Work Text:
It’s 3 in the morning. Johnny’s eyelids are heavy, legs wobbling as he walks towards his apartment. It’s small and plain, would be considered cramped if it had a few more pieces of furniture in it. The walls are light brown, boring and ugly, the floor is a few shades darker, the bed is big, but always cold. He doesn’t like his place.
The streets of Shanghai are bright, loud and full of life, night owls stumbling around, drunk and sober people melt into one big crowd. A human anthill in the dense air.
He sighs as his eyes travel from one passerby to another. They wear different clothes, from fashion magazine covers to potato sacks, from expensive jewelry to bruises of street fights. From glitter to dust, from CEO to mercenary, all kinds of people walk around him, shoulders crashing from time to time. He’s not unfamiliar with the extreme multitude even at this hour but with each step he takes, his heart sinks in deeper. It’s been months since Jaehyun and Taeyong got together, thanks to his actions and he is over the moon happy for them. Maybe even happier than when he was with Jaehyun. He loves seeing his friends like this, all bright and shining, and he loves seeing them through his webcam, sometimes just sitting and talking, sometimes getting each other off, whipping Johnny up from a solid distance of 500 miles. He can’t imagine two better people in his life, yet he feels a little down recently. Maybe he’s lonely, maybe he’s had enough of stressful business and constant homesickness, maybe both. The only thing he knows for sure is he doesn’t want it anymore. His pockets bulge with money, he goes to expensive clubs, flirts and fucks with expensive boys in silk and gleam, he eats at fancy restaurants, his tastebuds got used to the savor of beluga caviar, white truffle and Dom Perignon champagne, like it’s his everyday meal. Which is, in fact, true, his sugarcoated dinners with directors and managers in high positions provide him with stupidly rich food. He still prefers take-out and Taeyong’s home cooked dishes, though. He misses it, nearly more than anything else. He misses the smell of Febreze (he has a bottle on his bedside table, sometimes he sprays it in the lame air), the smell of chlorine every other day, the smell of Jaehyun’s detoxicating body wash (which is, ironically, so intoxicating for him), the naturally attractive smell of his hair, the smell of his real home. The fabric of familiar bedsheets, the touch of familiar people, the taste of familiar food, the sounds of familiar places. They say money can’t buy happiness and they’re so damn right.
He kicks away a rock with his right foot as he turns a corner. He decided to walk a few bus stops instead of sitting in complete silence among complete strangers. He’s just a few streets away from his… Flat.
It’s dark, but almost brighter than the day, because of the neon signs everywhere, huge billboards floating in white light, burning his retina. His steps get faster and longer, he just wants to go home and sleep till he can’t keep his eyes closed anymore. He wants to fall asleep and wake up in his bed back in Korea, between freshly ironed sheets with the smell of fabric softener, to the sound of Taeyong and Jaehyun laughing in the kitchen, perhaps making pancakes or oatmeal or milkshake or just making out, anything. He just feels miserable, all alone in this big, unfriendly city. He’s got great social skills, he can wrap anyone around his fingers (both figuratively and literally) in a blink of an eye, he can take anyone home and make others buy him endless amounts of drinks, but he still sucks at the most important thing: making functioning relationships. Taeyong was probably born under his lucky star, they met just after they stopped wearing diapers and sucking on pacifiers instead of dicks (a low-quality joke Johnny adores to tell all the time), they’ve grown up together like conjoined twins. Jaehyun lived with Taeyong for months before they met, it was more of a lighthearted game than a hardship to communicate with him, intention totally different from what he’s used to. He’s in good terms with some of his recent co-workers, especially foreigners, who, just like him, struggle with the lack of stability around them, not to mention the obvious linguistic differences from their home. He also made some kind of friends with his neighbor, a pretty guy named Sicheng (no, they didn’t sleep together, Johnny’s so tired of it), but nothing can fill up the void in his heart and mind. He needs somebody.
This is the last street before his, more of a pathway, dark and narrow, secretive, and extremely useful for the ones who know about it. Johnny starts humming a song under his breath, some old folklore melody he learned in the cradle. He’s not a big fan of traditional tunes but this one speaks to him, holds him tight as he sanders along the dirty lane.
