Work Text:
It was late in the evening.
Kyuhyun sighed as he kicked through a small pile of dried autumn leaves scattered along the sidewalk. He was on his way home, deciding to walk instead—partly to save the bus fare, mostly because autumn is his favorite season. But the air smelled faintly of smoke and damp asphalt.
It had been about a week since he started working as a law intern at a Seoul law firm, and already, he felt like he had aged a year.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack, his breath forming faint clouds in the cooling air. The day’s weight clung to him—endless documents, endless court hearings, endless coffee runs. But what really lingered in his mind wasn’t any of that.
It’s the argument. He really hadn’t meant to overhear it.
He was only supposed to drop off a document, but the secretary’s door clicked behind him, trapping him in the anteroom, just as voices rose through the frosted glass. Then came the shouting.
“What were you thinking, upsetting Mr. Lee at the meeting today? You could have cost us the case! If he wants to hold your hand while signing the contract, so be it! You’re lucky he’s into guys like you anyway!”
“I’m a lawyer! I fight for clients in court, not in bed!”
Kyuhyun had frozen in place, the file clutched awkwardly to his chest. He didn’t even know the man being yelled at then; only the sharp tone of the boss, and a low, steady voice that never once apologized in return. It cut through the chaos, firm in a way that made his heart skip. The tone carried a subtle edge, like a scalpel, precise yet dangerous.
Did they really have to sell themselves just to win a case? Kyuhyun gulped.
When the office finally fell quiet, Kyuhyun had waited a full minute before daring to breathe again. A strange curiosity tugged at him, a feeling he couldn’t name.
The man’s posture, the quiet authority in his voice—even through the frosted glass—made Kyuhyun’s pulse quicken. He shouldn’t care; he told himself. He didn’t even know him. And yet… He couldn’t look away.
It was his first job after law school, and he did graduate top of the class too. But he was rational enough to know that scoldings and reprimands come part and parcel with surviving in the big, intimidating legal world, like unpaid overtime and occasional labor work. He just didn’t think his first real “mistake” would involve being accidentally locked in the managing partner’s anteroom.
At least he wasn’t on the receiving end of the berating this time. A good and stable job is hard to come by, but that didn’t stop the sound of the raised voices from making his stomach twist a little.
He had wanted to find a way out—or maybe even break the door in that frantic moment—but before he could move, the handle turned. The door opened, and the very colleague being scolded stepped out.
Their eyes met for a single second.
Kyuhyun froze, caught between guilt and fascination. Up close, the man’s skin looked even paler beneath the flickering light, yet his eyes were sharper than Kyuhyun expected. Tired, yes, but steady, carrying something achingly human that didn’t belong in a place like this. The world outside the main office felt like an eternity of awkward silence and held breath before the man finally turned and walked away, his expression unreadable.
The memory made his stomach twist again, half from secondhand embarrassment, half from the way the managing partner’s voice had dripped with disgust. He hadn’t seen the enigmatic stranger since—not properly, anyway—though the whole law firm had whispered about him all week.
Kim Heechul, someone had told him later. One of the senior attorneys. Brilliant, sharp-tongued, difficult. The kind of person everyone respected but no one dared to anger, with a string of hard-won victories and legal prowess to his name.
And now, standing by the rail of the overpass a few blocks away, was that very same man.
Kyuhyun slowed down, blinking once, then twice. The streetlamps flickered orange against Heechul’s profile. The collar of his long, black coat turned up against the wind, half a cigarette dangling from his fingers. His slender frame and pale skin that seemed to glow under the light made him hard to miss.
I didn’t know he smoked, Kyuhyun thought to himself, watching the smoke curl into the cold air.
The man’s hands were gripping the metal bars; the sleeves of his black coat folded up at his wrists. The wind danced through his thick black hair, leaving messy curls flopping against his nape and collar. There was something hauntingly still about him, the way his shoulders hung loose, the way he looked down at the road below like he’s measuring the fall.
