Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dunk Natachai's phone buzzed incessantly on his sleek glass desk, the notifications lighting up the minimalist office of Vellichor Designs. He sighed, setting down his pencil mid-sketch of a modern loft interior, his neatly styled dark hair catching the soft glow of his desk lamp. The Line group chat with Phi Force and Phi New was blowing up, and he knew exactly why. They'd been relentless about setting him up with "the perfect guy" for days, and Dunk, ever the diplomat, hadn't found a polite way to shut them down.

Dunk's fingers hovered over the keyboard, his germ-conscious reactions already bristling at the idea of an unplanned evening.

He pictured a polished, enterprising guy who'd appreciate a curated night. He imagined someone who'd vibe with his love for clean lines and aesthetic cafés. "Fine," he typed back, adding a neutral 😊 to keep the peace. "But if this goes south, you two owe me dinner at that new sushi place." His friends' barrage of heart-eyes emojis sealed his fate, though he had no clue where Joong was taking him.

Across town, Joong Archen's phone pinged as he sprawled on a worn couch in the cluttered office of WildTrek Ventures, surrounded by maps and camping gear. He was halfway through planning a new night market tour when Mai and Pok's messages flooded the Line group chat.

Joong grinned, his youthful charm lighting up as he typed, "Alright, alright, you win. I'm taking him to Yaowarat, which is the best spot for a real Bangkok vibe. If he's too fancy for it, I'm blaming you two." He tossed his phone down, already imagining a cool, open-minded guy who'd dive into Chinatown's chaos with him, maybe share a love for indie music or spontaneous escapades.

The humid Bangkok air hung heavy, thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and simmering street food, a tangible blanket that stuck to the skin. Dunk Natachai stood outside his condo, smoothing a stray wrinkle from his crisp linen shirt for the fifth time. He was early, as always. Punctuality, he believed, was a hallmark of respect, especially on a first date. Dunk's meticulous nature was honed from years of studying architecture at Chulalongkorn University and running his boutique interior design firm, Vellichor Designs. This made him a planner, someone who thrived on order and sophistication. He'd chosen a tailored cream linen shirt accentuating his lean, 6-foot frame, paired with dark trousers and polished leather loafers, perfect for a sophisticated dinner, perhaps followed by drinks at a quiet rooftop bar with city views. His friends, Phi Force and Phi New, had hyped up this "Joong Archen" as a great guy, "super chill" and "really charming." Dunk pictured someone equally polished, perhaps with a shared appreciation for aesthetic spaces and intellectual banter.

Then he heard the sputter of a motorcycle.

A figure pulled up, moving with an easy, almost nonchalant swagger that perfectly suited his taller, more athletic physique. Joong Archen, all 6'1" of him, radiated a carefree energy that was both magnetic and chaotic, like a walking embodiment of a sunny day gone slightly rogue. He wore a faded graphic tee featuring some obscure rock band logo, worn jeans that hugged his long legs, and scuffed sneakers that were definitely chosen for comfort over style. His dark hair was a little wild, falling boyishly across his forehead, and his expressive eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.

This was Joong, barely 23 and a recent graduate of Thammasat University with a degree in environmental science, now running a small adventure tour company, WildTrek Ventures, that specialised in offbeat Bangkok experiences. His broad grin, flashing perfectly white teeth, was the kind that could light up a room or, in Dunk's case, spark immediate unease.

"Sawasdee khráp?" Joong called out, hopping off his beat-up motorcycle and holding up a phone with a picture of Dunk. His smile widened, exuding an infectious enthusiasm that clashed with Dunk's carefully curated bubble. "Ready for a venture? I'm taking you to Yaowarat because they have the best street food in Bangkok!"

Dunk's smile froze, his cleanliness-driven tendencies screaming at the sight of the dusty motorcycle and the mention of Yaowarat's chaotic street food scene. "Yaowarat?" he repeated, his voice polite but strained. "On… that?" He gestured at the motorcycle, his slender, well-manicured fingers betraying a flicker of horror.