He’s always had some strange passion towards music, hearing and producing it, thrumming the keys of a piano, whistling and crooning, anything. One of the hobbies he and Taeyong share. Johnny also likes being charitable, especially when it comes to people willing to fight for their dreams, such as street musicians. Insecure guitarists with open cases, developing violinists with crying sounds coming from their cherished instruments, unstable singers with nice voices and terrible techniques, all bearing with possible embarrassment and shame, and standing there, in the way of the rich, heads up, trying and trying and trying till they collapse and walk away in either great glory or disgrace. Johnny never misses the opportunity to build them up a little, be it with the help of some banknotes or appreciative looks and wags. He’s a good person. He must be.
He’s halfway through the passage when he hears it. A soft, silky and truly angelic voice echoing in the alley. It’s like an enchantment, an enthralling lullaby from a lost fairy. Johnny stops to take a few sharp breaths. He can’t see the boy singing, he’s too stunned by the sound reverbating in his ears, like it’s calling for him. He’d reach out to touch it, touch the voice, embrace it like the desperate fool he is. The boy sings in Korean, the language that squeezes his heart and rips it out from its assigned place. The language of home.
He’s just standing there, captivated by the vox, forgetting his own name. He’s standing there, eyes closed, body tensing, breath getting irregular as he listens to him, this magical stranger.
He doesn’t realize exactly when it stops. They boy sighed and moved from his previous place, leaving Johnny in complete silence (it is not; the air’s still burdened with the noises of the night, but he can’t hear them) for minutes before coming back from his trip. He really feels like he’s just been drugged, head dizzy, legs shaking as he walks towards his flat. What was this and who was that boy?
He falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow. He dreams about voices.
***
The next week is hell itself for Johnny. Hectic meetings, uncomfortable dinners with a creepy CEO and his psychotic wife, exaggerated stress and inchoate insomnia. Only one call from Taeyong and Jaehyun, thanks to their busy work life. He just feels like drowning all the time.
That’s until Sunday night, just a slightly before midnight. He almost forgot about it since the last time, but as soon as he hears it again, it reaches the very depth of his torn heart. Immediate warmth sweeps through him, eyes lit up at the mesmerizing voice.
He hears it from closer, probably from under a penthouse. The boy sings in Korean again and Johnny feels a harsh tug at his heartstrings. It’s the same song he’s been whistling ever since he first came here, the same old song his mother taught him ages ago. He recognizes it from the first few syllables, pulse matching the rhythm. It’s not a dirge or a jubilate; it’s a mixture of sadness and bliss, a slow yet uplifting cadence, full of life and love. Johnny wants to melt to the ground and listen to it till his hearing is intact.
He can’t help but stand still, hypnotized, and the voice slowly fades away as the singer moves from his place. Johnny wants to shout after him, grab him by the wrist and lock him in an adorned bird cage, his own little canary. He knows it’s weird but whoever this stranger is, Johnny now needs him.
***
Another long week passes, and the company’s definition of work gets more and more unrestricted. Johnny spends most of his time hunching over a fancy walnut desk, piles of paper and dried out pens practically suffocating him. His third coffee of the day gets cold untouched on his right. His eyes are burning from the yellowish LED, tears clouding his tired vision. He can’t do this. He can’t live like this anymore.
Johnny sighs and puts his pen down. They won’t fire him anyways, and he really does need some stress relief, whether it’s an excessive amount of alcohol or someone in his bed. Or both. Or none, just sitting in a bar, staring pointlessly at the crowd, letting the atmosphere fill him with a little life.
His head is empty, yet it feels so full as he takes the steps of the stairs. Living on the fifth floor has its benefits when it comes to exercising, but Johnny usually prefers the elevator. This day, however, is not like any other day.
The moon is bright on the night sky, white light illuminating the streets. He soon reaches the alley, his favorite secret place. His steps get slower as he walks through the passage, eyes scanning the dark shapes of buildings. It’s awfully quiet, the mysterious boy is nowhere to be found and Johnny feels bitterness taking over his body. It would have been the highlight of his obnoxious day. But instead of that entrancing piece of home, misery is his only company.
He wants to turn around, go back home and sleep the night away. It would be pathetic at best, but still better than standing here on wobbly legs, like a complete idiot. Homesickness is not an excuse when it comes to masochism.
Just as his feet moves to the left, something heavy hits his back, a sudden, sharp pain rushes through his spine as he feels an adamantine edge against one of his vertebras. Right after the crash, he hears a loud, shocked curse and his heart skips a beat. The curse is in Korean.
“Oh my god, sorry,” the stranger gasps in Mandarin, and Johnny can sense the hint of accent on his tongue. “I was in a hurry and it’s dark, you know, so yeah, I’m sorry,” he bows low.