Kyuhyun’s pulse kicked. His mind scrambled for logic, but all it offered was one terrible, stupid thought:
Is he going to jump?
---
It was late in the evening.
It felt stupid to be standing alone by the side of the overpass. The sky had stained itself in a dark, dusky orange as city lights flickered to life across the skyline. Cars rushed by behind him—officegoers, couples, people slipping back into their nightly routines—all moving somewhere that wasn’t here.
He scrunched his nose, rubbing at it as smog and exhaust lingered stubbornly in the air. The wind ran through his already wavy hair, leaving it ruffled and messy.
His car was parked a few blocks away; he let his feet wander without thinking, and somehow, they brought him here—the same overpass he takes home after work. But tonight, the world felt a little heavier, the noise sharper, as if everything was leaning in on him.
How was it possible to feel so alone in a city full of life?
He thought about home; the small town tucked near the mountains, where the quiet hums instead of roars. The air there smelled like pine and rain, not smoke and metal.
Then his thoughts drifted back to last Wednesday. Damn that sucker of a managing partner, Mr Jang.
The man had the nerve to call him into his office just to suggest he “be a little friendlier” with clients—to smile more, laugh at their jokes, maybe even let them hold his hand if it helped seal a deal—as if years of legal experience, courtroom wins, and sleepless nights meant nothing compared to batting his eyelashes at some middle-aged executive.
Heechul had smiled then, a cold, practiced one, and walked out before he said something that would’ve cost him his job.
He had always taken pride in his appearance; even more so in his wit and hard-won experience in the legal world. He knew he was special—he just wished they valued him more for his actual work.
Sure, he isn’t naive enough to think he’s the pure-hearted type in the romance department (f*ck you, Mithra Jin), but he can at least be selective about who gets to touch him. And certainly not that disgusting client, Mr. Lee, with that mole on his cheek—the one where a single white hair stands defiantly, curling like it has a personality of its own.
Heechul had to keep his impulsive hands from reaching out and yanking it.
Mr. Lee’s legal case of trying to subdue a sexual harassment case was done for, Heechul knew, but still he still had some trade secrets he knew would help in winning. But since he had not known how to keep his own hands to himself even after getting embroiled in a misconduct legal case, then so be it. Damn it, Heechul would even lose the case on purpose just to spite him.
His hand dipped into the front pocket of his coat, finding a small box of cigarettes he had taken from a colleague earlier.
I thought you quit, he imagined his mother’s voice saying, but surely tonight the world would give him some leeway for just a drag of smoke.
He took a deep inhale and let it fill his mouth, then exhaled the smoke through his nostrils. It had been a while since he last felt the calmness that came with a cigarette. He knew the risks, of course. Just one stick, just one smoke. He needed it to clear his head, and with enough imagination, perhaps it could lift the weight off his shoulders.
A blaring honk caught his attention from down below. Traffic slowed down almost to a halt. Heechul leaned closer, bowing his head to see what was holding up the cars. Someone swerved to avoid a motorcycle.
And at that moment, he felt an abrupt force pulling him from behind. He stumbled back in shock, colliding into something—no, someone’s chest.
Panic flared in him. Was he being attacked? Mugged? Though honestly, there’s not much to take; it’s the end of the month, after all. He scowled and turned around.
Heechul met a young, anxious face—nothing like the mugger he’d braced himself for. Once he realized he wasn’t being attacked, irritation rose in him like steam. He was on the edge of cursing when a sharp metallic clink rang out, as something small slipped from his hand and disappeared between the gaps of the overpass railing.
His lighter. His one and only one.
“Are you insane?!” Heechul gasped, turning around with wide eyes, chest rising and falling. “What do you think you’re doing? F*ck, that was my favourite lighter!”
Kyuhyun swallowed hard, unsure whether to apologize or defend himself. The wind carried the faint smell of tobacco and burnt metal.
