Work Text:
The desktop system spells out 23:46, hours past the time you were supposed to get off work. Mountains of warm, freshly-printed on copy paper perch menacingly atop the glass table, to which you sink unto. You get a hold of yourself as you barely manage to prevent drool from slipping on the forms, hitting your cheeks repeatedly.
Hazily trudging out of your office to splash water on your face in the bathroom, you hear a chair creak to your right. Eyes landing on your sleeping secretary, you walk up to him and poke him in the cheek. “Mr. Choi, what are you still doing here this late?” You whisper as you crouch to level him. The taller stretches in his seat and yawns, nose crinkling like a cat post-mid-noon nap. “Was waiting for you to leave.” Humming, you stand back up. “This won’t get you overtime pay.” He rolls his eyes and rises from his place, pointedly tidying his desk as you stride into the bathroom. Once you return, he straps his messenger bag on and huffs aloud. “I’ll drive you home.” He says, to which you shake your head. “I’m not done reviewing all the proposals. It’s like the other departments conspired against me for this specific day.” You grumble, while the other chuckles lightly. “Had plans tonight, Director?” Shaking your head, you lean your side against his desk, playing with a paperweight. “I was planning on eating out tonight, but I’m pretty sure the restaurant I reserved is closed now.” He nods, nudging you back into your office as he follows suit. The man can’t help but add a snarky comment; as he always does between the two of you. “Alone I presume?” You turn to glare at him as he looks at you tauntingly. “I’ll take this out of your pay.” “That's unprofessional and petty.” He retorts, settling on the chair across your side of the table.
“We had a company dinner yesterday, you know.” He points out. Reaching for a leather file from the heap of similar folders, you sigh. “I know. I paid for it.” Tilting his head, he takes one to read for himself. “You never join though.” You shrug as you close off the newly signed file, adding it to the basket of victories under your desk. “Would ruin the vibe if their boss showed up. I’m like the source of their problems.”
“They don’t hate you, you know.”
“They don’t exactly like me either.” You pause, popping two pieces of coffee candy into your mouth. “They’ll tense up when they see me.” Humming in response, he moves his share of the approved and rejected files to stack onto yours. “They don’t know you personally. You need to let loose around them once in a while.” Slumping into the seat, you nod at him mindlessly. All the simultaneous talking and reading makes your brain cramp. The words are barely distinguishable, compact font swimming against each other. You slam the folder shut and rub your nose bridge, unwrapping more pieces of candy.
Your assistant winces at your state, asking you when you last ate something. You bite your lip to think of a lie, but the other is a step ahead of you, deadpan stare boring into your gaze. “I think, noon? I had an onigiri and half a soda—” “That’s insane.” He interjects, dusting off his suit and standing up. “Let’s go eat something.” You give him a dejected look as he grabs the sides of your forearms, dragging you out of your place. Mouth parting to whine, he cuts you off by tutting at you, telling you to finish it after a meal.
Turns out, looking for an establishment to eat is not as easy as Soobin had thought. Most places around the area were either packed or closed, and you complained that you weren’t getting on any vehicle to fair far from the company. His face irks the more time he spends hauling you everywhere, until your eyes rest on a dim and narrow, cold alleyway. You turn to him as he shakes his head profusely, telling you it’s dangerous for a ‘high profile individual’ such as yourself to be in a sketchy passage, but you ignore him as the scent of smoked meat wafts your way.
After a while of trudging behind you, he bumps into your back when you stop to stare at a bright, warm-lit ramen shop. The other scans the store to find outdated wooden seats and one singular counter that lines along the kitchen of the old man cooking behind it, a few drunk office workers slurring or sulking as they pick on their bowls. He follows you as you stride inside, tightening his chest and trying to keep to himself, bumping into multiple chairs in the process. You plop onto the uncomfortable wooden stool, chattering away with the cook. His hair is long and white, much like his beard. The other thinks this should be a health code violation, gazing as he takes your orders and observing him as he works to ensure not a strand falls into your meals.
When the bowls come, you hurriedly eat through everything, rambling with your mouth full as the other watches you calmly. In turn, he complains about the bags under your eyes, the discarded meals you leave and the nights you’ve spent hunched over your monitor, crying as you finish your duties.
He slurps the broth from the renge, laughing at how childish you look when you try to fit a bit of everything onto yours. You tell him it’s like a mini ramen bowl of its own, and he backs off.
You stare at him when he blows the steam off his meal, laughing at the dumbfounded look on his face when his glasses fog up, lashes tapping against his skin when he feels the heat seep through his eyes. The other was a slow eater, or maybe you were too much of a glutton; maybe both. He sinks into the warm counter after finishing the remaining soup and a few alcoholic drinks, viewing you stare thoughtlessly into nothing in particular at the corner of his eyes.