"Yup!" Joong said, oblivious to Dunk's discomfort. "Hop on, it's the best way to feel the city. Hold tight, and we'll be chowing down in no time!" He patted the motorcycle's seat, his sturdy hands showing faint grease stains from his tinkering hobby.

Dunk hesitated, his love for minimalist aesthetics and clean spaces recoiling at the thought of clinging to a motorcycle through Bangkok's humid chaos. But with no polite way to back out, he gingerly climbed on, gripping the seat and keeping maximum distance from Joong. The ride was a nightmare of warm wind, exhaust fumes, and Dunk's internal mantra of don't touch anything. By the time they reached Yaowarat, his crisp shirt was slightly damp, and his composure was hanging by a thread.

Joong parked the motorcycle with a flourish, his eyes already scanning the bustling entrance of Yaowarat. "Wow, it's crazy here tonight, right? So much energy!" He gestured broadly at the teeming street food stalls, his arm muscles flexing subtly under the worn fabric of his shirt. His years in Turkey from ages 8 to 16 had given him a slight accent and a love for vibrant, chaotic settings, making him a natural at leading spontaneous group adventures. 

Dunk's gaze followed Joong's enthusiastic gesture. The legendary oyster omelet stand was a hive of activity, steam rising from massive woks, a line snaking around a makeshift table, and the distinct aroma of… well, of very active cooking. Dunk, who preferred his oysters on ice with a squeeze of lemon in a temperature-controlled environment, felt a cold dread trickle down his spine. He subtly reached for the small, elegant bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket, a habit born from his fastidious inclinations.

Before he could respond, disaster struck. As they approached the crowded oyster omelet stall, a harried vendor juggling plates bumped into Dunk, splattering a sticky, chili-laced sauce across his pristine cream shirt. Dunk froze, his eyes widening in horror as the red-orange stain bloomed across his chest. "Oh no," he murmured, his voice tight, his hand already fumbling for his sanitizer.

"Whoa, sorry about that!" Joong said, his eyes wide but his grin undeterred. He grabbed a crumpled napkin from the stall's table, which was clearly used by countless hands,  and tried to dab at the stain, only smearing it further. "It's just a little sauce, no big deal, right? Adds character!"

Dunk's jaw clenched, his hygiene-obsessed reflexes screaming as he stepped back, clutching his shirt. "Character?" he echoed, his tone sharp. "This is linen, Joong. Dry-clean only." The chaos of the stall, the sticky air, and now Joong's well-meaning but unhygienic attempt to help pushed Dunk's patience to the brink. This date was officially a catastrophe.

Joong's smile faltered, sensing the tension. "Uh, okay, let's find some water or something," he offered, but Dunk was already mentally checking out. His dislike for the chaotic evening and Joong's carefree approach was solidifying.

"Ah," Dunk managed, trying to keep his voice even, his perfect complexion now flushed with frustration. "It certainly is… vibrant. But, my stomach is actually feeling a little delicate tonight. Perhaps we could find something a little less… exposed? I noticed a very nice-looking Japanese place in that mall nearby?" He gestured vaguely toward the gleaming, air-conditioned bastion of civilization in the distance, his voice carrying the polished cadence of someone used to navigating social situations with grace.

Joong's smile dimmed further, a flicker of confusion crossing his expressive eyes. His playful, spontaneous nature was evident in his love for leading impromptu night market tours or fixing things on the fly, but it clashed with Dunk's structured demeanour. "Oh. Right. Sensitive stomach. Okay, well, what about some satay from that place?" He pointed to another bustling stall, his calloused fingers indicating the skewers. "Or fresh fruit? There's a durian stall with amazing reviews."

Dunk recoiled almost imperceptibly, his expressive face showing a momentary flash of distaste, still reeling from the sauce incident. "Durian," he stated, as if it were a scientific anomaly. His refined palate, shaped by his design work and preference for delicate flavors, couldn't stomach the idea. "You know, I've always found the aroma... rather pronounced. Perhaps we could just walk and talk? I'm sure there's a lovely café somewhere quieter."

