Work Text:
"Imagine sine and cosine."
Seongje furrows his brow in agony. His Candy Crush level is ruined—this conversation with Baekjin demands his full processing power.
"Huh?" he finally says, looking up.
Baekjin taps his pen against the desk.
"Imagine," he starts again, "a function that behaves the same but is shifted along the horizontal axis. So the functions have a lot in common, they're identical, but at the same time, they can’t—"
"Na Baekjin," Seongje cuts him off. "Get to the point and stay the hell away from fucking math, I’m begging you on my knees."
An awkward silence settles over the office for a minute. Seongje has been wanting to go home for the past ten minutes—the chairs are plastic, uncomfortable, his ass is freezing off, smoking is allowed here but exactly one cigarette before Baekjin starts wrinkling his nose in disapproval, and his sister will throw a fit if he doesn’t watch the new episode of Spаrkling Watermelon with her tonight. But the duties of the right-hand man to the great and terrible union leader require him to freeze his ass off while waiting for the Motorcycles report.
Besides, judging by Baekjin’s furrowed brows, he isn’t done yet.
"Imagine," he sighs deeply, "imagine you need to make up with a girl."
If Grape had burst into the room at that very second and declared he couldn’t live without him, Seongje would have been less surprised.
If Na Baekjin had started speaking German while standing on his head—same.
If—
"Uh," is all he can muster right now. "Okay. Alright."
Baekjin—with nothing left to lose, and they both know it—continues grimly:
"If she was the one who initiated the breakup, but your actions were the catalyst."
Seongje tries to process the word "catalyst." Then—the situation as a whole.
His brain returns Error 404 .
"Well," Seongje says, just to say something. "So, like."
How was it in that drama where the guy bullied the girl at first but then fell in love?
"Like, gifts and shit won’t work. You gotta show her you’re not just sorry, but like, you’ve actually changed. For real. And now you’re all sweet. Protect her from bullies, help her out somehow. Something like that."
"Hm."
Baekjin lowers his gaze and keeps scribbling in his notebook.
Seongje stands up and stumbles out—of the office, apparently, and out of the bowling alley. He comes to his senses five blocks down the street.
Fuck this.
And so, about two weeks after this incident (which neither of them brings up again), Baku appears in Seongje’s life—or rather, in Baekjin’s life.
***
Baku is a fucking moron.
Like, genuinely. It’s written on his forehead. Seongje can’t stand people like that. The idealistic, cheerful types. They’re boring, suffocating even.
But Baku? Baku is the exception. Baku fills him with holy terror.
It’s like watching a guy French-kiss a king cobra for fun or squeeze into narrow-ass caves where not even a fucking cockroach could fit.
It’s like watching a guy who willingly dates Na Baekjin .
Baekjin is changing, too. It’s subtle to outsiders, but to Seongje? It’s fucking apocalyptic. Just the way he looks at Baku now. Softly.
Softly, for fuck’s sake!
"Dude, your chairs are fucking unbearable," Humin whines, slouching in Baekjin’s office.
So Baekjin buys a couch.
"Bro, what do you mean you don’t wanna go to Fast & Furious? Gotak bailed too, am I supposed to sit there alone like some loser? Who the fuck goes to movies solo?" Humin prods Baekjin’s cheek with his finger.
So Baekjin sends Seongje with him to suffer through the goddamn Fast & Furious.
At least Baku buys him popcorn.
Not much else to celebrate in this situation.
***
Things gradually start getting worse. The question that had been nagging at Seongje—how the hell did they even break up in the first place?—eventually answers itself.
Baekjin is Baekjin. And Humin… well.
Seongje drags himself to the bowling alley reluctantly. More often than not, there’s no decent fight, no girls, no money to be found there these days. Something’s going on. It pisses him off.
He finds fights in other gangs’ territories. Money—in other people’s pockets.
Girls, though? That’s a bust. But when Seongje’s face gets punched in just right, the need for girls kinda vanishes altogether.
His head throbs—maybe even a mild concussion—and there’s a faint nausea creeping in, so he doesn’t immediately notice the shouting match.
"...You think you can just give me your fucking orders? I’m not in your little union, Baekjin-ah, and I don’t owe you shit. I don’t owe you a damn thing."
Fantastic. These two idiots are screaming at each other in the middle of the street—well, Humin is screaming. Baekjin just stares him down, fists clenched, silent.
A crowd of bewildered union dumbasses huddle around them like a pack of middle-school gossip girls.
"Scrаm," Seongje barks, fishing out a cigarette. His head protests the raised voice with a dull, pulling ache. "The fuck, am I talking to myself here?!"
The dumbasses scramble over each other, funneling back into the bowling alley.
