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When Donghyuck sees the remaining two people in front of him, he knows it’s over.
Yuta and Doyoung. It’s a no-brainer.
Everyone in the room tries pretending to hold their breaths, but even Doyoung himself knows it: anyone would die before picking him to be on their team. The same has stayed true for the entirety of the competition, and even more so right now, now that only one final round of service remains.
This time tomorrow, the winner of Hell’s Kitchen will have long stepped through the balcony doors to greet the army of audience members below. Donghyuck swallows. Everything he’s ever done feels like it has led to this very moment. Everything he’s dreamt about, lying within reach, before his very eyes.
Unfortunately, that’s not all that’s in front of him. Something— someone —is standing there too, the only hurdle between him and his rightful title as winner. The best chef here, on all accounts, and when Donghyuck clinches it, also the youngest chef to ever win the competition.
And the biggest hurdle he has to cross in order to get there: Kim Doyoung. Dressed in a slim cut suit, deep purple, with nothing on underneath but a pale mesh shirt. Donghyuck fights the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, everyone looks leaps and bounds better than while still on the show, but Doyoung seems intent on making a bold statement. Whatever that may be.
“Yuta,” comes Taeyong’s voice, and Donhyuck tears his eyes away from Doyoung to stare at him. Taeyong purposefully avoids looking back at him. “I choose Yuta.”
“Which means that the last member of Haechan’s brigade is Doyoung! Doyoung, welcome back!” A scattering of applause fills the air but Doyoung takes his time, lingering a moment to stare defiantly up at the other contestants already on stage. With long, sweeping strides, he crosses the hall and ascends the steps one at a time, his head held high. Donghyuck can barely believe it, but is… is Doyoung chewing gum right now? With several cameras trained on him? And with a hall full of people, all following his every move? Donghyuck almost snorts out loud in sheer disbelief.
Up close, his presence is almost overwhelming. Donghyuck can hear the unmistakable smacking of gum from where Doyoung has come to stop a couple of places to his left. And besides that, a familiar scent is wafting over to him, a scent he hasn’t smelled since Doyoung was eliminated.
Donghyuck only recognises it from that one night when he let his curiosity get the better of him. While Doyoung was in the shower, he rolled over and picked the bottle off the nightstand, scanning the ingredient label as he sniffed the nozzle. Sharp top notes that tickled his nose. But later, catching a whiff of his wrist as he took a smoke break on the balcony, the fragrance had faded into a much deeper scent, the neroli now rounded off with the smell of soft musk. And Donghyuck found that, if he closed his eyes, it could even pass for something comforting.
***
There’s nothing quite as surreal as seeing everyone back in the dorms, lounging around like no time has passed at all. The only thing making it obvious that it isn’t just another night in Hell’s Kitchen is how no one is in their chef’s whites. Pretty much everyone is busy smoking, but it isn’t the frenzied, stress-induced type that usually follows a night of service.
Taeyong’s team has taken up camp in the living room, which means Donghyuck’s team is left with the dining table. Donghyuck clears his throat once everyone has settled down.
“So, I was thinking of assigning roles first and then running through the menu again?”
“Cool,” Jaehyun says, taking a long drag. Nothing is never not cool to him.
“I’d kill it on garnish, just saying,” Johnny shrugs, and Donghyuck laughs. Throughout the competition, Johnny has been his biggest source of support. And up till earlier that evening, his biggest competitor, too. Donghyuck can’t help the pang of guilt whenever he recalls Johnny’s face of utter disappointment at the announcement of Taeyong as the second finalist.
But now, Johnny is wholly on his side, and arguably even more determined than Donghyuck himself to see him win.
“Okay, Johnny on garnish then. Jaehyun, you cool with meat station?”
“Yeah, got you.”
Donghyuck turns to Mark. “And Mark, you’re on fish. Okay?”
Agreeable as always, Mark merely nods. He’s the only one not nursing a cigarette, instead sipping intently on his vodka coke. If there’s one thing there’s never a shortage of in Hell’s Kitchen, it’s alcohol. Well, that and drama.
Finally, with some degree of dread, Donghyuck addresses the person seated directly across him.
“And Doyoung, I’m gonna put you apps. If that’s alright with you.”
