Chapter Text
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Pocks
Taekjoo barely stirred at the touch, though Zhenya's warm breath tickled his ear. The faint touches began again—soft fingertips brushing over his temple, tracing the line of his jaw, pausing at the corner of his lips. The sensation was almost imperceptible, like feathers grazing against skin.
“Stop that,” Taekjoo muttered, though his voice was slurred from exhaustion. He didn’t open his eyes, his body too heavy to muster resistance.
Zhenya smiled faintly, perched at the edge of the bed like a restless cat. “How can I stop when you look so peaceful?” he whispered, his Russian accent making every word feel like a song.
It was quiet for a moment, the faint hum of the Moscow city lights bleeding through the thick curtains of the safe house.
“You’re annoying,” Taekjoo grumbled halfheartedly, shifting slightly in the bed. The movement sent a dull throb of pain radiating from the wound on his side, and his brows furrowed.
Zhenya was instantly at his side, his playful expression hardening into one of concern. “Careful,” he said softly, adjusting the blanket that covered Taekjoo. His hands lingered for a moment, warm and steady against Taekjoo’s arm.
---
Their rooms were identical in layout but worlds apart in atmosphere. Zhenya’s space was immaculate—pristine furniture, perfectly aligned books, not a single item out of place. It felt more like a showroom than a living space.
Taekjoo’s room, on the other hand, was alive with chaos. Stacks of mission files cluttered the desk, a half-empty cup of coffee sat forgotten by the window, and the faint scent of gun oil hung in the air. It was a stark reflection of Taekjoo himself: efficient, no-nonsense, and relentlessly focused.
Despite their differences, Zhenya always found his way into Taekjoo’s room.
“Why don’t you ever sleep in your own bed?” Taekjoo had asked him once, his tone sharp with irritation.
“Because your bed has you in it,” Zhenya had replied with an infuriatingly smug grin.
---
Taekjoo woke to the smell of coffee brewing, his senses sharpening instantly. He sat up slowly, his hand instinctively going to the bandage wrapped around his side. The pain was manageable, though the stiffness lingered.
Zhenya was sitting by the window, bathed in the pale morning light. He held a steaming cup in one hand, his other hand idly twirling a knife.
“You’re awake,” Zhenya said without turning around. “Good. I was beginning to think you’d sleep forever.”
Taekjoo swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as he stood. “Why are you still here?”
Zhenya finally looked at him, a crooked smile playing at his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
---
Taekjoo sighed, leaning against the wall for a moment to gather his strength. The ache in his side reminded him of the warehouse ambush—a mission turned disaster thanks to Zhenya’s unpredictable nature. He had wanted to yell at Zhenya then, but now, standing in the quiet safe house, the words seemed pointless.
“Are you just going to stare, or would you like some coffee?” Zhenya asked, interrupting Taekjoo’s thoughts. He set his knife down on the windowsill, the blade glinting in the light.
Taekjoo stepped forward and took the cup from Zhenya’s outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Zhenya’s gaze lingered on him.
“You should sit down,” Zhenya said.
“I’m fine,” Taekjoo replied tersely, though he lowered himself into a chair anyway. The coffee was strong and bitter, just the way he liked it.
Zhenya sat across from him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He studied Taekjoo in silence, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
“What?” Taekjoo asked, narrowing his eyes.
“You look terrible,” Zhenya said matter-of-factly.
“And whose fault is that?” Taekjoo shot back.
Zhenya chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “You’re alive, aren’t you? You should be thanking me.”
“For what? Ruining the mission?”
“For saving your life,” Zhenya countered, his tone soft but firm. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t need me.”
---
The rest of the day passed quietly. Zhenya busied himself cleaning his weapons while Taekjoo reviewed their next steps, his mind focused despite the dull throb of pain in his side.
By evening, the tension between them had eased slightly, though it never truly disappeared. It was their dynamic—one forged in fire and conflict, but strangely
comforting in its constancy.
As Taekjoo prepared for bed, Zhenya lingered in the doorway.
“Are you going to your own room tonight?” Taekjoo asked, though he already knew the answer.
Zhenya tilted his head, his smile softening. “Do you want me to leave?”
Taekjoo didn’t reply. He climbed into bed, pulling the blanket over himself, and closed his eyes.
The mattress shifted as Zhenya sat at the edge of the bed. He leaned down, his fingers brushing against Taekjoo’s cheek.
“Goodnight, Taekjoo,” Zhenya whispered.
Taekjoo didn’t respond, but the faint smile on his lips spoke volumes.
---
The air in the room was thick with quiet. Zhenya remained seated on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on Taekjoo’s face. His expression was unreadable—neither the sly grin he often wore nor the sharp intensity he displayed in the field. It was something softer, something unguarded.
“You’re still here,” Taekjoo murmured, his eyes still closed.