"We’re done," Humin spits. He pivots on his heel, eyes landing on Seongje. "Hey. Let’s take a walk."
"Park Humin."
Baku turns. Baekjin hasn’t moved. Seongje sighs and waves at him over Humin’s shoulder like a fucking mime.
Maybe he’ll get the hint.
"...Never mind," Baekjin says. "We’ll talk later."
Baku slings an arm around Seongje’s shoulders, dragging him along. He radiates anger, irritation.
"I was kinda here for paperwork," Seongje mutters.
"It’s not going anywhere." Humin seems to finally notice his condition. Stops, squints at his face. "What’s wrong with you?"
"Fucking peachy. Was. Three minutes ago. What’d you two fight about this time? Who gets to be the girl tonight?"
Baku snorts—he doesn’t take offense to shit like that, which is a shame. Even with a busted head, Seongje wаnts more violence. Just а tad.
"Whatever," Baku says, in that infuriatingly breezy tone of his. "Someone just started playing Admiral Lee Sin again."
"Admiral Yi Sun-shin, dumbass," Seongje corrects, patting his pockets for a lighter. "What, you hаve League brаin dаmаge?"
Humin plucks the unlit cigarette from his lips and flicks it away, laughing. Flicks Seongje’s nose for good measure.
"No smoking with a headache," he chides. "C’mon, I’ll walk you home."
"The fuck I am," Seongje grumbles, tossing the empty pack and finally lighting up, "some damsel in distress now?"
"You’ll pick three more fights on the way, dumbass," Humin says, making a grab for the fresh cig. Seongje’s ready this time. "Then Baekjin’ll get even twitchier when you’re stuck on the hospital bed and he hаs to do the paperwork alone."
"You’ve got a real fucked-up idea of what I do there."
They walk in silence for a while. The scent of wet asphalt and his own dried blood fills his nose. Humin hums some pop trash under his breath, missing every note.
Seongje opens his mouth. Already regrets it.
"You’ve known him a while, right? Baekjin. You should get that he’s just… like that. It’s over. He won’t change. Train’s gone."
Baku goes quiet. Shoves his hands in his pockets, hunches his shoulders.
"He used to seem different. Weak. Lost every fight, but it was… better, somehow. Sometimes I think it’d be good if—"
"The fuck, if what? If he stayed some punching bag?" Seongje turns, studies Baku’s furrowed brows. Doesn’t get it. Doesn’t want to. "You’re a real piece of work. What, he should’ve kept taking hits just so you stay in the rainbow pony happyland?"
"If he knew when to stop," Humin says, quiet and sharp, like the words aren’t meant for Seongje at all. "That’s what I meant."
He looks at Seongje. Smiles. For a second, something twists under Seongje’s ribs. It’s a smile he’s never seen on Baku before—barely there, just the corners of his lips and eyes, stupidly intimate.
Right then, he thinks he kinda gets Baekjin’s girl-crush bullshit.
Just a little.
"But I’m glad he’s got a good friend like you."
"Ugh, shut the fuck up. We’re not friends."
Seongje kicks a stray can on the road. What kinda sappy shit is that?
"Yeah, yeah," Baku coos, honey-sweet—and gets punched in the face.
He swings back—forgets himself, hits Seongje’s sore head.
Then carries him home piggyback.
***
“What did you talk about with Baku?”
Seongje blinks sleepily at the ceiling. Checks the time.
4:30 AM.
"The fuuuuck," he rasps. His throat feels like sandpaper, his head—a monkey banging cymbals. The cymbals being his brain hemispheres. "Hey. How 'bout you call me during business hours."
Baekjin raises an eyebrow. Well, Seongje can't actually see him, of course, but he can perfectly picture that disapproving fuckface.
Silence on the line for ten solid seconds. Then Seongje caves.
"We didn't talk about shit. He punched me, then dragged me home. No goodbye blowjobs, scout's honor."
"I heard."
Seongje rubs his face and wonders why he didn't get hit hard enough to slip into a coma.
"Fucking stalker. You jealous or what?"
Half-asleep, talking to Baekjin like this doesn't feel weird. And that's weird in itself.
Like they're actually friends or some shit.
Baekjin deploys his best disinterested tone:
"Of you? I don't get jealous of my pillow for touching my blanket."
And hangs up.
"Sweet dreams," Seongje tells the dead phone. "Jealous fuckwad."
***
"Wait, he actually said that?"
The cramped space by the water cooler in the back of the bowling alley reeks of mold and the Juul pods the staff sneaks here to smoke.
But the main hall is packed as hell today, and Baekjin hates when people sit in his office without him.
Seongje side-eyes Baku’s laughing face. For a second, punching him seems like a great idea.
Okay, not just a second.