Doyoung watches him with an air of disinterest. “Sure, whatever.” He’s not smoking either, his mouth busily working away at another piece of gum. And unlike the rest of them, he doesn’t have a notepad in front of him.
“You… wanna take this down or something? Just to make sure?”
“Oh, I’m already sure,” Doyoung shoots back, not moving from where he’s slouched low on the chair.
“Just do as he says,” Johnny snaps, “would it kill you to write it down?” Doyoung rounds on him at once.
“Mind your own fucking business. News flash, you lost tonight, okay? You don’t get to boss any of us around.”
Johnny glowers back at him but Donghyuck doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes across his eyes. Jaehyun lets out a whistle. “Damn, save the bloodshed for after we’re done being stuck in a team.”
Not for the first time that evening, Donghyuck feels a mounting sense of panic threatening to overwhelm him. It’s going to be a disaster- no, shut up, it’s gonna be fine, if Doyoung fucks up on apps it’d be easy to pull him out, salvage everything early on-
“Are we done here?” Doyoung says, voice flat. “I really didn’t come back to Vegas to see your faces again, no offence.” Donghyuck seriously doubts that last part, though he can’t deny that there’s nothing left to do for now.
“Yeah, thanks guys,” says Donghyuck, clicking his pen close. Jaehyun pats him on the back as he rises from his seat, stretching. He rubs his cigarette out in the tray.
“Right, I’m gonna go check in with Taeyong then,” he says with a sly grin, something that isn’t lost on any of them. “Don’t worry, no shop talk. And congrats too, once again. To be honest, it’s kinda wild for me to be working against Taeyong. But if it’s anyone, I’d choose to do it under you.”
***
“So, youngest ever winner of Hell’s Kitchen huh?”
Donghyuck feels his stomach plunge. Hearing the words spoken into the air makes it all seem closer to reality, to being realised. He says nothing for some time, just sucking in a deep breath, feeling the burn of smoke filling his lungs.
He exhales and tips his head back, staring up at the night sky. “It’s crazy man, I really thought you were a shoo-in for the finals. I can’t believe it’s not us two cooking tomorrow.”
“Me too,” Johnny admits. “It still doesn’t feel real. I mean, just twenty four hours ago we were finalising our menus, talking about switching out ingredients…”
“But you’re okay, right?” Donghyuck asks, trying not to show how anxious he feels. “Like…”
“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re asking,” answers Johnny at once, looking at him unblinkingly. “Envious, sure. But I’m happy for you. If I can’t be the one winning, I’m gonna make sure you are.”
Truly grateful, Donghyuck musters a smile. But Johnny’s next words sober him up immediately. “What are you going to do about Doyoung though? You sure you can handle him?”
Doyoung… Donghyuck taps his cigarette on the edge of the table, turning the question over in his mind.
“It’s like, the most important night for you. You need to have a game plan or something.”
Donghyuck groans. “Apps was the game plan. If he tries anything funny it won’t mess service up that much. I’ll be able to spot it fast, pull him out.”
“Do you think he would?”
Donghyuck blinks. “As in… screw me over on purpose?”
“Yeah,” Johnny says, shrugging. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you just now.”
No, of course Donghyuck did. How could he have missed it, the way Doyoung was staring daggers at him. Just a little more and Donghyuck was sure his head was going to get pierced through the middle. But at the same time…
“No, I don’t think so,” he confesses. “Doyoung’s completely unhinged and hates my guts, but he’s too proud for that. He’d want to see me lose because my menu sucked, or because I screwed up at the pass.”
“You mean he’d want to see you lose on your own merit?” Johnny laughs. “Fair enough. Seeing you get all the help possible and still fail would be a real kicker for him.” He falls quiet, and for a while, neither of them says anything.
“What’s it between the both of you anyway? Do you really hate him?”
At Johnny’s question, Donghyuck frowns. “Well, he started it. You were there, you saw it for yourself.”
“Well yeah, but that was directed towards all of us. He’s different when it comes to you. With you, it’s almost like he’s…” Donghyuck watches as Johnny tries to come up with a suitable word. “Like he’s… alive?”
“I think that’s just the crazed look in his eye,” Donghyuck chortles. “Anyway, it’s not news. He hates everyone, doesn't he?”
Johnny looks pensive for a moment. “I guess. He just seems extra touchy when it comes to you, that’s all.” Donghyuck stares at him.