The younger man’s mouth opened but closed back almost immediately. He mumbled meekly, “You were too close to the edge.”
“I was smoking,” Heechul deadpanned, still catching his breath. “Not skydiving.”
He paused, squinting and taking a better look at his “assailant”. “Aren’t you the new intern? Kim… Kyuhyun?”
Kyuhyun rubbed his neck and bowed awkwardly. “It’s Cho, actually. Cho Kyuhyun. I introduced myself on my first day, Heechul-sunbaenim. But I guess you forgot.”
Heechul shook his head and scanned the intern from head to toe. Tall, gangly, almost too thin for his own sake. His face looked young and hopeful, acne scars slightly visible under the orange streetlight. He wasn’t ugly, not at all. The mole under his right eye, in contrast to Mr. Lee’s, was more amusing than anything.
Heechul huffed and noticed his half-smoked cigarette lying pitifully on the nearby pavement. He then snuffed it out with his foot.
“Whatever. Just go home.” He turned to leave, hands stuffed into his pockets.
Kyuhyun let out a slow exhale—half relief, half humiliation. His heart was still racing, even though the danger was all in his head. He scratched his temple and watched the man’s retreating figure disappear into the blur of passing headlights.
Thank God it was the weekend. Kyuhyun won’t have to face Kim Heechul again until Monday. And by then, he told himself, this entire embarrassing episode will be forgotten.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, muttering, “Urgh. Maybe next time, I’ll just let him skydive.”
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a sigh, “Starcraft first.”
---
The second time something similar happened, Kyuhyun swore he was going to tender his resignation the next day.
It’s late evening, and the law firm was nearly empty. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead in the storage room, casting uneven shadows across the desks. One ceiling panel was missing, revealing a mess of wires and ropes dangling from the contractor’s half-finished repairs. A faint drip echoed somewhere above. The ceiling had been leaking for the past three days or so.
Kyuhyun stepped in, carrying the last case folder he needed to sort. His eyes immediately locked on Heechul who was halfway up a ladder, stretching toward the ceiling. He was wearing a white shirt made of almost silk-like fabric, the top three buttons undone to reveal a stretch of pale, milky skin. A pair of black slacks completed the look — slightly wrinkled but still managing to look expensive.
The older man’s luscious black hair (is it normal for someone to have such thick hair? What kind of shampoo is he using?) fell into his face, hiding his expression, and his fingers were wrapped around a thick rope coiled with other dangling cords. One loop caught the flickering light—and Kyuhyun felt panic rising in his chest again.
Oh no. No, no, no.
The ladder wobbled under Heechul’s weight. His arm stretched out again, fingers white as they tugged at what Kyuhyun was convinced was the rope around his neck. Kyuhyun’s pulse quickened, and he almost screamed. It looks deliberate. Too deliberate.
Like a noose.
His heart thudded painfully, and he took a shaky step forward. Impulse surged, and without thinking, Kyuhyun lunged, arms wrapping tightly around Heechul’s thighs like a human seatbelt, a subtle whiff of his cologne brushing against his senses.
“Stop! Don’t—please!” he shouted, voice cracking.
Heechul’s eyes widened in shock. “What—?!” he yelled, instinctively flailing his arms to regain balance. The ladder wobbled dangerously under their combined weight.
“Oh my god, you again—let go! I’m not—” Heechul screamed, but the words were almost drowned out by the groan of the metal ladder bending slightly.
Kyuhyun clung on harder, trembling, sweat prickling at his temples. He could feel the older man’s strength as Heechul struggled to free himself, but still he refused to loosen his grip. Fear for Heechul—and something darker, memories he can’t quite shake—fueled his desperate hold.
Heechul’s foot slipped, and Kyuhyun panicked even more. “I—won’t—let you—” he gasped, muscles straining.
The ladder teetered violently. Heechul screamed again, his balance precarious, and Kyuhyun’s arms trembled as he fought to keep both of them upright. A metal clang echoes through the office as the base of the ladder shifts.