“It’s okay,” Johnny smiles at the stranger, who, after a moment or two of silence, chuckles back nervously. Johnny can’t see him vaguely in the dim light, but he clearly sees how pretty the boy is. His face still shows a shocked expression, eyes dark and wide, forehead moderately hidden under parted bangs. He’s about half a head shorter than Johnny and has a rather slim figure. He must be a model. Or an actor. Or just an extraordinary handsome guy, but he sure meets the local beauty standards, heck, the beauty standards of the whole fucking world!
“Sorry again, I didn’t know anyone else can be here.” The stranger scratches the back of his head and Johnny watches him in delight. The way he speaks indicates he’s been here for quite a while.
“Well, me neither,” he responds, still sticking with Mandarin, just for the sake of his elation. “I’ve been living here for more than two years, yet have never met someone around this lovely alley.”
“Oh, it’s five years for me,” the boy shows him a small smile, his legs finally bend a little as his shock fades away. “I always wonder how come people miss it. God bless the man who didn’t put a more inviting passage here.”
“Maybe they can’t see it. Maybe it’s only for the chosen ones.”
“Chosen? How so?”
“I don’t know, I’m not a psychic.”
The stranger giggles, teeth fully exposed as his lips curl. Adorable.
“And dear not-a-psychic, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?”
“Oh, I was just so fed up with work I needed to take a break. A nice walk can only do good, you know.”
“Understandable,” he blinks, smile growing bigger. “And it shall stay between me and you, but I don’t have the best relationship with my boss either.”
“Where do you work?”
“In a bakery a few blocks away. You may have been there.”
“The one with those chocolate buns?”
“My speciality,” he grins proudly and Johnny nearly melts down.
“I like going there. The pastry is delicious.”
“I’m flattered.”
They stay silent for a few seconds. Johnny tilts his head, eyes wandering around the other’s face before he opens his mouth.
“What’s your name?”
“Kim Dongyoung,” the other replies, shuddering a little. “I prefer Doyoung, though. How ‘bout you?”
“I’m Johnny.”
“Johnny? Are you from…?”
“America. Chicago, to be more precise. We moved from there when I was a baby, but I kept my name ever since.”
“Well, Chicago boy, it was a pleasure to meet you but I gotta go now. I have work tomorrow and stuff. Sorry again for bumping into you.”
“It’s okay,” Johnny smiles but his stomach tightens as Doyoung waves his and disappears around the corner. “What a boy,” he murmurs as he heads back to his flat and goes to sleep before finishing his paperwork.
***
It’s been almost a week of chewing the cud (and a 3 hour long video call with the boys) before Johnny finally decided to visit the bakery, just to buy something for breakfast, obviously. The shop is comfortably empty when he enters, the smell of freshly baked bread and something spicy (probably cinnamon roll) fills his nose, then his whole mind as he goes up to the checkout.
“Good morning,” the cashier girl bows and Johnny repeats the gesture. His eyes flicker between the various goods on display, from sweet to salty, from muffins to pretzels, each of them pretty and deliciously looking. “May I help you?”
“Yes, please. I’m looking for… One of your co-workers, actually.” He doesn’t know where this sentence come from but now that it’s been vocalized, he can’t suck it back. The girl looks up at him with curious eyes. “And I’d also like a chocolate bun, please.”
“What’s their name?” the cashier asks while packing the (hopefully still hot) bun.
“Kim Dongyoung. He’s…” Johnny can’t choose between the words gorgeous and breath-taking, so he just uses Korean instead.
“Let me see… Yes, he’s working today. He’s in the kitchen. May I tell him you’re here?”
“No, if he’s busy, you don’t have to.”
“Are you sure? He must have a few minutes for you.”
“No, I’m good, thanks,” he says as he hands her the money.
“Well, if you say so. Shall I tell him you were here?”
“No, no, thank you,” Johnny shakes his head and after a sallow goodbye, exists the bakery. Well, at least he has some delicious bun to brighten his long ass day.
Ever since Doyoung bumped into him, Johnny hasn’t thought about the mysterious singer boy in the alley. All his thoughts revolve around him and how charming he was. He even turned down Jaehyun’s offer of another steamy video chat, they talked about their upcoming free week instead. Jae was over the top excited to visit his friend and so was Taeyong, who occasionally appeared from the kitchen with a pair of chopsticks in his hand. Johnny felt the homesickness taking over his body as he thought about the taste of Taeyong’s hot pot.