“I mean like on edge! Touchy as in, easily upset. Ugh come on, you know what I meant!”
Donghyuck cackles at the sight of his panicked face. “I am physically incapable of picturing Doyoung be touchy with anyone, much less me.”
“What a pity, you guys would make such a cute couple,” says Johnny in jest, before continuing a little more contemplatively. “Although, he’s not exactly bad looking…”
Donghyuck doesn’t answer. The thing that jumps to mind at once, however, is the image of Doyoung from earlier that evening. Seated across the table, leaning low in his chair, arms crossed. The lapels of his purple blazer, slipping off his torso. His shirt underneath, his dumb, mesh, translucent shirt. His jaw, chewing away at his stupid piece of gum. And his eyes, blazing like coal, staring at Donghyuck in the coldest way possible.
***
Donghyuck’s not frantic by any means, but he’s not calm by a long shot either. The kitchen feels extra suffocating today, and there’s something in the air that’s sending jitters through his limbs. Suddenly, he’s not so sure about way too many things.
“Should I 86 the caramel? What do you think?”
Johnny shakes his head. “You need it on the plate for balance. How about some sea salt?”
“Oh, so it’s like a salted caramel?” He ponders on the suggestion for a brief moment. “Yeah, I think that’ll work.”
“Hey,” Johnny says, eyeing him. “Just chill okay? Don’t overthink it. Your menu’s perfect. All you should be focusing on right now is running your kitchen. Not just later, but also right now, for prep.” Patting Donghyuck on the shoulder, he heads for his station. And speaking of stations—
“Doyoung, are you filling in your station?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It’s a yes or no question, are you setting up your station or not?
“YES. I’m not an idiot, I can do prep without your micromanaging. Why are you only coming after me?”
“It was directed at everyone,” Donghyuck says, trying to keep his voice even.
“You said ‘Doyoung’,” Doyoung snaps. Donghyuck can’t argue with that and falls silent, turning around to watch him work on the butternut squash.
“Fine. I’m just letting you know I’m fixing the sauce first okay?” No answer. “Doyoung?” Doyoung ignores him and continues peeling his squash with the same fast, aggressive strokes.
“Doyoung? You copy?”
“I GOT IT, the first FIFTY times you said it. God, your voice is like nails on a chalkboard.”
At his station, Johnny spins around. “Doyoung, go home! If you don’t want to be here just leave.”
Doyoung widens his eyes; Donghyuck knows what’s coming next. “You know what? I would if someone else told me to, but I’m not gonna take directions from a loser like you.”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up, don’t you ever tell me to shut up!”
“Okay, okay, don’t engage—”
“No one’s talking to you!”
Donghyuck is suddenly drained of all energy. Johnny continues glaring at Doyoung from across the kitchen. Doyoung throws his peeler and squash onto the counter.
“Smoke break,” he snarls, ripping his gloves off. As he stalks off, he tosses them into Mark’s face. Mark snorts in disbelief.
“Is that a smart thing to do to someone with a knife in their hand right now?”
Doyoung doesn’t even look back. “Don’t act like you’ve never had rubber in your face.” With that, he slams the door shut behind him. Jaehyun lets out a guffaw as the rest of them stare at the door, lost for words.
“What a piece of work,” Jaehyun says, still bent over in laughter. “Kim Doyoung… entertainment tv, through and through.”
A voice, loud and gleeful, reaches them from the adjacent kitchen. “The red team isn’t even in service yet and already the bullshit’s starting?”
***
Donghyuck takes a huge breath, scanning the faces of his brigade before him. As always, the pantry is a tight squeeze, and they’re crammed elbow to elbow, waiting for Donghyuck to speak.
“This is a really big deal, so just work with me. I know I can be a bit much sometimes, but I’m allowed to be that way today. And I need you all, every single one of you guys, because there’s no way I can do this by myself.”
Johnny hums in agreement, and Mark nods. Jaehyun gives a low cheer. The only person not responding is Doyoung, who’s casting him the same searing look, cold as ice.
***
“Okay, two two-tops! Two cauliflower salads, two risottos! Doyoung, six minutes to the window?”
Right off the gate, and it’s a double two-top. At least it’s nothing too complicated, though Donghyuck still holds his breath waiting for Doyoung to reply.
