grip on his chopsticks tightened slightly.

Hyunsuk didn’t even flinch. “Oh? The press release went through?”

“Yep. PR did their magic. The public’s eating it up. ‘Private ceremony. Deep mutual respect. Partners in life and work.’ Very poetic. My manager told me you two are trending on three platforms.”

Jihoon blinked. “Already?”

Jaehyuk nodded. “You know how it is. The second someone uses the word eloped, the internet gets heart-shaped pupils.”

“Great,” Jihoon muttered. “Romantic fraud goes viral.”

Hyunsuk just shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, at least the lighting in those Vegas pictures was decent.”

“Oh, and guess what,” Jaehyuk added between bites. “I think mother is planning for you two have your first official public appearance next week.”

Jihoon nearly choked. “What event?”

“Some arts foundation dinner. You’re going as guests of the mayor.”

Hyunsuk chuckled. “Of course we are.”

“You’ll need to pose together. For photos.” Jaehyuk glanced between them. “Maybe even, you know… smile?”

Jihoon groaned into his hand.

But Hyunsuk leaned back in his seat, gave Jihoon a sideways glance, and said with a wink, “Don’t worry. I’m great at pretending.”

Jaehyuk laughed, not noticing how Jihoon stiffened.

The sound of their voices drifted around him—loud, familiar, alive.

And Jihoon sat there quietly, the third wheel in his own fake marriage.

Chapter Text

Jihoon adjusted his tie for the fifth time.

Nothing was wrong with it. It just felt like it was choking him.

Hyunsuk hadn’t said a word for the last ten minutes, standing beside him in front of the ornate mirror in the hotel suite where they were being prepped for the event. He looked confident. As always. Elegant.

Of course Jihoon noticed.

He hated himself a little for that.

“You ready?” Hyunsuk asked finally, adjusting his collar without glancing over.

“No,” Jihoon replied honestly.

Hyunsuk cracked the faintest smile. “Great. Let’s go wow the crowd.”

It was an arts foundation gala. Half black-tie, half political theater. And tonight, what was supposed to be a celebration of the city’s creative future had turned into their show.

The "unexpected couple of the year."

As they stepped out of the car, the flash of cameras was immediate. Photographers lined the carpet, reporters poised behind velvet ropes. People turned, murmured, angled their phones for candid shots.

There they are.

Hyunsuk stepped closer, subtle but intentional. He offered his hand.

Jihoon blinked.

Hyunsuk leaned in, voice low. “We don’t have to hold hands if it weirds you out. But just so you know, everyone’s watching.”

Jihoon hesitated.

Then he took it.

Their fingers fit too easily.

And Jihoon hated himself a little more for how right it felt.

The flashing lights didn’t faze Hyunsuk since he was used to performance, to attention, to pretending. Jihoon, on the other hand, looked like he was calculating every possible exit.

They stood in front of the gala backdrop, branded and gleaming. Photos had already been taken. Their smiles had already been practiced.

Now came the words.

A reporter leaned in. “So tell us, how did it all start? You two weren’t exactly on the radar as a couple before the wedding news broke.”

Hyunsuk smiled easily, disarming as ever.

“Honestly?” he said, with a small laugh. “We weren’t even on our radar. One day we were arguing about the city theater’s renovation timeline, and the next… I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”

Reporters chuckled. Someone near the back actually awww'd.

A mic angled toward Jihoon. “Is that true, Mr. Park? Was it sudden for you too?”

He glanced at Hyunsuk, who looked back with that same warm, polished expression.

Jihoon gave a small nod. “It surprised me,” he said carefully. “When we started working together, I realized how… sharp and creative he is. It made me look at him differently.”

Hyunsuk turned to him, a hint of something real flashing behind his eyes. “Wow,” he said softly. “First time I’ve actually heard you say that.”

Jihoon didn’t reply.

Another reporter jumped in: “What’s one thing you love about each other that people wouldn’t expect?”

Hyunsuk tilted his head in mock thought, then gestured toward Jihoon. “He pretends not to notice things, but he does. All of them. Once, when I was too exhausted to eat, he didn’t just tell me to rest. He sliced up the meat and spoon-fed me like I was a toddler.”

Laughter rippled around them.

But Jihoon froze—just slightly. That memory hit like static in his chest.

That had been before things fell apart. Before he pulled away.

“What about you, Mr. Park?”

Jihoon searched for words, eyes catching on the curve of Hyunsuk’s jaw, the slant of his tired smile.

“He makes everything feel lighter,” he said finally. “Even when things are heavy. He looks chaotic from the outside… but when I’m near him, I feel calmer than I do with anyone else.”

Hyunsuk blinked.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

The air shifted. Just a little.

The cameras didn’t catch it.

But they both felt it.

Because this wasn’t a lie. Not really.

These weren’t PR lines from a script. These were fragments of truth dressed up for public consumption.

They weren’t pretending to feel something.

They were pretending not to.

They weren’t sure if they were fooling the reporters—or themselves.

They stepped away from the press line.

“Guess we’re convincing, huh?” Hyunsuk looked back at the crowd and exhaled. "I can't believe you told them you feel calm around me."