That’s until one night when he finds himself standing under a penthouse, back against the wall, eyes closed, ears open to any sound he likes, be it Doyoung or the unknown guy. His brain needs some rest after a day of various meetings, each more and more boring than the previous one. His head is full of blueprints and business plans he has no interest in, and it’s getting out of hand. He seriously considers quitting and moving back home.
It’s unexpected and his eyes open immediately. Mystic Boy must be back, Korean folk songs flying away in the air as he sings, almost silent, and Johnny wants to run to him. Instead, he just closes his eyes again, tilts his head back as he enjoys the perfect melodies. He has no idea how long it lasts, maybe five minutes, maybe fifteen, but the boy eventually finishes, and Johnny hear footsteps rustle towards his direction. The catastrophe is inevitable.
“Johnny?”
The voice is so little, so soft and so warm Johnny forgets to panic. As he looks at Doyoung’s moonlit face, his heart sinks to his stomach. He’s beautiful.
“Was it you? Singing?” he asks Doyoung and the boy slowly nods. “Oh my dear god.”
“I thought I was alone,” Doyoung coughs, eyes scanning the night sky. “As you know, not many people tend to be here.”
“Actually, I… I heard you a few times,” Johnny admits, face reddening in embarrassment. Doyoung’s expression freezes for a few seconds before he shakes his head.
“Sorry if it was bad.”
“Bad? It was amazing. It, in fact, cures my homesickness.”
“How so?”
“I didn’t tell you last time,” he says in Korean and Doyoung’s eyes widen, “but I’m Korean-American. Hearing you sing in my native language just hits different.”
“Oh, well,” Doyoung say after blinking his eyes, “I’m glad I could make you feel better.”
“Wish I could sing, too.”
“Anyone can sing,” Doyoung shrugs. “You don’t have to sound like some holy angel to give your body all those good vibrations and stuff.”
“So you sing to shake your body up?” Johnny asks, amused. Doyoung rolls his eyes and hides a smile.
“You could say that. Singing is healthy. Also, it reminds me of home.”
“I relate. Seriously, can you record it to me or something? If I don’t sound like a creep.”
“Don’t you wanna come to my place instead? I live just a street away, I can cook and have cringey childhood stories.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Johnny chuckles and follows Doyoung to his flat, which happens to be a cramped apartment with minuscule rooms. A small living room, a small kitchen, a small bathroom and a small bedroom, all the size of a doll house, but Johnny finds it adorable. Doyoung successfully brought the best out of it by decorating and personalizing every inch of the walls to the point it looks like some sort of art gallery, tasteful pictures and photos everywhere, a few vibrant succulents and so many soft, fluffy pillows, like it’s straight from an interior design catalogue. However, the flat also seems to be friendly and welcoming and warm. A real home.
Doyoung guides him to the kitchen and sits him down beside the table. Johnny’s face shows pure surprise and amusement as his gaze flicks from corner to corner. Doyoung’s taste is phenomenal.
“Feel free to grab one,” the boy points to the fruit bowl on the table before he picks a few bananas from it. “You like banana bread?”
Johnny just nods enthusiastically and his eyes land on Doyoung, who just started preparing the ingredients.
“Why did you move here?”
“Pardon?”
“You sure miss Korea. Why are you here then?”
“Now that’s a long and boring story and I’m pretty sure you’d prefer something more uplifting.”
“I’m just curious. You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know.”
“Well,” Doyoung sighs and starts to peel the bananas, “my life used to be perfect, as most people would describe. Good job, great family, a beautiful fiancée…”
“A literal dream.”
“Yeah. But then the shitstorm started, my fiancée cheated on me when she found out I liked boys too, I kind of lost my job, my father passed away and after all these things, I felt it’d be better to start a new life somewhere else. So, I chose China. Not even close to the life I had a back then, but it’ll do. I like it here, well, most of the times. Homesickness sucks, but still better than living in a country of bad memories. I know it sounds cliché, but that’s the truth. What about you?”
Johnny can’t think for seconds, just opens and closes his mouth. Did he… Did he just say he liked boys? Like, boys boys? People with penises attached to their body? Males? The opposite of girls? Boys, like the part of the human race Johnny belongs to? Like…
“Money,” he says intelligently and Doyoung almost laughs at his face.
“So, you’re a rich guy now, huh?”
“I live comfortably.”
“Seeing your stressed-out face makes me think otherwise,” Doyoung tilts his head to the side and throws the banana peels away. “You may be rich, but it costs more than you earn.”
“Such wise words, why aren’t you a philosopher or something?”
“You’d be the psychic and I’d be the philosopher. We’d have an amazing career. You in?”