The next hour was a polite but agonizing dance of mismatched expectations. Joong, with his easygoing physicality and love for the moment, wove effortlessly through the crowds, his broad shoulders cutting a path like he was born for the chaos. Dunk, ever conscious of personal space and cleanliness, found himself constantly sidestepping, trying to avoid contact with passersby while guarding his stained shirt. Joong would point out a fascinating street performance, his voice brimming with excitement; Dunk would try to pivot to a discussion about modernist architecture or the latest pop music track, his slender hand occasionally rising to adjust a strand of hair. Joong rhapsodized about the best local coffee from a cart, his eyes lighting up with the same passion he showed when planning a new tour route; Dunk subtly checked the time on his sleek wristwatch, his jawline taut, the sauce stain a constant reminder of the evening's chaos. The conversation was stilted, punctuated by long, uncomfortable silences where the cacophony of Yaowarat seemed to amplify their lack of connection. Joong's cheerful attempts to find common ground were met with polite but firm rejections, each one tinged with Dunk's growing irritation.

Finally, Dunk cleared his throat, his diplomatic habits kicking in. "Joong, I'm so sorry, but I just remembered I have an incredibly early morning meeting tomorrow. An unavoidable one. I really should head home."

Joong's face, though still polite, showed a clear flicker of relief in his dark eyes, his own frustration evident after the sauce mishap and Dunk's clear discomfort. "Oh, no worries at all! Business first, right? Great to meet you, Dunk." His tone suggested he was just as ready to move on, his unburdened smile returning as he glanced back at the oyster omelet stand.

They exchanged numbers out of social obligation, Joong's weathered fingers brushing Dunk's, a brief, impersonal contact. Both knew neither would initiate contact. As Dunk hailed a taxi, he glanced back at Joong, who was already eagerly making his way toward the legendary oyster omelet stand, his genuine, unburdened smile fully back on his face. Dunk sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, mentally cataloging the dry-cleaning bill. Phi Force and Phi New owed him a very long explanation for this motorcycle-and-street-food nightmare.

Dunk arrived home and peeled off his linen shirt. It felt unpleasantly damp and bore the faint, stubborn stain of chili sauce despite his best efforts. He changed into soft, navy-blue loungewear, a far cry from his usual polished look, and poured himself a glass of chilled mineral water, trying to erase the scent of deep-fried seafood, exhaust fumes from the motorcycle ride, and the memory of forced smiles from his mind. The evening had been a disaster of clashing vibes: Joong's raw, unfiltered energy versus Dunk's refined, controlled demeanor, made worse by the sauce incident that had pushed his germ-conscious limits. His phone vibrated on the counter, and he glanced at the group chat with Phi Force and Phi New, dreading their inevitable follow-up.

Dunk stared at the messages, his diplomatic nature crafting a careful response to temper their enthusiasm: "He was very... enthusiastic. Took me to Yaowarat on a motorcycle and got sauce spilled on my shirt. Not quite the ‘sparks' you promised, guys." He hesitated, then added, "I'm so exhausted, will chat tomorrow! Also, you owe me that sushi dinner for this chaos." The reality of Joong's chaotic energy, the dusty motorcycle ride, and the sticky, stained chaos of Yaowarat clashed hard with the "charming adventurer" P'Force and P'New had hyped up, and Dunk was already mentally drafting a lecture for them.

Meanwhile, Joong was happily devouring his legendary oyster omelet, the awkward hour with Dunk already a distant memory. He wiped a streak of sauce from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a contented sigh escaping him. His phone vibrated with messages from Mai and Pok.

Joong chuckled, his easygoing nature unfazed as he typed back, "He's... definitely not a street food or motorcycle guy. Freaked out when some sauce got on his fancy shirt. I thought he'd be down for an exploration, but he was all about cafés. Total mismatch, guys!" He added a laughing emoji, then continued, "Nice dude, just not my kind of fun. Maybe he'd prefer a quiet library. You two owe me for that hype job!" His fingers, quick and confident on the screen, reflected his laid-back approach to life, already moving on to the next exploits.