Baku dodges the swing, bares his teeth:
"Sloooow."
He traps Seongje in a loose headlock—not serious, not cutting off circulation.
"Drop it," he advises, infuriatingly casual, like it’s nothing to restrain Seongje, who’s twisting violently while elbowing him full-force in the ribs. "You know how he is. Always spouting bullshit he doesn’t mean."
"We talking about the same guy?"
"Well, I’ve never seen such a pretty blanket."
His fingers tighten on Seongje’s shoulder. Light. Almost tender.
"Y’know," Baku says—again with that too-easy voice—"I think he’s jealous of me , not of you ."
Seongje doesn’t like this narrative. He does kinda like Baku. There’s a coiled-up anger in him, spring-tight. Point is, Park Humin’s a cool guy—punch his face in, fuck him stupid, whatever.
But not right in front of Baekjin’s salad. People get yeeted for shit like that, and not always to a hospital bed.
"Get your hand off me," Seongje says. Against all logic, he hopes Baku won’t.
Baku hums thoughtfully against the back of his neck, breath hot on his ear.
"Nah. Try harder."
Seongje tries—slams his skull into Humin’s nose. Baku grunts, laughs through the blood. Warmth trickles down Seongje’s collar—definitely blood from his busted nose. His whole body thrums, breath catching.
Baku doesn’t let go.
"You’re unhinged," he mutters, and suddenly, Seongje gets Baekjin. If this is his daily life, he deserves a fucking medal. "Hey, Seongje. I like you. Really like you."
Seongje headbutts him again—hard—and wrenches his wrist free. No clue where this rage came from.
Probably just hates being treated like an idiot.
He shoves Baku chest-first onto the couch, looming over him, knee braced by his thigh.
"Want something new? Fine, IDGAF. But don’t fuck with my head, don’t feed me fairy tales. Like I don’t know my place here."
"Sorry, Seongje," Humin says. Looks at him with the eyes of a beaten dog who’s already chosen its master—even if that master kicks it.
He sounds genuinely remorseful. And that’s why Seongje fucking hates him.
"Shut up," Seongje advises, pulling off his glasses. Hauls Bаku up by the collar. The kiss is filthy, bloody. "Play smart for once."
Humin’s hands land on his hips. Press—not just touching, claiming. Seongje’s never been shy with girls. This is different. Baku bulldozes through every attempt to lead, it’s like being crushed under a Sion ult—no fucking counterplay.
He flips them with embarrassing ease, pins Seongje to the couch. Hands everywhere, tongue practically down his throat, blood and spit mixing—wonder if Baekjin actually likes this or just fakes it?
Seongje knees him in the ribs.
"Gonna puke," he complains. "Wanna know what I ate? Chill, you freak."
He grabs Baku’s collar, kisses him properly—slow, deliberate, no clacking teeth or sloppy licks. Bites his lower lip on the release.
Baku makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper.
Seongje’s hard. Fuck .
He presses a thumb to Humin’s tendon, and he drops awkwardly to his knees—not that he minds. Seongje grips his shoulders. Lifts his gaze to Humin’s face.
Then higher, catching movement in his periphery. Higher. Higher.
Until he locks eyes with Baekjin’s utterly unreadable stare.
They freeze. Seongje shoves Baku off. Baekjin’s perfect mouth thins to a line.
"My office. Now."
***
"You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation?"
That’s the line looping in Seongje’s head while Baekjin bites into his neck like a fucking vampire and Humin grinds his hard-on against his ass.
Just another Tuesday. Shit happens.
These two crawled straight out of the wilderness—Seongje already knew Humin was like this, but he never pegged Baekjin for the type. Mindless biting, inhaling his scent like oxygen. Existing in something purely physical, not math-brained or crime-scheming.
Not that he’s spent much time imagining how Baekjin fucks. Maybe he should’ve.
Somehow, they’re still having a muffled argument over his head, by the way. Assholes.
"Multitasking king," Seongje tells Baekjin. Grabs his neatly styled hair, musses it until strands fall over his forehead. Then yanks his head back. "Fucking nerd."
Baekjin shakes free, grips Seongje’s face with both hands. Thumbs trace his cheekbones. Stares at him like he’s seeing him for the first time.
Then pulls him in.
What the actual fuck.
It takes Seongje a full three seconds to realize he’s being kissed—that’s how good it is. Baekjin knows where to press, like he personally engineered Seongje’s erogenous zones.
Baku just grabs his dick without ceremony.
Also works.
Are they still fucking talking?!
"Just this once," Baekjin says, icy. "Never again. Heаr me?"
"You think you get to decide for me now?"
Seongje goes cold.
Oh, hilarious. He did complain life was getting boring lately.