“Yeah, got you!”
A tiny sigh of relief escapes Donghyuck at the sound of Doyoung’s voice. It’s been a hot minute since Donghyuck has seen him in the kitchen. He’s forgotten how precisely Doyoung moves, how he loses all signs of languidness once an order is called.
“Do you need help on the cauliflower?” asks Mark, whose fish station is closest to Doyoung’s.
“No, I got it,” Doyoung says, already tossing them high in his sauté pan. His other hand does the same with the risotto. “Three and a half minutes to the pass!”
“Good, thanks!” Donghyuck calls back. Johnny gives him a reassuring nod from the garnish station. When Doyoung delivers the plates to the window, Donghyuck swoops in at once, tasting each plate with a trained precision.
“Doyoung!”
Doyoung swivels around.
“It’s delicious, keep it up!”
Reaching his station and crouching down to grab new saucepans, Doyoung merely nods.
“Say thank you, jeez,” Mark grumbles, which only earns him a shut up from Doyoung. Thankfully, Doyoung seems to be in peak condition today, pushing out app after flawless app without breaking a sweat. He’s always been one hell of a competitor, his impeccable palate topped off with an impressive ability to nail the timings of proteins every single time. Donghyuck could put him on any station and he’d pull it off, no problem.
The same, unfortunately, can’t be said for all of them.
“Mark! How’re you doing on the hamachi?”
“I, I’m almost done!”
“How long?”
“Uh-”
“He literally has zero clue on how to plate it,” interjects Doyoung, rolling his eyes as he stirs his risotto. “How do you even mess up a hamachi dish? There’s not a drop of cooking to do.”
Donghyuck struggles not to panic. “Mark, do you need any help? Do you need me to run over there and show you how to do one? Like real quick, right now?”
Doyoung lifts his pan off the stove, slamming it on the counter in front of him. “Are you fucking dumb? Stay there, I’ll handle this dumbass over here. Let’s hope my risotto doesn’t die because we’re all waiting on him to get a grip.”
Donghyuck feels his mouth fall open. “Y-yes, yes please. Thank you. And Mark! Focus, please!”
Mark flushes and mumbles an apology, before he and Doyoung are bending over the plate, with Doyoung plating each slice exactly as Donghyuck showed them that morning. A peculiar lump lodges in Donghyuck’s chest. It isn’t helped by how conscientiously Doyoung is placing each component down, his fingers deft yet gentle even from a distance.
“Hamachi up,” Mark says, sliding the dish across the pass. He sounds defeated, and Donghyuck scrambles to do damage control.
“It’s great,” he says, patting him on the back. “Just bounce back, you can do it.” As he says it, Donghyuck tries catching Doyoung’s eye, but he’s strangely occupied, especially considering how there’s no new ticket called. Donghyuck forces himself to brush it off.
Way too soon, the end of service approaches with a frightening note of finality. “Last ticket guys,” he hollers. The team springs into action, spurred on by the motivation of ending service strong. And when the final plate has left the kitchen, everyone converges in a mess of hugs and cheers and hearty pats on the back.
“No, I’m really not a hugging kind of person-” Doyoung begins, but Donghyuck, high off the adrenaline, grabs him in a clumsy embrace, hugging him so close that all he can breathe is neroli and musk and the faintest, slightest hint of nicotine.
***
As always, the office is dim, lit just enough to be captured on camera. Donghyuck hates it, now more than ever. Unlike the pantry, the office isn’t a place they go to get yelled at, but Donghyuck hates how claustrophobic it is, how the dark wood finishing makes it feel too small, too cramped.
How the pair of doors leading to the balcony never fails to grab his eye. Both of them, equally full of possibilities.
In his hand, his door handle is like ice. He has to use every ounce of strength not to push down on it by accident. Next to him, with his hand resting on his own handle, Taeyong is so still that Donghyuck isn’t even sure if he’s breathing anymore.
“On the count of three, turn your handles. One…” Donghyuck feels his heart catch painfully in his throat. “Two,” —the lengthy pause is like a rush in his ears, drowning out all thought— “…Three.”
He pushes down, hard, and in a daze, stumbles through the doorframe and out onto the balcony.