A few days later, both Joong and Dunk found themselves reluctantly agreeing to attend a mutual friend's birthday gathering at a trendy bar in Thonglor. Their overlapping friend groups made avoidance impossible, and Dunk, ever the professional, prepared for polite nods and minimal interaction. Joong, on the other hand, was looking forward to the open bar and live music, his social butterfly tendencies thriving in such settings.

As the evening approached, the general Line group chat buzzed with updates about arrival times. Then, a new message from Dunk popped up.

Accompanying the text was a picture: Dunk's pristine black sedan sat forlornly on the side of a busy road, looking oddly small amidst the passing trucks and tuk-tuks. Dunk himself, slightly rumpled but still composed, was visible in the window's reflection, his expressive face showing mild exasperation. The thought of him sweating in the Bangkok heat was almost comical, given his pristine reputation.

Several friends responded with sympathetic emojis and generic advice like "Oh no!" or "Call roadside assistance!" But Joong, stepping out of his apartment nearby, saw the location and grinned. He knew a thing or two about engines, thanks to years of tinkering with both bicycles and cars for his tour business and during his time in Turkey from ages 8 to 16, where he'd hung out in a local workshop. Picturing Dunk, the immaculate, neatness-conscious man, stranded and uncomfortable was too intriguing to pass up.

He didn't wait for a reply, hopping onto his beat-up but reliable motorcycle, his playful smirk already forming at the thought of Dunk's predicament. The image of the polished architect stuck in a hot, broken-down car was a stark contrast to their disastrous date, and Joong couldn't resist the chance to play the hero.

Joong pulled up, weaving his motorcycle expertly through the light evening traffic, and found Dunk standing stiffly by his car, looking more disheveled than Joong ever imagined possible. His crisp linen shirt clung to his back, a few strands of dark hair escaped their perfect arrangement, and his composed features betrayed the strain of heat and frustration. He was less the refined gentleman and more a guy having a really bad day. The warm, stale air from the car's open window was palpable.

"Joong?" Dunk's voice carried relief, his expressive eyes widening at the sight of his unexpected rescuer. Despite the situation, he maintained a composed air, a testament to his disciplined nature.

"Hey, Dunk," Joong said, hopping off his motorcycle, his easy smile unaffected by the heat. His casual shirt showed no signs of discomfort, his laid-back vibe perfectly suited to the chaotic roadside. "What's the verdict? Looks like she's had enough for the night, huh?" He peered at the car, then grinned, crouching to inspect the engine. "And no AC, you said? That's rough. Let's see what we've got here."

Joong's grin was infuriatingly charming, and Dunk couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and embarrassment. Here was the guy he'd politely ditched after their catastrophic blind date, now crouching by his car like a knight in faded denim. Dunk leaned against the sedan, trying to regain his composure, his fingers twitching toward his hand sanitizer but resisting the urge in Joong's presence. "Thanks for coming, Joong. I didn't expect… I mean, I appreciate it."

"No problem, man," Joong replied, his voice muffled as he poked around the car's engine after popping the hood. His hands moved with surprising confidence, his calloused fingers deftly checking wires and components. "I've tinkered with cars and bikes for years, so I might be able to sort this out. Let's see if we can get you moving."

Dunk watched, intrigued despite himself. Joong's carefree attitude and genuine enthusiasm for the task were a stark contrast to their first meeting. There was no pretense here, just Joong being… Joong. Dunk noticed the way his broad shoulders flexed under his shirt, the way his dark eyes lit up when he found something promising. "Looks like your battery's dead," Joong announced, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. "Probably just needs a jump. My place is a quick 5-minute ride from here. I've got cables there. You cool waiting?"

Dunk nodded, his usual poise softened by the heat and Joong's unexpected competence. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks again." He meant it this time, his voice warmer than before.

