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It has been exactly twenty-eight hours and sixteen minutes since Jong-in last ate something.
He knows this because his last meal was dinner last night at Yoon-ho’s apartment— fried chicken they ordered because Yoon-ho didn’t want to cook, and Jong-in didn’t complain because it was much easier to kiss Yoon-ho when he wasn’t distracted with making food. They ate when the food arrived at nine; Jong-in remembers collapsing on the couch to watch reruns of shitty movies.
It’s a little past one in the morning now, and Jong-in can’t remember the last time he drank water. He can feel the sharp pangs of hunger in his stomach, a gaping maw that yearns for food. He effortlessly— like with all other trivial problems, such as thirst or exhaustion— ignores it. There’s no time to eat; he has to get this paperwork done.
Well. It’s not really about the paperwork, but it’s easier to pretend that it is.
He takes off his glasses and rubs at his aching eyes. The words are starting to blur together on the paper. He really should sleep, ideally in Yoon-ho’s bed with Yoon-ho clinging to him like the overgrown cat he is. Except that’s not an option tonight, and so neither is sleep. But it’ll be fine; he’ll just chug a gallon of coffee in a few hours and power through until he’s so exhausted that he passes out and sleeps, without dreams or nightmares, for twelve hours straight.
Yoon-ho can shove it with his “that’s not healthy, you goddamn fire hazard”. Jong-in sees nothing wrong with his habits.
He picks up his pen to sign— what is he signing again?— and then drops it as the door to his office bangs open. Yoon-ho strides in without ceremony, already wearing a scowl on his ridiculously handsome face.
“You know,” says Jong-in, “many would consider it polite to knock before entering someone’s office.”
“Oh, please, cut the crap,” replies Yoon-ho with a glare. “Miss Cha told me you haven’t taken a break since you got to the office.”
Of course she did. Jong-in has nothing against Cha; she’s an incredible hunter and very easy to work with, but sometimes he wishes she was a little less observant and had a little less of a penchant for actually caring about his well-being.
“I was just about to finish up, actually,” Jong-in tries. Yoon-ho cuts him off with a wave.
“Like hell you are. You’re trying to overwork yourself.” Yoon-ho’s voice softens. “Come back to bed. With me.”
Jong-in’s throat tightens. He’s still not entirely used to how easily Yoon-ho sees through him, nor is he used to the way Yoon-ho cares . He croaks out, “Did I wake you up from your little cat nap?”
“No, because I didn’t sleep. Got home a few hours ago when Miss Cha messaged me, so I came to get your sleep-deprived ass,” grunts Yoon-ho.
“Aww. Is someone concerned? You really shouldn’t be. I’ll be—“
Fine , is what he means to say. But the word dies on his tongue when Yoon-ho steps closer and takes Jong-in’s hands in his own. Yoon-ho’s hands are rough with callouses and his palms are warm. He rubs a thumb over the back of Jong-in’s hand as he says, quietly, “Talk to me.”
It’s hard to keep up his facade when he’s this exhausted, harder still to lie to Yoon-ho when Yoon-ho cradles his hands so carefully. People speculate that he’s a monster, whisper warnings about how dangerous he is, but Yoon-ho is the only person who has ever made Jong-in feel like he can be vulnerable— like he can close his eyes and wake up safe.
“Sleep is fine,” Jong-in says slowly, “when I’m with you.”
“And when you’re not?”
Jeju. Ants. Fire, so much fire, thickening the air with bitter smoke, tearing through space like a hungry monster. His own blood soaking his hands, his arm burnt from his own flames. The bodies of people he knew, the memories of their laughter buried beneath the sounds of their screams.
“Nightmares,” he admits, and he hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Of the… extremely unpleasant variety.”
“You could have told me,” says Yoon-ho, scowling again. This one is different— softer around the edges. It speaks of concern rather than annoyance. “I would have picked you up after work and taken you home with me.”
“I…”
Didn’t know if you would want to spend another night with me. Didn’t want to disturb you. He and Yoon-ho, they’re still… new. They only started dating a few months ago, sleeping at each other’s places a few weeks ago. Jong-in thinks he’s always been a little worried that one day, Yoon-ho will stop wanting to have him over, and they’ll revert to their old days, except this time Yoon-ho will actually hate him.
Yoon-ho is staring at him, waiting for him to finish. Jong-in clears his throat. “I merely wasn’t sure if you would be okay with me staying over again.”
God. Caffeinated him would never be this honest. He really should have gotten a cup earlier.
“Fuck, Jong-in,” says Yoon-ho. His stern expression cracks down the middle, revealing something painfully earnest. “I gave you that key for a reason. You can stay over whenever you want. I—” Yoon-ho pauses and rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a furious red. “I sleep better when you’re there, too. You’re welcome over anytime.”
“Oh,” says Jong-in, and feels something warm curl in his chest. Suddenly he wants to kiss Yoon-ho silly, but he settles for squeezing Yoon-ho’s hands. “I suppose I was a little foolish for not asking you.”
Yoon-ho snorts. “You’re such an overthinker.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from Jong-in’s face. “You know you’re welcome over any time. I don’t care what time it is. Just stop overworking yourself. You need rest.” Jokingly, he adds, “What will Mr. Ultimate Hunter do without his beauty sleep?”
Jong-in smirks. “Why, Yoon-ho, are you flirting with me?”
“We’re dating, you dumbass.” Yoon-ho grips his hands and hauls him to his feet. Jong-in, embarrassingly, stumbles and nearly eats carpet before Yoon-ho wraps an arm around his shoulders to steady him. “And on that note, we’re going home.”
“Wait, at least let me clear up my desk first.”
Yoon-ho rolls his eyes. “You can do that the next time you come in.”
“What do you mean, the next— Yoon-ho !”
Jong-in nearly yelps as Yoon-ho easily sweeps him into a bridal carry. “We’re going home, and you’re going to sleep for at least twelve hours,” says Yoon-ho, already starting to march towards the door. “No complaining.”
“I despise you,” says Jong-in, as mildly as he can. He does not admit that he kind of likes how easily Yoon-ho can carry him. That kind of stuff stays firmly locked in his mind, no matter how tired he might be.
Yoon-ho’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “Just relax. I’ll carry you to the car so you don’t pass out and eat shit.”
“I’m going to burn your ridiculous sideburns off,” mutters Jong-in.
“You love my sideburns.”
“Your sideburns are stupid.”
Yoon-ho says something else, but Jong-in doesn’t catch it. He’s resting his head against Yoon-ho’s chest, which is really quite serviceable as a pillow, and exhaustion has finally begun to catch up. Darkness creeps behind his eyelids, and he knows nothing more.
---
The assistant whom he encounters on the ground floor is clearly trying so hard not to laugh at the sight of the guildmaster passed out in Yoon-ho’s arms. Yoon-ho clears his throat awkwardly and shifts on his feet. “Any chance you could clear his schedule for tomorrow? He needs a day off.”
“That can be arranged,” the assistant agrees, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Yoon-ho is absolutely certain this will be going around the whole building come tomorrow. Jong-in is going to hate him. Then again, Jong-in brought this upon himself, and he can take it up with Yoon-ho when he’s not sleep-deprived and dehydrated.
Humming, he makes his way out to the parking lot. Maybe he can order from that place Jong-in likes, the one with the over-powdered donuts, when the idiot finally wakes up. He’ll have to call into his own office to request the day off, but that can be done in the morning. As soon as he gets home, he’s going to get them both into bed and then pass out until at least noon.
Oh, and make sure to hide the coffee from Jong-in so that he doesn’t get any ideas about working.