“Definitely,” Johnny grins and Doyoung smiles to himself as he turns his attention back to the bananas.
In an hour, they’re both sitting on the couch, eating banana bread, elbows occasionally touching. Each of these is followed by a shy smile and some giggles, sweet and innocent. Johnny watches Doyoung’s bright face as he turns the tv on, some crime show playing at the moment, and his heart flutters with every excited little noise Doyoung makes when the investigators come close to solving the case (they fail all the time – just like in every other crime show). He still can’t believe how such unworldly beauty he’s seeing whenever his eyes travel around the other’s face, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed together. His bread falls from his mouth as he absent-mindedly studies Doyoung’s features. He’s like a dream. Johnny wants to keep sleeping.
Ironically, he falls asleep in half an hour, and doesn’t wake up before noon. His head is a bit dizzy, eyes puffed and when he realizes where he is, his heart almost stops.
“Rise and shine,” Doyoung chirps from the kitchen, apron tied around his ridiculously tiny waist. Johnny rubs his face, dreams still in the corners of his eyes, and shakes his head doubtfully.
“What happened?”
“You fell asleep, I finished the show and didn’t have the heart to wake you up. Oh, and the killer was Jessica – not gonna lie, she seemed suspicious from the beginning.”
“You were sure it’s gonna be Fred,” Johnny tilts his head to the side and Doyoung grimaces.
“You want lunch or not?”
“You knew right away it’s Jessica.”
Doyoung’s cooking skills are just as brilliant as his baking. He makes pad thai (although it’s much cheaper than the ones Johnny usually eats) and serves the leftover banana bread afterward. Johnny can’t think of the last time he ate such delicious homemade food. Doyoung could surely compete against Taeyong, and he has every chance to win. However, this is something he won’t ever tell his best friend. He doesn’t need an upset Taeyong and an angry, overprotective Jaehyun in his life.
“Do you visit home often?”
“When I accidentally have free time,” Johnny sighs and shifts a little, arm resting behind Doyoung, who grins and tilts his head back. “You?”
“Seldom,” he ponders, eyelids getting heavier with every blink. His head now rests against the back of Johnny’s hand, hot skin touching cold in immaculate harmony. Johnny can’t decide if it’s more like silk or melted honey. He’s, though, sure it’s better than those. “I don’t need all the bad energies in my life.”
“Don’t you miss your family?”
“I do, of course I do. I can’t really explain it, you know. It hurts less from the distance.”
“So you’re being alone to reduce the pain.”
“Something like that, yes. Wish I could enjoy it more. But I gotta play with the cards life gave me. We’ve seen people win with only one pawn.”
“That’s chess.”
“I can’t play poker, sorry,” Doyoung grins and practically lies on Johnny now, who, besides almost choking on his own saliva, tries to hold his heavy head in place. It wouldn’t be the best if Doyoung accidentally broke his neck.
“I can’t, either. But I like chess. So if you have a board…”
“I’m gonna defeat you with my last pawn standing,” Doyoung chuckles and stands up to bring the chess board.
***
After falling asleep at his place, Johnny can’t push Doyoung away from his thoughts at all; he basically lives in his head. When’s the deadline of the contract? Oh, Doyoung’s birthday is on the 1st of February! Some bunnies were born in the zoo? Oh, yes, Doyoung looks exactly like a bunny! What shall be the dinner? Oh, Doyoung’s bakery is still open! He’s still trying to choose between some fresh pastry and Doyoung himself, though.
Not only the boy doesn’t pay rent (after occupying his head for weeks now, I’d be the least he could do), but he also acts like he doesn’t notice how Johnny’s body heat duplicates when they meet up somewhere, be it the alley, the bakery, their flats, any place given. He makes his biting comments on Johnny, but his innocence still outshines all of it. Johnny can’t believe such smart and witty boy couldn’t figure out what’s going on.
It’s not like there aren’t any signs. Because there are, quite a few, but they could easily be misinterpreted. Yes, Doyoung does cling onto him pretty often, he does look for physical contact, but of course he does, he’s been living on his own for fucking years! Yes, he’s trying to spend most of his time with Johnny, even if it means sitting in the corner of his room in complete silence as the other finishes paperwork, but again, he’s been all alone for such a long time. Yes, his sentences are full of innuendos, but Johnny’s far from being sure whether they’re intentional or not. Doyoung hasn’t even been informed he’s into guys, too.
“How was your day?”