Joong flashed that boyish grin and sped off on his motorcycle, leaving Dunk to contemplate the irony. The guy he'd written off as too wild, too unrefined, was now his rescuer. Dunk's mind wandered to their date. He thought about the dusty motorcycle ride, the chaotic street food stalls, the sauce that had ruined his shirt, Joong's boundless energy, the complete mismatch of their worlds. P'Force and P'New had sold Joong as a "charming adventurer," but Dunk had been too caught up in his discomfort to see the genuine effort behind Joong's enthusiasm. Maybe he'd been too quick to judge.

Joong returned in under ten minutes, jumper cables slung over his shoulder and that same infectious smile on his face. ‘Alright, let’s get this party started,’ he said, connecting the cables between his motorcycle's battery and Dunk’s car with a practiced ease. As he worked, he chatted effortlessly, his slight Turkish-influenced accent slipping through from his years abroad. Dunk watched, his mind wandering to their disastrous date. He recalled the dusty motorcycle ride, the chaotic street food stalls, the sauce that had ruined his shirt, and Joong’s boundless, almost boyish enthusiasm that betrayed his younger age. At 27, Dunk had spent years building Vellichor Designs, his life a carefully curated blueprint, yet Joong’s chaotic charm was starting to unravel his usual composure.

Joong laughed, a warm, rumbling sound. "Yeah, I got that vibe. You're more of a rooftop bar guy, right? Classy, like your whole deal." He winked, no malice in his tone, just playful observation. The car roared to life, and Joong let out a triumphant whoop. "There we go! You're back in business."

Dunk couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising even himself. "You're pretty good at this. Where'd you learn to fix cars?"

"Cars and bikes," Joong corrected, unhooking the cables. "Picked it up in a workshop in Turkey when I lived there from 8 to 16. Loved messing around with engines; it keeps my tours running smoothly now." His eyes sparkled with that same curiosity Dunk had dismissed as overwhelming during their date.

"You're full of surprises," Dunk admitted, leaning against the now-purring sedan. "I didn't expect this side of you."

Joong raised an eyebrow, his grin teasing. "And I didn't expect you to look so chill in a crisis. Thought you'd be freaking out by now."

Dunk chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. "I'm holding it together. Barely." Their eyes met, and for the first time, Dunk felt a spark of something. It was maybe not romance, but a genuine appreciation for Joong's easygoing charm.

"You're coming to the party, right?" Joong asked, slinging the cables over his shoulder. "Your car's running, but it might need a proper check to avoid this happening again. I know a guy who can tow it to his shop tonight for decent rates. Hop on my motorcycle, and we'll get to Thonglor in style." His grin turned mischievous, a subtle glint in his eyes that Dunk didn't quite catch, hinting at a plan forming in Joong's mind.

Dunk hesitated, his sanitation-minded impluses flaring at the thought of another dusty motorcycle ride. But Joong's earnest smile and the fact that he'd just saved the day were hard to resist. Plus, the idea of his car breaking down again wasn't appealing. "Alright," he said, surprising himself. "But I'm not hugging you from behind. And you owe me a clean seat next time."

Joong's laugh was a little too gleeful, his eyes twinkling with a playful edge. "Deal. Just hold on to the seat. I'm a safe driver… mostly." He texted his mechanic friend to arrange the tow, ensuring Dunk's car would be safe, then patted the motorcycle seat with a grin that suggested he had a trick up his sleeve.

The ride to Thonglor was a blur of Bangkok's neon lights and warm wind, but Joong, feeling a spark of attraction after seeing Dunk's unexpected vulnerability, couldn't resist a bit of mischief. He took the corners a little sharper than necessary, hitting small bumps with a touch more speed, causing the motorcycle to jolt just enough for Dunk to lose his grip on the seat and lurch forward. Each time, Dunk's chest brushed against Joong's back, and he'd quickly pull away, muttering, "Joong, seriously, drive straight!" His voice was a mix of exasperation and embarrassment, his cheeks flushing slightly in the dim streetlights.