A small round head pokes through the doorway. “Kyu, are you ready to leave yet—OH MY GOD—what are you two doing?”
It was Lee Hyukjae, a kind junior attorney who had made a habit of inviting Kyuhyun to lunch. He had a sling bag slung over one shoulder, eyes widened with horror.
With that, Kyuhyun gave another gasp and finally stumbled backwards, tumbling down on the floor, bringing Heechul along with him.
Finally, Heechul’s footing found solid ground again. He stumbled slightly but regained balance, breathing hard, wide-eyed. Kyuhyun fell to his knees, still holding onto Heechul’s thighs out of pure instinct, chest heaving.
Heechul looked down at him, disheveled and flushed, hair falling over his eyes. For a tense second, he said nothing. Then, finally, he muttered, “You’re insane, you know that?”
Hyukjae bowed over and over again in apology for his junior colleague/friend. “Sorry, Heechul-hyung, Kyuhyun is new, he uhh-”
At the side, Kyuhyun was still having a dazed-look over him. He swallowed and his voice barely a whisper, finally spoke: “I… I couldn’t let you…”
Heechul shook his head, running a hand through his hair, still catching his breath. “YAH! I’m going crazy because of you. You really are something else, Cho Kyuhyun. I’m fixing the damn bulb. Not myself.”
Kyuhyun blinked, heart still hammering. The wires and ropes swung harmlessly, remnants of the contractor’s shoddy work. The rope he’d feared like a noose was nothing more than a dangling coil.
Kyuhyun swallowed hard, the tension in his shoulders was finally easing slightly. He exhaled, long and shaky, feeling a mix of relief and mortification. Then he felt really stupid. Again.
Kyuhyun finally released his grip, still trembling, relief and lingering fear making his limbs feel like lead. He just knelt there for a moment, staring at the floor, wondering how he got pulled into yet another disaster that wasn’t even his own.
Heechul’s eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in something unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, his sweaty bangs clinging to his forehead. His footsteps echoed down the hallway until they vanished completely.
“What were you thinking, Kyu?” The sound of Hyukjae’s voice snapped his focus back to reality. “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?” his friend asked in a soft voice.
“I-I just thought that…he—” he tilted his head toward the ceiling and the loose ropes and cords.
Hyukjae gawked at the ropes hanging from the ceiling. “Wait. Don’t tell me… You thought he was trying to kill himself? Here? At the office?”
Kyuhyun could only nod slowly, feeling a lump rise in his throat, hot and heavy, pressing against words he didn’t know how to say.
For a long second, no one spoke. The flickering lights buzzed overhead, the silence stretching like a held breath.
Hyukjae let out a shaky laugh. “Well,” he muttered, glancing toward the empty doorway, “that went great.”
Kyuhyun didn’t answer, face still flushed with heat. His gaze lingered where Heechul had disappeared, a strange heaviness pooling in his chest—something between regret and relief that he was still there to walk away at all.
---
By the following afternoon, the memory of the storage room still lingered in Kyuhyun’s mind. His hands shook slightly as he picked up his chopsticks, the tteokbokki sauce already turning cold. He had barely made it through the morning when he sat down for lunch with Hyukjae, trying to focus on something as mundane as eating.
“Ah—sorry I’m late, Kyu. The case got a bit messy. But Heechul-hyung was amazing, he totally turned the tables,” Hyukjae said, sliding into the seat across from him.
Kyuhyun’s ears perked up at the name. “Really? Is he really that good in court?”
Hyukjae waved to catch the attention of the ahjumma owner of the small, cozy restaurant they always came to for lunch. “One bibimbap, please!” he called, grinning when she nodded back with a warm smile.