He props up his elbow to rest his chin. “Director, you've never called me by my first name. We’re the same age, and we’ve known each other for over half a decade! We should be dropping the honorifics.” You face him with a raised brow and crossed arms. “How shameless, I’m your boss.” He flashes you a loopy grin and you clear your throat, avoiding his gaze and sitting upright. He annoyingly calls out your name repeatedly, drawing out each syllable slowly as he fiddles with the fabric of your coat. Your ears flush into a hue similar to the other’s drunken blush, as you swat his hands away. “Choi Soobin, you’re wasted as hell. Get your shit together.” You eye the bottle next to him, not even half consumed and here he is acting like a complete fool. 'It would be a shame to waste good alcohol', you bluff, staring at the cheap liquor. After downing the rest of the drink, your mind slurs a bit, and you can sort of understand why the other is nearly out. He chuckles and playfully slaps your shoulders, cooing at you for finally saying his name, and you feel your body temperature peaking through the roof. You take off your coat and set it on your lap, nudging glasses of water towards the other in an attempt to sober him up. “You won’t ever get to hear me say it again if you keep acting like this. You promised we’d go back to the office.” He scowls at you. “Don’t be such a tight ass. This is why you have no social life outside of work and company partnerships.” He grumbles, burying his face in the trench of his arms. “How did I ever come to like someone so obsessed with statistics like you?” It takes a few seconds for you to register the weight of his words, head snapping to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “What?”
Soobin shakes his head violently, dizzy by the end of it. “Forget it, we should go finish your work.” You raise your arm to block his path, and you see his expression slowly morph from slightly tipsy to downright embarrassed. “I don’t want to. Elaborate now.” He sits back down with his palms rubbing on his thighs, turning his head away whenever you chase for eye contact. “Soobin?” You call out to him softly, and he jolts up, stiff as a board. Despite his shock, he manages to fumble out a ‘huh?’, to which you give him a brazenly amused smile, combing through his disheveled hair. “You were just about to go on about how much you love me as a boss and as a person and everything?” He rolls his eyes in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “I never said I loved you being my boss.” “So you love me in the rest of the regards?”
He groans as he pushes himself off the stool, awkwardly waddling through the compressed space of the restaurant. You laugh as you trail behind him, shouting sorry's while teasing him. Both of you stumble out of the narrow alley, expression on Soobin petulant when he sees yours is entertained.
As you walk back towards the cityscape, flecks of white fall increasingly, exhales becoming shrouded in white. You bicker as he nags you about your health, insisting you take his hooded jacket before smothering you in his hold. You sigh in defeat, trudging at the fatigue washing over you. As late as it is, the urban is as lively as ever; overly saturated animated billboards and flickering building lights nearly blind you, though it’s what keeps you awake.
“I can’t believe I just confessed to you and now we're walking back to work.” He sulks, playing with the small puddles of melted snow beneath his feet. “We have deadlines, Binnie.” You reply, shrugging. The other halts in his position. “Don’t do that.” You stop in front of him, tilting your body sideways. “Do what?”
“Don’t give me a cute nickname and stare at me like that.” His pout deepens, and you pat him on the head. “Why not? I think you look cute, pouting and moping all over the place like you got kicked over.” He lights up as he runs up to your side. “You think I’m cute?” You nod at him, and an insane thought accidentally escapes you. “Yeah. Like a big dumb dog.” He deflates again, locking your arms in his. “‘M not a dog.” “Then stop acting like it.” You retort, placing both your hands in the pockets of your coat.
“You’re too mean to me. I’m sure you’d act all cutesy for someone you actually liked.” He comments, snuggling your hands deeper into the pocket, nearly making you lose footing when you feel it weighing you down. Instead, it makes you lean into him. You make no effort to move away. “Who says I don’t like you?”
Soobin halts again and yanks you to face him. “You like me?” You shrug casually, “More or less.”
“More!” He half-shouts, earning a few curious glances from passersby. He looks around bashfully before focusing on you again. You giggle at him—Soobin thinks he might explode if he sees a new emotion from you tonight. “More please.” You cup the other’s face in a cuteness-aggressive state, swaying his head around. “More it is.” He moves to hug your side, latching onto you like mistletoe on a shrub. “Does this mean we’re a thing now?” He asks meekly, and you scoff in return. “A thing? Soobin, we’re adults. The term is dating.” The other gasps dramatically. “That’s even better.” “That makes you my dog then.” You tease, and to your surprise the other plays along. “I’m your dog then, master.”
The heat quickly spreads across your ears and neck, going unnoticed by the other. “Holy shit, you’re into that stuff.” Pushing yourself off him, you scramble to make up an excuse. In the end, all you can reply is an extremely telling and loud “Shut Up!”