For what feels like a whole minute, all he does is stand there, frozen in place. The scene before him shimmers like a mirage. The crowd is jubilant but nothing reaches his ears. Down below, his mother is sobbing, and his siblings are busy screeching in each other’s faces. His dad, too, looks up at him with tears pooling in his eyes, and it’s only then that Donghyuck realises he’s crying as well, ugly, mortifying tears rolling down his two cheeks.
***
Champagne. Way more than Donghyuck ever thought possible to pop, to drink, to pour for others to drink.
“Congrats, once again,” shouts Johnny in his ear, over the din of the merrymaking.
“Thanks,” shouts Donghyuck in return, despite them having had this conversation approximately thirty times so far. His head hurts, no thanks to drinking so much on such an empty stomach, coupled with a lack of water over the whole day.
“It’s so awesome,” gushes Johnny, beaming at the massive banner of Donghyuck that’s currently hanging next to a row of winners along the wall.
“Crazy, isn’t it…” Donghyuck murmurs, more to himself than anything. He suddenly remembers something and starts rummaging in his pocket, only to come up empty.
“Wait, where you going-?”
“Be back in a sec, I have to go look for something,” says Donghyuck hurriedly over his shoulder, rushing out of the packed room before Johnny can say anything more.
Uneasiness prickles at the back of his head. There’s nowhere else it could be, right? He doesn’t wear it during service, only keeping it on him when he needs the extra luck. The last time he saw it today, the only time he saw it today… Please be there…
He bursts into the pantry.
Doyoung, nestled in the corner, has his arms around his knees and head down.
“What?” says Donghyuck, stupidly. Doyoung snaps his head up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“What, what are you doing?” Donghyuck asks, his tongue like lead. The door clicks shut behind him with a sinister thud. The ensuing silence rings in his ears.
“I was stuck,” says Doyoung, completely calm. It takes a long second for Donghyuck to register what was just said. “Am stuck, rather.”
“What the hell?” Donghyuck yells, spinning around and trying the handle at once. No go. “What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me before the door closed?”
“My bad. I was busy cursing you out in my head.”
“You know damn well you cursed at me out loud, and that’s besides the point! Now we’re both stuck! All thanks to you!”
Doyoung narrows his eyes. “Well, and it’s no thanks to you, either.”
Donghyuck furrows his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean? How’s any of this my fault?” But Doyoung just lapses back into silence, casting him an icy glare that’s all too familiar.
“Can you quit staring at me like that for once? We have to figure out how to get out of here!”
“Relax,” Doyoung mutters, dropping his head onto his knees again. His voice is low, but whether it’s tired or just muffled against his clothes, Donghyuck can’t say for sure. “They’ll find us eventually. I mean, you are the star of the show.”
Donghyuck feels a rush of emotions sweep over him in a giant, confused wave. “Hey. I know it probably means nothing to you, but I wanted to tell you thanks. That I appreciate it. Really. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
With a growl, Doyoung snaps his head up. This time, there’s nothing cold in his glare, just pure, unadulterated fire. “Shut up. If you’re going to intrude, just shut the fuck up.”
“-intrude—? I didn’t ask to be trapped in here with you, of all people!” Then a thought strikes Donghyuck, in the midst of his indignation. “And what do you mean by intrude, anyway? What is it you were doing in here? What did you come in here for?”
The look Doyoung has on is downright murderous. “Mind your own business.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol in his blood, maybe it’s how there’s nothing left for him to lose, but Donghyuck refuses to let it go. It doesn’t matter anyway, none of it will matter once tonight’s over. They’ll leave Vegas, never to cross paths ever again.
“Hmm. I kind of don’t want to though. After all, it’s your fault we’re stuck here in the first place. You should take responsibility. Entertain me a little at least.”
As if on cue, Doyoung explodes. “It’s YOUR fault I’m even here at all! Your fault I came into the pantry, your fault I’m back in Vegas, your fault I’m back again in this stupid kitchen!”
That was way more than Donghyuck asked for. He shuffles forward, and on instinct, Doyoung recoils backwards, knocking against a shelf in the process.
“You were running away from me?” Donghyuck asks, confused. “Like, at the after-party?”
“After the results were announced, dumbass,” Doyoung says, rubbing his shoulder. “I always knew you were dumb but not this dumb, jesus.”