“Of course he is! That’s the only reason the boss puts up with his constant scowling and hermit tendencies. I mean, have you noticed? He never goes out for lunch. Well, almost never—unless it’s some client asking for a meeting during lunch hours. But with us? Rarely,” Hyukjae said, pouring himself some roasted rice tea as his lunch order arrived soon after.
Kyuhyun frowned. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll make him lunch one day.” He didn’t even know why he said it.
Hyukjae froze mid-bite. “What?” He nearly choked, coughing around a mouthful of rice. Bits of carrot dangled precariously from his lip.
Kyuhyun raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m a pretty good cook, you know.”
Hyukjae waved his spoon at him. “No, I’m not doubting that. I’m just shocked you’d want to make him lunch. I’ve known you here first, fed you like a stray cat, and not once have you offered to cook for me!”
Kyuhyun smirked, cheeks flushing. “Maybe you should try looking as pitiful and miserable as him.”
Hyukjae gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?!” Kyuhyun just smiled.
A few days later, during a quiet lunch break, Heechul tilted his head as he stepped back into his office, a cup of black coffee in hand. He had exactly fifteen minutes before he needed to leave the firm for the next court hearing.
Amid the usual clutter—piles of documents, folders stacked in precarious towers—sat something completely out of place: a neatly packed blue lunch box, a penguin cartoon etched on its lid.
He blinked. Then, curiosity winning over caution, he set his coffee down and opened it.
Inside lay a perfectly arranged row of gimbap, each piece cut cleanly, almost obsessively neat. A small note was tucked beside them:
“I’m sorry for everything. But please stop trying to kill yourself. P.S. I hope you’re not allergic to anything.
—from CHO Kyuhyun (NOT KIM)"
Heechul almost laughed at the absurdity of it—the dramatic phrasing, the full-name signature, the penguin box of all things. A small, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He picked up a piece and took a bite. For a brief, almost ridiculous moment, the tension in the office eased, the endless noise of deadlines and clients melting away into something oddly soft.
---
The week came and went, as mundane as ever. Kyuhyun survived another day—barely. He was shuffling through folder after folder, review after review, the rhythm of paperwork dulling his senses, yet the back of his mind kept circling one thought: a certain figure he hadn’t seen since that humiliating scene in the storage room.
Kim Heechul had been gone for three days.
A small, inexplicable worry began to bloom, nibbling at the edges of his focus. It was a weekday; the office hummed with chatter, printers, and clattering heels—life going on as usual. Except for him. Except for Heechul.
Kyuhyun asked around, casually at first. Perhaps he’d been out meeting clients or attending court sessions, but no one seemed to know—or care. Not even Hyukjae, who usually knew the traffic of the legal firm like it was part of his job description.
By lunch break, his mind drifted again, replaying what he overheard the previous Friday. He was about to heat up his home-prepared lunch when a familiar voice drifted in from just outside the pantry—a tone sharp enough to slice through the hum of conversation.
“Mithra, you really couldn’t have made it more obvious than you already do. Everything between us meant nothing to you?”
The voice was unmistakable.
Heechul.
“—Of course I’ll still come anyway, you bastard.” Then he hung up.
Kyuhyun froze mid-step, heart thudding, catching only fragments before the sound of footsteps faded down the corridor. The words lingered long after—brittle, half-swallowed, like someone holding back from breaking.
Rumors followed Heechul like shadows.
“Heechul-hyung is… complicated,” Hyukjae said one afternoon over lunch, voice dropping conspiratorially as he stirred his iced chocolate. “I don’t want to gossip, but here we are. I heard he was rejected by someone he’d loved for a long time—a senior counsel from his old firm. Mithra, I think? He got married last weekend.”
Kyuhyun looked up, the clatter of the cafeteria fading behind them.
Hyukjae sighed. “And Heechul actually went to the wedding. Can you imagine? Seeing the person you love marry someone else—the love of their life—and it’s not you.”