“Of course,” Zhenya replied smoothly. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”
Taekjoo cracked one eye open, fixing Zhenya with a halfhearted glare. “Do I really
have to?”
Zhenya smirked but didn’t move. “No.”
A sigh escaped Taekjoo as he let his eyes drift shut again. He was too tired to argue, too drained to tell Zhenya to return to his own room. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he knew Zhenya wouldn’t leave even if he ordered him to.
Zhenya leaned closer, his hand brushing against Taekjoo’s hair. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so volatile.
“You’re stubborn, you know,” Zhenya said softly.
“You’re one to talk,” Taekjoo replied, his voice tinged with faint amusement.
Zhenya laughed quietly, the sound low and rich. It wasn’t his usual mocking tone; this was something else. Warm. Familiar.
“You should get some rest,” Zhenya said after a moment. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
Taekjoo wanted to argue, wanted to tell Zhenya that he didn’t need babysitting. But the weight of the day pressed down on him, and he found himself sinking deeper into the mattress.
As he drifted off, he felt Zhenya’s fingers trace the curve of his cheek, then the light press of lips against his temple.
“Sleep well, Taekjoo,” Zhenya whispered.
---
The first rays of sunlight crept through the curtains, painting the room in shades of gold and grey. Taekjoo stirred, his body stiff but his mind alert. He opened his eyes to find Zhenya sitting in the armchair by the window, his posture relaxed but his expression sharp.
“You’re up early,” Taekjoo said, his voice still rough from sleep.
Zhenya turned to him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I could say the same about you.”
Taekjoo swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing the strength in his body. The pain in his side was a dull ache now, manageable but persistent.
“You need to take it easy,” Zhenya said, rising from the chair and crossing the room in a few fluid strides.
“I’m fine,” Taekjoo replied, though his body betrayed him with a slight wince as he stood.
Zhenya’s hands were on him instantly, steadying him with surprising care. “You’re terrible at pretending, Taekjoo.”
“And you’re too dramatic,” Taekjoo shot back, but there was no heat in his words.
Zhenya’s smirk softened into something warmer. “Come on. I’ll make breakfast.”
“You can cook?” Taekjoo asked, raising an eyebrow.
Zhenya laughed, the sound light and carefree. “I guess you’ll find out.”
---
The scent of sizzling eggs and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the safe house as Taekjoo leaned against the doorway of the small kitchen. Zhenya was at the stove, a vision of effortless elegance even in a plain shirt and slacks. (This reminds me of Taekjoo’s burnt eggs)
“You look like you’ve done this before,” Taekjoo remarked, folding his arms across his chest.
Zhenya glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a sly grin. “What, cooking? Or playing house with you?”
“Both.”
Zhenya chuckled softly, flipping the eggs with practiced ease. “I’m full of surprises,
Taekjoo.”
Taekjoo didn’t respond, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he moved to sit at the small dining table. He watched Zhenya work, the domesticity of the moment feeling almost surreal.
When Zhenya finally placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, Taekjoo arched an eyebrow. “No poison, I assume?”
“Only if you ask nicely,” Zhenya quipped, sitting across from him with his own plate.
Taekjoo took a tentative bite, his expression remaining impassive. “Not bad.” But secretly in his heart, he was praising Zhenya.
Zhenya’s grin widened. “High praise coming from you.”
---
The hours slipped by in relative quiet, the safe house a bubble of calm in the storm of their lives. Taekjoo spent most of the day poring over intelligence reports, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Zhenya lounged on the couch, a book in one hand and a glass of vodka in the other. He’d glance at Taekjoo occasionally, his gaze lingering as if he were committing every detail to memory.
“Do you ever stop staring?” Taekjoo finally asked, not looking up from his laptop.
“Not when the view is this good,” Zhenya replied smoothly.
Taekjoo sighed, shaking his head but choosing not to dignify the comment with a response.
---
As night fell, the safe house took on a different atmosphere. The lights were dimmed, and the hum of the city outside seemed distant.
Taekjoo stood by the window, his silhouette outlined against the faint glow of the streetlights. Zhenya approached quietly, his footsteps barely audible.
“You’re thinking too much,” Zhenya said, his voice low.
“It’s part of the job,” Taekjoo replied, not turning around.
Zhenya stepped closer, his presence a warm shadow behind Taekjoo. “You’re allowed to stop, you know. Just for a little while.”
Taekjoo finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. “And do what? Relax?”
Zhenya smiled, his hand resting lightly on Taekjoo’s shoulder. “Stay here. With me.”
There was a long pause before Taekjoo spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “You know that’s not how this ends.”
Zhenya’s smile faltered for a moment, but then he leaned in, pressing his forehead against Taekjoo’s. “Then we’ll make the most of what we have.”
---