Donghyuck is still too bewildered to care about the insult. Sure, Doyoung’s always hated him. But all this trouble, just to run away from him… It doesn’t make sense. Why does it sound suspiciously like…
“Are you scared of me?” he asks, incredulous.
“Oh my god just shut up,” Doyoung groans, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.
“You are scared of me,” Donghyuck says, for some reason exhilarated. “Why else would you be hiding away in the pantry?”
“Because I couldn’t stand seeing your insufferable face for a second longer!” Doyoung shouts, chest heaving. “Acting like you’re so surprised, acting all shocked. When we all know you think you’re all that, that you’re the only one who deserved to win. Do you have any idea how it feels, helping the one person you hate to win? The one person who hates you?”
“I don’t hate you,” says Donghyuck, the words coming more quickly than he expects. And he realises how true they are, once he hears them for himself. It’s a startling realisation, yet one that he’s known for some time; he doesn’t hate Doyoung. Can’t hate Doyoung.
Without knowing it, Donghyuck is taking another step towards him, only this time, Doyoung springs up instead of backing away. “But I hate you,” he snarls, each word as clear as the last, “I hate how you think you know it all, I hate how everyone thinks only the best of you, I hate how you wormed your way into the semi-finals. I hate your dumb fucking menu, I hate that you won with that dumb fucking menu—“
They’re so close now that Donghyuck feels each word as much as hears it, tiny bursts of air warm against his face. And the sight of Doyoung’s face, pale under the harsh pantry lights, inches from his own nose. “But I don’t think you do,” he breathes. “I really don’t think you do-”—Doyoung’s chest, rising and falling wordlessly—“I don’t think you hate me at all, Doyoung.”
And then they’re crashing into each other, like two trains headed for disaster. The impact isn’t pretty but Donghyuck doesn’t even wince, moving to part Doyoung’s lips, pushing his way in and swallowing the rest of Doyoung’s words. With a sharp breath, Doyoung takes him in, his tongue angry and rough. His teeth knock against Donghyuck’s lips but Donghyuck only forces his head forward, ignoring the flare of pain. Doyoung shows no sign of backing down. He tilts his head in one swift motion, tipping his chin up to suck on Donghyuck’s lip with a frenzied urgency. As always, Donghyuck isn’t one to admit defeat. He works his tongue in Doyoung’s mouth with delirious abandon, tasting burnt sugar and musk and loathing all at once.
And blood. He draws in a sudden breath, slightly winded when Doyoung nips on his lip without even the slightest hint of concern, the unmistakable metallic taste flooding his mouth. Their mouths. A complete hundred eighty from earlier, Doyoung is a whirlwind of movement, one move segueing into the next without so much as a pause for breathing. But Donghyuck’s lungs are screaming for air; he pulls back just a fraction and takes a gulping breath. Doyoung growls, grabbing him by the back of his head and smashing their faces together again. Dizzy, Donghyuck still manages to hold his own, such that their kiss is less a kiss and more of a heated meeting of tongues, of mouths, of teeth.
“Y-you’re gonna,” pants Donghyuck, voice rough yet testy all the same, “you’re gonna chew my lip off, you fucking maniac.”
Doyoung responds by sucking on his lip where a cut already sits, and at the stinging pain, Donghyuck decides it’s time to regain control. He ducks forward, sucking on the crook of Doyoung’s neck, letting his teeth dig deep into Doyoung’s skin. Doyoung chokes out a strangled breath. A giddy sense of thrill shoots through Donghyuck’s veins. So he keeps at it, sucking longer and harder than he remembers ever doing, pressing Doyoung flush against the wall and feeling him strain against him, a heady mix of seething hatred and neediness.
“Thought you hated me,” he says scathingly, using his knee to hold Doyoung in place. “Thought you detested everything about me. But it doesn’t seem like it, does it? Does it, Doyoung?”
“I’ll fucking kill you,” Doyoung manages to wheeze out, “if you don’t just shut it and use your mouth for something useful.”
“So young, so impatient,” Donghyuck says, mockingly gentle all of a sudden, his teeth drawing a lazy path along Doyoung’s neck. Doyoung’s skin is hot, feverish almost, surprising Donghyuck every time his lips come into contact with it.