Kyuhyun listened, swallowing. There was a strange tug at his chest—sympathy, curiosity, something heavier he can’t name. He looked down at his tray, fingers absently tracing the rim of his cup. Maybe that would explain his cold demeanour and his relentless desire to shut everyone and everything out.
The office hummed around him, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Somewhere between pity and fascination, the absence of Kim Heechul felt like a weight pressing into the room, impossible to ignore.
---
It was nearly night by the time Kyuhyun stepped out of the office. Another overtime drill—catering to the endless demands of yet another senior lawyer, burning the midnight oil for a tricky case due the next day.
He couldn’t wait for the day he’d finally pass his remaining exams and earn his license—become a full-fledged attorney instead of an overworked intern fetching coffee and copying exhibits. But for now, all he could do was bite back the thought and keep going. Evidence lists. Photocopies. Revisions. Repeat.
By the time he boarded the 7:45 p.m. bus home, his body felt like lead. Halfway through the ride, he realized he’d taken the wrong route entirely. He cursed under his breath—but after a moment, he let it go. Maybe a change of scenery wouldn’t hurt. His life had been the same tired loop lately anyway.
When he stepped off the bus, the air hit him like glass—sharp and cold. The road curved along a riverbank, where a few stalls still glowed faintly against the dusk. The scent of ramen and grilled squid drifted through the wind, almost comforting.
After a heavy dinner—okay, maybe his eyes had been hungrier than his stomach—he tucked his hands into his coat pockets and wandered down the pier, hoping to walk off the heaviness. The boards creaked beneath his shoes. The water below was black, shifting with slivers of light.
He hadn’t meant to come here—not really. It wasn’t like anyone was waiting for him back at the apartment anyway. But something drew him on. Maybe curiosity. Maybe worry. Or maybe just the memory of Heechul—sharp gaze, unbothered poise—lingering stubbornly in the corners of his mind.
Then he saw him.
Kim Heechul, sitting alone at the edge of the pier.
His legs dangled over the frigid water, coat hanging open, collar loose, shirt rumpled. Empty soju bottles glinted faintly in the moonlight. His head lolled slightly with every swig, the motion almost hypnotic—almost painful to watch.
Then Heechul tried to stand.
It was clumsy, unsteady. He planted one hand on the ground for balance; the other still gripped the bottle. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, swaying faintly against the cold air.
Kyuhyun froze. He saw the way Heechul’s fingers clutched the bottle like a lifeline, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the empty sea.
“I hope you’re happy now, you asshole Mithra!” The shout split the quiet night, jagged and raw.
Kyuhyun’s stomach lurched. He moved before he could think—running, reaching out. The pier was slick with condensation. His foot slipped, chest colliding with Heechul’s—
“Whoa—!”
And then they were falling.
Cold water rushed up to meet them, swallowing the world whole. Kyuhyun gasped violently, lungs burning as he fought to keep them both afloat. Heechul sputtered, coughing, thrashing. Kyuhyun’s arms locked around him, dragging him toward the shallow side. Wood scraped against his arms, water slapped his face. Finally, they hauled themselves onto the lower platform, collapsing side by side, soaked and shivering.
“…You crazy bastard again,” Heechul rasped, breathless. He shoved wet hair out of his face. “I nearly drowned because of you!”
“I— I just—” Kyuhyun stammered, voice shaking. “You could’ve fallen—”
Heechul huffed, exasperated, gesturing at them both. “Look. At. Us. Now. If I’d really wanted to die, do you think you could’ve stopped me?”
Kyuhyun flinched. “Don’t say that.”
That was when he noticed the gash along Kyuhyun’s forearm, blood dark against the pale skin.
“Hey, you’re bleeding!” he blurted, grabbing Kyuhyun’s arm and dabbing at it with his wet sleeve. The younger man must have scraped it against a plank—or the edge of the platform—when pulling Heechul out of the water.
“Your shirt…” Kyuhyun murmured, eyes flicking to the spreading stain. Heechul just shook his head.
