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It wasn’t supposed to be one of his battle hoods. No, for those he had purchased a very specific brand of cheap cotton shirts in bulk so that he didn’t get them mixed up with his leisure hoods which were a touch softer and pleasant to the touch.
It all made perfect sense really, at least in his head since no one had ever really needed to ask what kind of shirts he made his masks out of. In fact, not too many people really asked him much about the shirts at all, too intimidated by his large stature and quiet demeanor.
It was better that way. Most people wouldn’t understand if they explained it to him, not because it was confusing, but because they didn’t want to.
The exception of course, was Horangi. It always was.
The man was many things König was not: forward, social, and above all things, bold. He’d seen the way König sorted his laundry once, hadn’t even hesitated to ask if the shirts he was washing were the same masks he wore on his head and why he was separating them so carefully. König had explained, unsure of how to escape the man’s observant gaze, felt even behind the reflective surface of his sunglasses.
Maybe it’s because the smaller man wore a mask too, albeit leagues more refined than his own. But something about it eased his guard a touch, allowed him to talk about his own masks without hesitating too much.
Horangi had nodded, going about his tasks without judgment before inviting König to work out with him later that day. He’d accepted.
All of that made sense to him, it was an understandable chain of events for two masked men to befriend each other despite their vastly different personalities and upbringings. They had something in common, something that connected them far more than any of those other things likely would have.
What didn’t make sense to him, was how it had gotten to the point where he was sneaking into the laundry room before Horangi’s last load was done, and quietly swiping one of the smaller man’s shirts from the machine. He was quick, restarting the machine and slipping away back to his own room before anyone could walk in and question him on what he was doing. Not that anyone was likely to, aside from Horangi himself.
And that brought him to now, sitting on his bed sewing, scissors sitting beside the two scraps of fabric that had previously been a part of a shirt. Horangi’s shirt, to be exact.
He was methodically sewing around the holes he’d cut for his eyes, fixing frayed edges so they wouldn’t pull apart any further over time.
He didn’t know why he’d actually done it. At some point over the last few months he’d started to wonder what it would be like to wear the smaller man’s shirt as a hood, breathing in the scent of his detergent and imagining what it would be like to rest his head against Horangi’s chest. Did doing this make him a pervert? It wasn’t like he was stealing his underwear…
His face turned an impressive shade of red at the thought and he turned his mind elsewhere. No one would even find out about it. It was a plain black shirt, no different than the other hoods he wore. Except of course that this one was Horangi’s.
He wouldn’t wear it outside of his own room. It would be too stressful to see Horangi while wearing it around the compound. Or god forbid, have to speak with him while wearing it.
A knock on his door startled him from his thoughts and he glanced at the source of the sound in surprise. People didn’t often seek him out directly.
“Who is it?”
“König, it’s me. Can I come in?”
What dreadful timing, he thought, as Horangi’s voice filled his empty room. He scrambled to shove the finished hood onto his head, heart racing at the thought of Horangi seeing it and saying anything. But he wouldn’t, there would be no reason for him to do so. It was just a plain, black shirt.
“Y-yes.”
“Hey do you want to come down to-”
Horangi froze, watching König intently once he’d entered the room. König felt his heart stutter and froze as well, hands gripping the tops of his knees. Fuck.
They watched each other for what felt like several minutes, but König knew was actually closer to a few seconds. Finally the smaller man straightened up, shaking his head slightly before resuming.
“I’m getting dinner, do you want to join me?”
What? What just happened?
“Um…yes?”
“Yes?”
“Yeah. Yes, I’ll be there. You can go ahead, I have to put these things away,” König spoke slowly, unsure of what was happening following that awkward pause and nervous about it.
Horangi cleared his throat and nodded.
“No problem, I’ll wait outside. I want to walk down together.”
“Oh, sure. Yes, I’ll just be a moment.”
“Take your time.”
The door closed softly as Horangi left him to wait. He sat for a moment, face red at the request to walk together and heart doing its best to stop racing from their stare down earlier. He was convinced that somehow he’d been caught and Horangi was moments away from calling him out for being a creep. He would take the win’s as they came, he decided as he rushed to put away his sewing supplies so he wouldn’t sit on them again when he returned.
Outside the door, Horangi crouched, hands covering his burning face and back against the wall.
Kim Hongjin .
König was wearing his shirt. The printed lettering of his name showing near the hem in a dark gray that was easy to miss, if you didn’t wear the shirt on a regular basis.
“You’re trying to kill me 여보. Wearing my shirt?” he clutched at his chest with a groan, “too cute.”
The sound of the door opening had him shooting to his feet and he watched the taller man exit the room and smile at him, eyes crinkling under his new hood.
“I’m ready to go.”
“Let’s go, my stomach is starving.”