He tears free, disheveled. Fly undone, still hard, face probably flushed and sweaty.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" he snarls.
Baekjin watches him. Calm. Like he wasn’t just kissing him senseless.
Baku watches Baekjin.
"What did you expect?" Baekjin asks. (His breath’s ragged too. Also hard.) "A relationship? Funny."
"Ha-ha," Seongje deadpans— not ha-ha. Not fucking ha-ha . "Yeah, hilarious. Who’d want you? Ever seen yourselves? Trainwrecks. Thanks for the reminder."
He stumbles toward the door, nearly tripping on his pants. Zips up angrily.
Not even the shitty dramas pulled this.
"Seongje," Humin says.
Baekjin cuts in:
"Report on Monday. As usual."
Seongje flips him off without looking.
***
The funniest part? Their relationship doesn't actually get more complicated.
Once Seongje realizes he's fallen hard, everything somehow simplifies. His head feels like a cluttered attic, sure, but fights help clear it out beautifully.
He lets people hit him now. Even weaklings. It's strangely grounding. Hwangmo spends a fortune on bandages but never asks why.
For some fucked-up reason, he trusts him.
Then when rumors spread that Seongje's gone soft—that any snot-nosed kid could take him down now—he starts cleaning house. A long, bloody purge. It was due anyway.
A month later when he returns to the bowling alley, he can finally look Baekjin in the eye again. Still pisses him off—but not enough to matter.
"I said Monday."
First thing out of Baekjin's mouth.
Seongje yawns, sprawls on the couch. Lights up. Today he'll smoke a whole pack in this room. Maybe two.
"Today is Monday," he drawls. "We jerking each other off or getting down to business?"
"Hilarious," Baekjin says, voice like ice. "Put that out."
Seongje holds his gaze for ten seconds. Then grins, looks away, and stubs out the cigarette so hard the glass table cracks.
***
It was obvious from the start this wouldn't end well.
Seongje still can't parse how much of their messy entanglement is love, how much is habit. How much is just tired, old hatred. But Baku hardly shows up at the bowling alley anymore.
He also seems ashamed to look Seongje in the eye. Fucking good. What a way to protest. Asshole.
For a control freak like Baekjin, this must feel like the apocalypse.
They're waiting in Baekjin's backroom for two guys who want to join the union. Seongje's bored out of his skull. Can't even beat this shitty three in a row level.
The guys are late.
Yeah, everything's going to shit.
Finally receptionist girl brings them in—one looks solid, decent. The other's clearly a walking disaster.
"Reason for delay?" Baekjin asks without looking up from his papers. Scribbling something. All business.
"Pregnancy," Seongje says. Cackles when Baekjin gives him a look. "Okay okay, shutting up."
"You said somebody’d pick us up. Nobody came," says the crazier-looking one. Fidgeting, uncomfortable. Clearly intimidated by Baekjin.
Fucking pussy.
Seongje whistles. That was Baku's job. Right?
Baekjin grabs his phone.
"Where are you?" Pause. "Why aren't you where you're supposed to be?"
The pen in Baekjin's hand snaps. Both recruits flinch. Seongje lights up and checks his phone. Here we go.
"You really don't feel bad for your friend?" Baekjin asks. Baku's yelling is audible even without speakerphone.
They don't accept the recruits that day—Seongje insists they only take the stocky one. For once Baekjin listens, but turns out these two come as a package. Agree to test their skills first.
But that's not the point.
Baekjin's furious, obviously. When it comes to Baku, his self-control evaporates.
After dismissing the recruits, Seongje plays arcade games in the hall. Feels someone watching after twenty minutes.
Motherfucker's already plotting dumb shit, for sure.
"Maybe try talking to him?" Seongje adjusts his glasses, lets go of the joystick. Pulls a cigarette from behind his ear - ugh, fucking menthol. Should check who he bummed from. "You know. With words."
Glances up and knows he wasted his breath. Baekjin's lips are trembling, jaw clenched. His sharp cheekbones strain against pale skin. Doesn't even comment on Seongje offering unsolicited advice. Fuck, this is gonna end so badly.
"You should meet Go Hyeontak," Baekjin finally says. Voice eerily calm. "He's quite entertaining."
It's like watching the Titanic hit the iceberg in real time. And pressing "Full speed ahead" button for good measure.
"Easy fucking peasy," Seongje says. "’Hospital vаcаtion’ meeting or ‘some bruises’ meeting?"
"Make sure it's memorable. Something he'll think about for a long time."
Seongje sighs.
He could wait a few days, give Baekjin time to cool off and cancel this аtomic explosion of а request.
But he's too fucking tired of all this.
"Fine."
Maybe if he and Baekjin are alone again, they can still fix this mess.
A guy can dream, right?