Joong glanced back, his grin downright impish. "What? Road's bumpy, man! Gotta hold on tighter." He swerved slightly, just enough to make Dunk grab his shoulders instinctively before yanking his hands back to the seat, his sterility-focused urges warring with the need to stay upright. Joong's heart gave a little jump at the brief contact, his playful side reveling in the chance to fluster the usually composed Dunk. The way Dunk's polished exterior cracked, revealing a flustered, human side, only fueled Joong's attraction, his teasing a subtle way to test the waters.

"Joong, I swear, if I fall off..." Dunk started, gripping the seat with white-knuckled determination.

"You won't," Joong cut in, his tone teasing but warm. "Just trust me, fancy-pants. I got you." He eased up slightly, but not before one last playful swerve that had Dunk pressing against him again, eliciting a frustrated huff that made Joong chuckle under his breath.

By the time they reached the bar in Thonglor, Dunk was a mix of disheveled and indignant, his hair messier than ever but his eyes bright with a reluctant amusement. Joong parked the motorcycle, hopping off with a smug grin. "See? Told you I'd get you here in style."

Dunk slid off, smoothing his shirt with a pointed glare. "Style? That was a death trap. You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

Joong's eyes widened in mock innocence, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him. "Me? Never. Just the Bangkok roads, man." He winked, the flirty edge unmistakable, and Dunk's glare softened into a half-smile, sensing the playful intent behind Joong's antics.

At the bar, their friends cheered Joong's arrival like he was a rock star, and Dunk found himself pulled into the group's orbit, Joong's arm slung casually around his shoulders. The night was lively, with pulsing music and clinking glasses, but Dunk's germ-conscious instincts flared again when a tipsy friend, who was overzealous with a cocktail, stumbled and splashed a sticky mango daiquiri across his shirt. Dunk froze, his eyes widening in a haunting echo of the Yaowarat sauce disaster. "Not again," he muttered, his voice tight as he reached for a napkin, only to find none clean enough for his standards.

Before he could spiral, Joong was at his side, shrugging off his denim jacket with a quick, easy grin. "Here, take this," he said, draping it over Dunk's shoulders to cover the stain. "Looks better on you anyway." His tone was light, but his eyes held a warmth that caught Dunk off guard, a thoughtful gesture that stood in stark contrast to the napkin fiasco at Yaowarat. Joong leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Don't worry, it's clean. I swear."

Dunk blinked, the tension in his shoulders easing as he adjusted the jacket, its faint scent of Joong's cologne oddly comforting. 'Thanks,' he said, his voice softer, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. The gesture, simple but considerate, made him see Joong in a new light. He was not just the chaotic spirit who'd ruined his shirt, but someone who noticed when he was uncomfortable and stepped up without hesitation.

The night unfolded differently than expected. Joong's stories about his years in Turkey and his passion for indie music kept Dunk laughing, and their shared drinks led to a conversation about Dunk's latest design project and Joong's dream to expand his tour business to rural Thailand. Dunk, a lightweight with alcohol, found himself loosening up, his usual meticulous demeanor giving way to a tipsy warmth as he sipped one too many cocktails. His laughs came easier, his smiles less guarded, and Joong couldn't help but notice how adorable Dunk looked with his cheeks flushed and his usual poise slightly askew.

As the party wound down, their friends began to trickle out, waving goodbyes and promising to text. Dunk, a little wobbly from the drinks, stayed with Joong, who'd stayed back to keep an eye on him, sensing his lightweight tendencies. "You okay, fancy-pants?" Joong teased, steadying Dunk with a gentle hand on his arm as they headed toward the exit.

"‘M fine," Dunk mumbled, his words slightly slurred, his eyes bright but unfocused. "Just… my shirt's ruined again. Why does this keep happening?" He pouted, tugging at Joong's jacket, his tipsy state making him adorably dramatic.

Joong chuckled, his heart doing a little flip at the sight. "You're gonna survive, I promise. Let's get you home." He guided Dunk toward the door, but before they could leave, a slick voice interrupted.

