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“What am I going to do with you, Chirpie-yah?” Han Yoojin sighs. His formerly clean shirt is dripping iced coffee onto the immaculate floor of Sung Hyunjae’s kitchen in the morning light, the fabric clinging sticky and uncomfortable against his skin. Yoojin has a sneaking suspicion that the little bird had done it on purpose; he’s grown far too close to Sung Hyunjae of late.
Han Yoojin isn’t sure yet how this benefits Sung Hyunjae, but he has a feeling that somehow it does. Still, it’s impossible to be mad at the creature currently fluffing his wings where he’s now sitting on Sung Hyunjae’s head—all he can manage is a fond sort of resignation.
Sung Hyunjae, on the other hand.
“Did you put him up to this?” Yoojin asks suspiciously. “Don’t be a bad influence on the kids.”
“I’m wounded,” Sung Hyunjae says cheerfully. “You know I strive to be only the best influence, Yoojin-ah.” Circling around behind Han Yoojin, Sung Hyunjae gives his ruined t-shirt a critical look. Strong, elegant fingers brush the hem, then lift it as if to inspect it. “I do believe you’re going to have to change before your meeting with the Hunters’ Association.”
Han Yoojin frowns. He’d only had the one extra shirt at Sung Hyunjae’s place this morning, and there isn’t time to return to his own apartment and still make it to the Association on time.
All of which Sung Hyunjae knows very well.
“Maybe Myeongwoo can meet me there with a spare one,” he says.
“Isn’t Yoo Myeongwoo-ssi usually in the forge by now?” Sung Hyunjae asks innocently. His fingers slip beneath the hem of Yoojin’s shirt, and before Yoojin knows what’s happening, Hyunjae is helping him free himself of the soaking fabric. His touch is firm and warm and annoyingly nice. “You’re more than welcome to borrow one of mine.”
Scoffing, Yoojin allows Sung Hyunjae to reach for a cloth to clean the sticky liquid from his chest. “Anything of yours will be too big,” he says. Not to mention too fancy; it would be very noticeable whose clothes he was wearing, and Yoojin can imagine a million rumours springing up as to why.
As if he can read Yoojin’s mind, Sung Hyunjae smiles.
“Maybe Noah-ssi…” Han Yoojin begins.
“I believe he’s training today,” Sung Hyunjae offers. “In his dragon form. I doubt he’ll have his phone with him.”
“Then—” Han Yoojin stops, reviewing the possibilities in his mind. Yerim-ie and Kim Sunghan are off in dungeons this week. Song Taewon is likely preparing for the meeting himself. He thinks he’d rather wear the coffee-stained shirt than have Moon Hyuna sending him sly looks.
Really, his only option is—
“I suppose your brother is likely available for a quick errand,” Sung Hyunjae says brightly.
Han Yoojin shudders at the thought of Yoohyun-ie’s face and the look it would bear. By the time he’s recovered, Sung Hyunjae has already steered him into his bedroom.
Chirpie chatters happily atop Sung Hyunjae’s head the whole way.
The shirt Sung Hyunjae coaxes him into is luxurious—white just like Hyunjae’s own, with a long row of buttons that Hyunjae fastens with breath-catching grace and cuffs that threaten to swallow Han Yoojin’s hands whole before Hyunjae rolls the sleeves partway up his arms.
It is indeed far, far too big for him.
“I look ridiculous,” he grumbles when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, even though the long billows of the shirt are actually a little elegant as they flow over his body. How does it look like it’s been somehow tailored for him—several sizes too large, but still somehow just right?
“To the contrary, Yoojin-ah,” Sung Hyunjae replies, letting his fingers linger for a moment on Yoojin’s bare forearms. His voice sounds entirely satisfied as he surveys his handiwork, pleasure glinting noticeably in his eyes. “You look like you’re mine.”