It’s Johnny’s apartment this time, and Doyoung, although having been here on many occasions, still finds it amazing. Those walls of that rich caramel color, the chocolate parquetry, the warm, cozy sofa, the invisible johnnyness of the place. It’s nice on it’s own, perfect with his presence.
“Short or long answer?”
“In this order,” Doyoung yawns and nestles himself in Johnny’s hug, head on his upper arm, face buried in his chest, nose inhaling the faint smell of his cologne.
“Boring. Not the average boring, I’ve had like five meetings, but I almost feel asleep during the second. The only thing to keep me awake was the director’s face. He looked like some deformed fish.”
“Sounds tasty.”
“You’re into merman?”
“I don’t know. Are you a merman?” Doyoung lifts his head up, eyes sparkling playfully as they meet Johnny’s.
“You successfully exposed me. Now I can show you my true form,” Johnny joins, desperately trying to hide his blushing face.
“I know you looked familiar. Money changed Arial, though.”
“Yes, this Ariel is much sexier, isn’t she?”
“I’d love to see you with long red hair. And a tail.”
“Let’s have sushi!” Johnny exclaims out of nowhere. Doyoung grunts and rolls over to his other side, back against Johnny’s heaving chest.
“Why did you change the topic? Aren’t you comfortable with your true self?”
“I am, it’s just… I haven’t had sushi in ages.”
“So we’re talking about Ariel and your first thought is to eat her? You are gross.”
Johnny sighs and they lie in silence before Doyoung continues.
“Wanna order now?”
With his mouth full of rice and smoked salmon, Doyoung looks just as beautiful as always. Johnny promises himself a year of starving if he ever forgets this angelic face. Doyoung must have noticed the other’s brooding expression as he looks at him with question marks in his eyes.
“What depth of physics are you trying to reach now?”
“Nothing,” Johnny smiles, heartbeat outracing the speed of light. Should he say it? Don’t. Mouth. Don’t obey this stupid command of this stupid brai— “Just how pretty you are.”
“I must be a delightful sight,” Doyoung swallows his sushi and blinks at him. “It’s the fish, isn’t it? You want mine, too.”
“I don’t care about fish,” Johnny waves his hand, almost hitting Doyoung.
“You suggested ordering sushi.” Doyoung’s face shows nothing but confusion now, eyebrows furrowed, which Johnny finds mesmerizing.
“You’re so fucking pretty, Kim Dongyoung.”
“Why did you use my birth name?”
“I don’t know. I feel more connected to you by that.”
“You’re weird,” Doyoung says, inching closer to the other.
“You make me weird.”
“Is it some sort of confession?”
“I’d like it to be,” Johnny tilts his head, palms cupping Doyoung’s face. There’s soy sauce on his lips and he can’t stop himself from licking it away. Doyoung wastes no time kissing him, hugging him by his waist, pulling closer and closer until there’s no space between them. When they pull away, slightly panting, Doyoung’s forehead leans against Johnny’s.
“You never told me you like boys.”
“I didn’t want to scare you away.”
“You’re such an idiot, you know that?”
“Can I be your idiot?”
“God, you’re so cheesy! Are you drunk?”
“Maybe. Would love drunk be too much to say?”
“You’re terrible,” Doyoung huffs, gently connecting their lips again, tasting it with slow, careful movements. Johnny can’t act like he’s got the control anymore as he melts into the kiss, the touch of those lips, the arms holding him close. His eyes are closed, fingertips running up and down Doyoung’s spine.
“You like me terrible,” he giggles after parting again.
“Now that I think about it, you may be my last pawn standing.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You can only take one tiny step at a time. If I didn’t kiss you, you would have asked me out on my retirement party!”
“I may be slow, but I won at the end. The process is not that important,” Johnny says, caressing the other’s cheeks. “Also, I haven’t asked you out yet.”
“Well, you made me feel like a creep for liking you, so you owe me a coffee.”
Silence.
“Seriously, Johnny! I just gave you the chance to ask me out, so it doesn’t sound like you’re actually asking me out, just to make it easier for you. But no, of course you won’t.”
“Shut up, you angry bunny,” Johnny whispers, words dripping with affection. “I won’t ask you out for a coffee. How about some ice cream instead?”
“Ehh. Fine. You got me.”
“Great. And for now, how about we do something we should have done before?”
“Mmm, what do you mean?” Doyoung sits up, blinking fast.
“I bought a poker set. Now let’s learn to play.”
“That’s my man,” Doyoung laughs and plants a small kiss on his lips. “The loser pays for the ice cream.”