"Hey, Joong, long time no see!" A man approached, his smile too polished, his eyes glinting with something less than friendly. It was Krit, a rival tour operator who shared WildTrek’s office building and always rubbed Joong the wrong way with his smug attitude and tendency to push boundaries.

Krit's gaze slid to Dunk, persisting too long. "Who's your friend? Looking a bit… messy there."

Dunk, oblivious to the undertone, frowned at his stained shirt. "It's mango daiquiri," he muttered, his tipsy voice carrying a hint of indignation. "Not my fault."

Krit smirked, stepping closer under the pretence of inspecting the stain. "Let me help with that," he said, his tone dripping with false concern. He grabbed a napkin from a nearby table and began dabbing at Dunk's shirt, his hands lingering unnecessarily on Dunk's chest and shoulders, ignoring Dunk's stiffening posture. "Oops, clumsy me," Krit said, his smile widening as he pressed closer.

Dunk, despite his tipsy haze, recoiled, his voice firm but slurred. "No, stop. I'm fine." He tried to step back, but Krit's grip on his arm was just tight enough to keep him in place, the man's intentions clearly more about inappropriate advances than help.

Joong's playful demeanour vanished in an instant, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward, placing himself between Dunk and Krit. "Back off, Krit," he said, his voice low and sharp, a rare edge replacing his usual easygoing tone. His broad shoulders squared, his athletic frame a quiet but undeniable threat. "He said he's fine. You don't need to touch him."

Krit raised his hands, feigning innocence, but his smirk didn't fade. "Relax, Joong. Just being friendly. Your friend is a little drunk, huh? Maybe he needs someone to look after him."

Joong's jaw tightened, but he kept his cool, his years of navigating rowdy tour groups giving him a knack for handling trouble without fists. "He's got someone," he said, his tone cutting. "And it's not you. Walk away, or we're gonna have a problem." He stepped closer, his height and presence making Krit falter, the sleazy confidence draining from his face.

Krit muttered something under his breath and backed off, disappearing into the crowd. Joong turned to Dunk, his expression softening instantly. "You okay?" he asked, his hand hovering near Dunk's shoulder, careful not to crowd him.

Dunk, still processing through his tipsy haze, nodded, his eyes wide and a little watery. "Yeah… thanks. He was… too much." He tugged Joong's jacket tighter around himself, his voice small but genuine. "Why do people keep spilling stuff on me? My shirts hate me."

Joong's heart melted at the adorable pout, his protective instincts mingling with the growing warmth he felt for Dunk. "Your shirts are cursed," he teased gently, guiding Dunk outside. "Come on, let's get you home. No more disasters tonight."

When they reached Dunk's condo, Joong parked and helped him off the motorcycle, steadying him as he wobbled slightly. "You good to get inside?" Joong asked, his voice soft, his eyes searching Dunk's face.

Dunk nodded, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the night's events. He looked up at Joong, his usual meticulous facade replaced by a vulnerable, almost shy expression. "Thanks for… everything," he said, his words slightly slurred but sincere. "The car, the jacket, that guy… you're not as chaotic as I thought."

Joong grinned, his heart skipping a beat. "High praise from you, fancy-pants." He hesitated, then added, "Get some rest, okay? Call me if you need another rescue."

Dunk giggled, a rare, tipsy sound that made Joong's chest tighten. Before Joong could react, Dunk leaned forward on impulse, pressing a clumsy, feather-light kiss to Joong's cheek, his lips warm and soft against Joong's skin. "For the rescue," Dunk mumbled, his face flushing deeper as he realized what he'd done. He turned quickly, stumbling slightly toward his door. "Night, Joong!"

Joong stood frozen, his hand touching his cheek where Dunk's kiss had landed, a flustered grin spreading across his face. "Night, Dunk," he called after him, his voice a mix of surprise and delight. As Dunk disappeared inside, Joong hopped back on his motorcycle, his heart racing with a new kind of excitement, the spark between them now undeniable.