“You have no idea how much I hate you right now,” Doyoung grits out, tugging on the collar of his chef’s whites. Donghyuck reaches down, fumbling to undo the buttons for him, his hands lingering to roam the length of Doyoung’s torso as he does so.
“Wow, you’re so hot,” marvels Donghyuck, only half in jest. “Like you’re actually burning up…” At Donghyuck’s palms on his bare skin, Doyoung shivers. His hand slips from Donghyuck’s hair to rest on the nape of his neck. For some reason, this feels like the most intimate thing to happen tonight, the weight of it strangely tender, even as Doyoung curls his fingers into a tight grip. His nails, short as they are, dig into the back of Donghyuck’s neck.
The only responsible thing to do, therefore, is to lower his head once again, fitting his mouth over the spot where Doyoung’s collarbones dip to meet at his throat. Grazing it with his tongue, he lets out an exhale before nipping at the base of Doyoung’s throat. Up close, he gets a full view of the way Doyoung swallows thickly, his Adam's apple shaky as it bobs up and down.
“Enough,” comes Doyoung’s voice, out of the blue. Abruptly, Donghyuck is shoved so hard that he stumbles backwards, colliding painfully with the shelf along the opposite wall.
“What the hell?” Donghyuck says, once he’s caught his breath. “What are you playing at?”
Doyoung stares back at him, not saying a word. But it’s a look Donghyuck has never seen before. Not icy, not angry, not full of hatred. It’s so out of place on his face that it takes Donghyuck a full minute to place it.
It looks like he’s about to cry. Donghyuck is so astonished that it feels like a slap in his face.
“Are- are you…?”
Doyoung bolts up, reaching the door in two frantic steps and trying to wrench the door open with all his might. “Ugh- Just open, please-”
Donghyuck frowns and steps towards him. “Hey…” Without turning around, Doyoung shakes him off, and Donghyuck sees how erratically he’s breathing, how his shoulders shake with each uneven breath. Firmly yet gently, he stretches an arm out to take Doyoung by the elbow. Doyoung freezes, but doesn’t react further when Donghyuck moves to turn him around.
And when they’re face to face, Doyoung doesn’t lift his head. Donghyuck is the one to make the first move. With a slow, cautious touch, he lifts Doyoung’s chin, such that their eyes have no choice but to meet. To his credit, Doyoung doesn’t shy away, returning his stare with an unreadable gaze. And the tears streaming down his face — those, too, prove impossible for Donghyuck to comprehend.
So, struggling to process this turn of events, Donghyuck just stands there, gingerly cupping Doyoung’s chin.
There must be some arcane force in how Doyoung is staying completely still, just watching Donghyuck watch him, because Donghyuck feels an inexplicable impulse to lean forward and kiss him. A proper one this time. So that’s exactly what he does. The kiss is long and deep and drawn out, but also, somehow, quite very sad. Carefully, Donghyuck licks away the tears that reach his lips. Their lips.
“Why did you come back?” he asks, upon them breaking apart. It’s still salty in his mouth where Doyoung’s tongue was, barely a moment before. “You said it’s my fault you’re here again. Why?”
Doyong takes a shuddering breath. “Was curio- no, I wanted to. I wanted to see you again. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t say why, but I knew that much at least, knew that I wanted to see you one last time.”
“It doesn’t have to be, if you want,” Donghyuck says. “Only if you want. If you wanted… what happened in Vegas doesn’t have to stay in Vegas. It doesn’t need to stay here when we leave.
“It doesn’t have to end here. When we leave tomorrow, we can take this all with us.”
Doyoung lets out a hollow laugh. “We live on opposite ends of the country… opposite lives.”
Donghyuck doesn’t flinch. “Then just add it to the list of things that make us complete opposites.” Doyoung still looks skeptical, still looks scared, but Donghyuck pushes ahead, determined to get his point across. “It doesn’t stop me from wanting this, from wanting you. And if you feel the same…”
Quietly, Doyoung nods his head. Donghyuck feels a rush of delight at the sight of Doyoung nodding this prettily, his face streaked with dried tears. “In that case, I’m going to take this as our first kiss.”
Whispering, he leans in to kiss Doyoung again, but not before catching a fleeting glimpse of Doyoung’s eyelids fluttering shut. It reminds him of falling asleep, head swimming with dreams for tomorrow.