Jihoon hesitated. “It was for the cameras.”

“So was mine.” Hyunsuk’s tone was calm. Too calm.

Jihoon stared ahead. “But it wasn’t a lie.”

A quiet beat passed.

“No,” he said softly. “It wasn’t.”

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

It was Jihoon who finally whispered, “It wasn’t supposed to work, but… it kind of did, didn’t it?"

Hyunsuk’s voice was quieter than the rain. “Yeah. It did.”

Jihoon turned his head slowly, met Hyunsuk’s eyes. “Back then I—”

But the words caught. Because that was the problem. He had. And then he pulled away. Not because he stopped feeling. But because he couldn’t face how real it was.

“You disappeared,” Hyunsuk said. Not bitter. Not sharp. Just stating a fact.

“I panicked.”

“I know.”

Another silence.

“You can let go now,” Hyunsuk murmured.

Jihoon blinked. “Let go of what?”

Hyunsuk looked down.

Their hands were still clasped.

Jihoon let go, quickly.

It didn’t feel right. But he didn’t say anything.

Hyunsuk offered a nod, then turned. “I’m gonna go say hi to a few art directors I know.”

And just like that, he slipped into the crowd.

Jihoon watched the back of his head disappear into the blur of suits and champagne and gallery owners.

“He looks good on your arm,” a voice said.

Jihoon turned.

His mother stood beside him, sipping wine, poised as ever.

“I mean it,” she added. “Whatever this is—PR or not—it works. The two of you look… natural.”

Jihoon swallowed. “It’s not what it looks like.”

She didn’t even blink. “Of course it isn’t.”

He nodded stiffly, murmured something vague, and excused himself.

Chapter Text

The sound of clinking glasses and polite laughter faded as Hyunsuk stepped out onto the gallery’s side terrace, away from the crush of people, flash photography, and sharp designer perfume.

Out here, the night air was cooler, calmer. Real.

He let out a quiet breath and brought the glass of rosé to his lips, the chilled sweetness grounding him for a moment. Inside, Jihoon was still trapped in conversation with a group of politicians—nodding, smiling, being the perfect image of composure.

A moment later, the door creaked open behind him.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Jaehyuk’s voice came, casual but knowing. "You good?"

Hyunsuk gave a noncommittal shrug. “Define good.”

“That’s a no.”

Silence.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” Jaehyuk said, his voice lower now, more serious. “I wouldn’t be okay with everything either, if I were you.”

Hyunsuk glanced at him. “With what?”

“You know what.” Jaehyuk tilted his head. “The three-month marriage, the press silence, the awkward living situation between you two. Jihoon losing sleep trying to play perfect son in law. You don’t seem even slightly phased.”

Hyunsuk shrugged. “Well, that's life.”

Jaehyuk didn’t laugh. “That’s not an answer.”

Hyunsuk didn’t speak for a moment. The breeze lifted a strand of his hair, and he looked out over the street below like it held the answer.

“You think I’m okay with this because I still like him, don’t you?”

Jaehyuk didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

Hyunsuk smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t think it matters whether I like him or not.”

“That’s a lie,” Jaehyuk said quietly.

Hyunsuk took another sip, then finally looked back at him. “If I said I didn’t care, you’d call me a liar. If I said I still liked him, you’d call me an idiot. Either way, the answer doesn’t change what’s happening.”

Jaehyuk watched him closely. “But it would explain why you’re not fighting it.”

Hyunsuk exhaled through his nose. “I’m not fighting it because someone has to stop making this harder than it already is.”

He turned back to the street, gaze distant now. “And maybe... a small part of me wants to see what happens when Jihoon stays this time.”

Jaehyuk glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know my brother actually has feelings for you too, right?”

Hyunsuk looked over, eyebrows lifting just slightly.

“He’s just emotionally stupid,” Jaehyuk added with a shrug. “Takes him a while to catch up to what the rest of us already see.”

Hyunsuk huffed a quiet laugh, the kind that sat somewhere between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. “Yeah… well. We’ll see if three months is enough time for him to figure it out.”

“Should I just tell him,” Jaehyuk muttered, “so he finally realizes what he’s feeling and stops pretending he doesn’t?”

Hyunsuk sighed, gaze unfocused. “Honestly… now I’m not even sure how I feel anymore. I think even if he did say he cared, or something like that, I’m not sure it would make me feel any better.”

Jaehyuk didn’t respond.

Hyunsuk stood up. “I should head back in before someone starts another round of small talk without alcohol.”

Jaehyuk tilted his head. “Brave of you.”

Hyunsuk gave a tired half-smile. “Good luck surviving the rest of the night.”

And with that, he slipped back through the terrace doors, disappearing into the glow of the gala.

Jaehyuk stayed behind, still leaning against the railing, eyes narrowed slightly.

He let out a long sigh. “Unbelievable.”

One was emotionally constipated. The other was emotionally exhausted. And both of them were clearly still circling around something they didn’t have the guts to name.

Jaehyuk took one final sip of his drink and muttered to himself, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

A beat passed.

Then he smiled to himself—slow, wicked, and far too pleased.

“Guess it’s up to me now.”