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It is well-known even among the no-names that one does not carry filth into the boss’s sanctuary, which happens also to be currently off-limits—marked by the red tape wrapping around the silver door handle. Though, neither of these rules has Yunho been abiding by for as long as he can remember, and, hence, it is without a second thought that he fishes the key from his pocket and slides it into the aperture. A gentle click resonates across the empty hallway. Golden light then trickles out as he pushes the door open, staining the cold darkness with a hint of warmth.
Warmth, indeed, colors every corner of Seonghwa’s office, oddly welcoming for the nature of the space. Yunho carefully steps around the documents scattered over the floor and crouches in front of the couch, granting himself a better view of Seonghwa’s face behind the curtain of his wavy hair. The older man’s eyelashes minutely flutter over the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing; Yunho’s gaze drifts past them to follow the traces of inevitable fatigue stretching across those god-sculpted features. On many fronts, it has been a rough few weeks. Yunho has nearly run himself to the ground dealing with the business side of things; he can’t imagine how Seonghwa juggles coordinating every part of this unfortunate mess.
If what he has with him tonight allows Seonghwa a true dreamless rest, Yunho would easily consider all his turmoil worth it.
Despite his original intent to hand his report in and retire with haste, at the moment, Yunho finds within himself no rush to wake Seonghwa up from his beauty slumber. He rises back to his feet before pulling out a fresh pack of bobby pins. Although his best efforts fail to silence the rustle of plastic, Seonghwa somehow remains asleep when Yunho finally gets rid of the wrapping, unaware of Yunho slowly sliding the pins into place, effectively clipping Seonghwa’s hair back into a look barely qualified as neat. Helpless mirth overtakes him when he steps back to admire his handiwork: he really can’t be perfect at everything, after all.
Not unexpectedly, Yunho’s heart skips a beat as he sinks the dry tips of his bare fingers into the softness of Seonghwa’s hair—the contact, somehow, feels far more intimate than Yunho has imagined. Worse, the other man doesn’t even so much as stir under the touch; Yunho wets his lips and sharply inhales in an attempt to keep himself levelheaded. It’s troubling how strongly the scenario still affects Yunho, considering the countless nights he has had Seonghwa under him—unclothed, unarmed, and utterly unguarded. To think that his presence doesn’t provoke a need for alertness from his famously meticulous boss… How flattered the thought makes him feel is, admittedly, a little pathetic, but not necessarily in a displeasing way.
Regardless, Yunho is rather reluctant to wallow alone in his embarrassment.
“How defenseless,” he murmurs, only half to himself, unable to timely conceal a grin when Seonghwa slowly blinks up at him with a frown that holds no heat.
“Could’ve at least woken me up when you invited yourself in… Hey, haven’t you showered?” nags the older man in lieu of a greeting, critical gaze sliding down Yunho’s form—if only to avoid eye contact. The way he wrinkles his nose to illustrate his point inappropriately reminds Yunho of a displeased bunny. “I just sprayed everything, too, you know?”
For all his complaints, Seonghwa doesn’t draw away when Yunho leans in to peck his mouth. “Couldn’t wait to tell you the good news. My deepest apologies.” He chances for another one, this time pulling a quiet wince from Seonghwa. “I’ll do it again for you later, if you’d let me?”
The only response he receives is a noncommittal hum. Seonghwa lightly kicks Yunho’s shin in a wordless demand for space before stretching forward to gather the documents from the ground into a stack and handing them over for Yunho to set on the oak desk, which he obliges without question, all while keeping the adorable image of Seonghwa nodding off in his seat, unaware of the sheets yielding to gravity from his loose, drowsy grip under the wraps of his well-trained poker face.
When Yunho turns back to Seonghwa, the older man is idly twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers. The sight instantly triggers something that uncannily resembles a conditioned response: Yunho offering his lighter, specifically the newer, pricier one reserved for their exclusive use, without having to be asked. The tiny flame sparks with ease, eagerly dancing for two until its prompt extinguishment upon serving its purpose. Yunho watches the seams of Seonghwa’s lips closing around the thin cylinder, unbothered to try and calm the hammering behind his chest.
The pungence of smoke suddenly flooding his senses drags Yunho out of his trance. Tears fill his eyes as he coughs the smoke off, a second away from missing Seonghwa’s fleeting, mischievous smile. Something silky touches his face, which Yunho quickly realizes to be Seonghwa’s prized handkerchief the moment he manages to piece himself back together. Whatever expression it is on his face as he gawks at the blood stain smearing the piece of fabric must be stupid, because Seonghwa then lets a rare, audible chuckle slip—the ephemeral sound saturated by pure joy.
“Do carry a mirror with you the next time you go out, puppy.” A pat to Yunho’s arm, almost condescending. “Or were you so eager to see me that you couldn’t first wipe yourself off properly?”
Yunho takes a deep breath, knowing better than to carelessly rush to a response. He scans Seonghwa’s expression before going with a half-truth. “And if I were?”
Seonghwa’s eyes glint with what Yunho considers to come dangerously close to fondness. “You know you can do a better job at impressing me.”
But it’s working, isn’t it? Yunho blinks meaningfully at Seonghwa, who doesn’t shy away from staring back under the crafty guise of obliviousness. It takes all of his remaining will to contain a sigh.
If he has a choice, Yunho prefers a verbal invitation to the nicotinic, euphemistic proposal to spend the night together. He wonders if Seonghwa believes he would be rejected, or if any acceptance would entirely stem from Yunho’s dutifulness—manifesting as his inability to say no. Knowing Seonghwa, it is most likely both, and thus it is the most agonizing that Yunho is powerless to prove him wrong. Not with who he is. Not with who and where they are.
In the end, Yunho decides against articulating his thoughts, lest he misfires his frankness, consequently oversteps, and thus has himself exiled back to his quarters. He obediently makes a beeline towards the bathroom when he is finally shoo’d off with a flick of Seonghwa’s wrist, but not without pausing in his tracks for a glimpse of Seonghwa fiddling with the bobby pins in his hair and the hint of red climbing up the back of his neck.