“Why do you keep doing this?” Heechul hissed, half to himself. "Are you stupid or what?"
Kyuhyun's face darkened suddenly, expression unreadable. “Do you think I enjoy making a fool of myself, trying to save someone who doesn’t even want saving?” he said quietly, a silent storm brewing inside.
Silence hung heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing and the soft slap of waves.
“I can’t help it, alright? After he died, I just—felt useless. And my instincts kick in before my brain does.”
Heechul’s head turned. "Who?"
“My best friend,” Kyuhyun went on reluctantly, voice barely above a whisper. “He died.”
The words hung heavy in the salt air, dissolving like fog. Heechul blinked, his expression unreadable now, the alcohol’s haze suddenly thinning. “Was it your fault?” he asked quietly.
Kyuhyun let out a sound—something between a laugh and a sob. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I keep thinking… If I’d moved faster, said something, done something—he’d still be here.”
For once, Heechul said nothing. The sharpness in his gaze softened, moonlight cutting faint lines across his face.
Finally, he exhaled. “You really think I was going to jump?”
Kyuhyun hesitated, unsure; numb to the pain as the bleeding had stopped.
“You’ve got it all wrong, intern. I wasn’t planning to die.” “Then why—”
“I was just tired,” Heechul interrupted, voice low. “There’s a difference.”
The tension in Kyuhyun’s chest eased—just a little. The words hung in the air, soft but heavy. Kyuhyun felt something inside him loosen—not relief, exactly, but something close. The ache of misunderstanding, perhaps.
“So stop trying to save me, okay?” Heechul’s tone gentled, almost fond despite the exhaustion. “I don’t need saving. Life’s shitty, sure—but Kim Heechul doesn’t die that easily.”
He paused, then added, softer still, “I’d just like to get home in one piece every time I meet you.” His mouth curved faintly. “Especially now that I’m starting to find you cute.”
Before Kyuhyun could react, Heechul leaned in and pressed a quick, clumsy kiss to his cheek. The warmth of it lingered longer than it should have.
Kyuhyun felt his face and ears flushing with warmth despite being drenched from head to toe.
“You really are cursed, Cho Kyuhyun,” he muttered, straightening up. “Every time I see you, something nearly kills me.”
Kyuhyun laughed weakly. “I wouldn't be doing that if you would stop trying to die every time I see you. And you say that like it’s my fault.”
“It is your fault,” Heechul snapped half-heartedly, but the fire gone from his tone. He stared out over the black water again, shoulders slumped.
The moonlight cut across his face, softening the sharp lines, catching the faint tremor in his jaw. Kyuhyun stayed quiet. His chest still heaving with uneven breaths, the cold seeping into his bones. “Maybe,” he said softly, “but at least you’re alive to say that.”
Heechul’s head turned slowly toward him, expression unreadable. The wind howled, carrying the faint echo of the city’s hum, the laughter of a few drunk students in the distance, the sound of the world still spinning — oblivious. For a moment, neither of them moves.
“You keep showing up where you shouldn’t. Wrong place, wrong time, every time.” Kyuhyun’s fingers curled slightly against the slick wooden planks. He wanted to say something—an apology, maybe, or a joke to break the tension—but the words didn't come.
They stared out at the dark water a while longer, the silence less heavy now.
“Maybe,” Kyuhyun said finally, “but maybe it’s not the wrong person.”
That earned him a startled look—and the faintest huff of laughter. “You’re an idiot,” Heechul murmured. But this time, it sounded almost like gratitude. "I guess we both are."
He pushed himself to his feet, extending his hand. “Come on. Before we both die of hypothermia.”
Kyuhyun took it, and they nearly stumbled into each other again, chest to chest, dripping and breathless.
“Don’t read into that,” Heechul said quickly, stepping back. “Wouldn’t dare,” Kyuhyun replied, smiling somewhat coyly.
As they walked toward the streetlights, Heechul casted one last glance at the broken pier, the half-empty bottle, the restless sea. Something in him loosened—barely, but enough.
“Next time, Cho Kyuhyun,” he muttered, “if you see me at the edge of something—just let me smoke.”
Kyuhyun’s laugh echoed down the empty street, quiet but real. Heechul didn’t bother pretending he didn’t hear it.
Under the dull streetlight, two drenched silhouettes waited for the bus—one sniffling, one smirking—and for the first time in a long while, neither of them felt entirely alone.
---
Kyuhyun was just about to stuff his mouth with another piece of gimbap before a familiar figure sauntered into the break area, long coat draped over one arm, black hair still tousled from the day.
“Heechul-ssi!” He had wanted to hide his face, but there was nothing around that looked like a feasible shelter.
“Could you help me tomorrow’s case exhibits after you eat?” It was the first time the senior attorney had ever asked for his help. Kyuhyun swallowed.
“O-of course…” Heechul was about to turn his heels before Kyuhyun stopped him.
The office had emptied during the lunch break, leaving a quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of leftover coffee. Hyukjae was on his annual leave. Kyuhyun emptied his pocket and revealed a little package he had bought earlier in the day. It wasn’t much—but it was something.
He looked at Kyuhyun with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, the way he always did.
Kyuhyun cleared his throat. “I… uh, I got you something.” He held it out.
Heechul raised a single brow. “Oh? Do I look like someone who deserves gifts?”
“Maybe not,” Kyuhyun said, trying to keep his voice steady, “but maybe just this once.”
Heechul’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. He accepted the package, peeling back the wrapping with deliberate slowness. Inside sat the gum and nicotine patches. His eyes widened, and he held them up as if they were radioactive.
“I would have thought that you’d replace my lighter,” he said, mock horror in his tone.
Kyuhyun’s ears warmed, and he stumbled over his words. “I… I thought maybe this would be better…”
Heechul shook his head, smirking. He popped a piece of gum into his mouth and waved a patch like a tiny flag. “It was one cigarette. So I guess now you’re trying to save me from lung cancer? Fine. I’m quitting for real this time.”
Kyuhyun blinked, surprised at the admission hidden behind the humor. “Good for you, really.”
Heechul leaned back casually against the wall, chewing thoughtfully. “Really. But you should know—I don’t make promises I can’t keep. One piece of gum at a time.” His dark eyes flicked to Kyuhyun, and for a moment, the teasing faded, replaced by something warmer.
“And you, thanks for toning down your heroic efforts. I really don’t want to end up dying for real the next time you decide I’m trying to kill myself again.”
“I’ll try.” Kyuhyun laughed softly, the tension from the day slipping away.
Heechul flicked his finger toward Kyuhyun’s lunch suddenly, smirking. A fly buzzed out of sight unknowingly. “There, we’re even now. I saved you from diarrhea.”
“What?” Kyuhyun’s nose wrinkled in confusion. "You're impossible."
“So that we’re equal,” Heechul said casually. “But say… maybe we could have dinner sometime? I promise I won't eat little boys for dinner. But maybe I’ll bite… just a little.”
Kyuhyun’s stomach twisted, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Heechul-ssi… Y-you’re asking me out for dinner?”
Heechul shrugged, that crooked grin tugging at his lips. “So… Are you saying yes or not?”
Kyuhyun’s own lips twitched into a shy smile. “Y-yes. I’d really like that.”
For a brief, quiet moment, the office around them faded. The fluorescent hum softened, leaving just the warmth of shared laughter, teasing glances, and a tiny, unspoken spark neither could name yet.
Heechul straightened, lifting an eyebrow with mock impatience. “Good. I’ll pick the place. Don’t be late… and try not to nearly kill me again before then.”
Kyuhyun’s laugh was soft, nervous, and entirely genuine.
“I’ll try… But no promises.”
And with that, the promise of a first date—and something more—hung delicately in the office air.
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