Work Text:
Zhang Shuaibo loves children.
He really do.
He love their tiny chatters, scrunchy faces, inquisitive minds, and the way they clapped when they finally understood something new.
He love the chaos…in controlled doses.
What he did not love was being robbed of peace, order, and the chance to enjoy one (1) quiet brunch with his two most dramatic best friends in the entire Metro. Ahem, ahem, Woongki. Ahem, ahem, JL.
Unfortunately, even on a good day, he only ever got two out of three.
**************************************
Their every other weekend brunch was supposed to be a sanity break—a sacred time to decompress, overshare, give life updates, and bully each other with love. JL had just returned from a morning book signing event (don't ask) looking like he slept three hours total; Woongki came from back-to-back fittings for a TV network gala; and Zhangshu just came straight from a chaotic parent-teacher conference that left his hair slightly askew and his soul mildly bruised.
He stabbed a part of his frittata with the aura of a man clinging to the last thread of his mental stability.
“Tell me why,” he began, pointing his fork accusingly at JL—who, to his annoyance, looked too serene—“I walked into class one Friday morning and found three four-year-olds disassembling a Barbie Dreamhouse like it was a crime scene investigation.”
JL blinked. Slowly. Innocently.
“That sounds… educational?”
“No, baby J,” Woongki said without looking up from his iced Americano, manicured fingers tapping the straw. “Educational is when children learn shapes or phonics. Not when they reenact CSI: Makati Preschool Unit.”
“Exactly!” Zhangshu threw his hands up.
“They asked me where the body was. THE BODY. I teach colors, not murder.”
JL winced sympathetically. “To be fair, your kids are creative.”
“Creatively homicidal!”
Woongki snorted. “Look at it from another angle—they’re preparing you for when you finally adopt three chaotic goblins of your own one day.”
“I am NOT adopting three goblins," Zhangshu said. “One, maybe. Two if I’m in love and stupid.”
“Oh wow,” JL smirked. “Manifesting a husband now?”
“Yeah,” Woongki added. “Manifest louder, babe. But let's be realistic, maybe a boyfriend first? Maybe the cute guy at the next table will hear you.”
“HA. HA.” Zhangshu rolled his eyes. “The only thing I want right now is a nap and a raise.”
He took a sip of his iced coffee.
JL leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, update on my life: my editor wants the second book draft by next month.”
“Already?” Woongki gasped. “Do you even sleep?”
“No?" JL said. “But I hallucinate vividly enough to count.”
“Excellent,” Zhangshu deadpanned. “Can’t wait to read the next chapter inspired by your sleep deprivation episode.”
“It’ll be great,” Woongki said, patting JL’s arm. “And if not, we can just gaslight your readers into thinking it’s art.”
JL nodded solemnly. “As the universe intended.”
Zhangshu snorted. “Meanwhile I got peed on today.”
Both his besties froze.
Woongki let out a gasp.
JL blinked. “…on purpose?”
“Wtf no!!!” Zhangshu clutched his chest. “Gosh. I hope not. But one of the kids climbed into my lap while I was talking to his mom earlier during the PTC and his bladder betrayed us both.”
Woongki wheezed. “I TOLD YOU TO STOP WEARING LIGHT COLORED PANTS TO SCHOOL!”
“They’re comfortable!”
“And now...piss-colored!”
"Hey, I do have an emergency change of clothes at the teacher's lounge."
Before Zhangshu could further defend his fashion choices, JL abruptly stopped mid-laugh.
Then JL’s eyes drifted past Zhangshu’s shoulder.
A small spark of mischief lit up.
Then Woongki’s eyes flicked past JL’s shoulder, too. His lips twitched.
Their gazes met.
Electric. Conspiratorial. Dangerous.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Zhangshu’s teacher instincts— the same instincts that could detect a child hiding a cookie inside their sock (again, don't ask) from across the room— immediately sounded all alarms.
“What,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes at both traitors, “are you two plotting?”
“Us?” JL replied with a smile far too sweet to be legal.
Not honey-sweet. Not sugar-sweet. Artificial-sweetener sweet—the kind that tasted wrong and made you sooo suspicious.
“Nothing,” Woongki added, matching the fake sweetness. “Let's go back to us listening to your story about your… little murder toddlers.”
“They’re not murde— okay, one of them maybe,” Zhangshu admitted begrudgingly as he lifted his iced drink. “Anyway, another parent—”
And that was exactly when JL pushed back his chair with a bright, innocent smile.
He stood.
Took three casual steps away like he was simply stretching his legs. Scanned the café like a man on a covert mission.
Then leaned subtly toward a guy at the next table—a guy Zhangshu hadn’t even noticed because he had been too busy ranting and said: “Kuya, pahiram daw muna ng jacket yung friend ko.”
The words hit Zhangshu like a flying chalk eraser.
He froze mid-sip. His straw stopped moving. His soul left his body.
He knew that line.
He had SEEN that TikTok trend.
He knew exactly what his besties had just done.
And he wanted to fling himself under the table immediately.
**************************************
The café noise dimmed.
His heartbeat did not—it roared, offended, betrayed, personally attacked.
Slowly—very slowly—he turned his head.
JL was already walking back toward their table like he’d just asked for extra napkins instead of detonating a social grenade.
Meanwhile, the guy he had spoken to—
Oh.
OH.
Zhangshu managed one coherent thought:
I should’ve stayed home.
The guy, the handsome guy with fox like striking eyes was looking right at him now, brows raised in mild confusion… and interest.
Definitely interest. His friends beside and across him had paused mid-conversation, smothering excited grins like background characters in a K-drama who knew a love line was about to begin.
Before Zhangshu could assess the full extent of his incoming humiliation, Woongki leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm.
“So,” he said casually, “you were saying? About the parents?”
“You— YOU—” Zhangshu sputtered, pointing violently between his two friends. “I swear, if this is another matchmaking scheme—”
“We would never,” JL said innocently, taking his seat.
“We are literally incapable of meddling,” Woongki added, halo practically shimmering over his head.
“You two meddle professionally.”
“Thank you,” JL said with a polite nod.
But before Zhangshu could scold them further, movement flickered in his peripheral vision.
The guy—tall, foxy eyed, broad-shouldered, stupidly attractive even from a distance—had stood up.
And was now shrugging out of his jacket.
Zhangshu’s blood ran cold.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no— he’s not—”
“Oh, he is,” Woongki murmured, delighted.
“I hate you both,” Zhangshu hissed, but his voice cracked.
The guy’s jacket came off smoothly…
…and so did any composure Zhangshu had left.
Because when the jacket lifted, it revealed:
A black muscle tee. Strong arms. Defined biceps that had NO business being that prominent indoors. A physique that suggested this man did push-ups recreationally, like breathing.
Zhangshu’s jaw dropped.
His soul hit the floor.
His iced drink almost slipped from his hand.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, horrified. “He has arms.”
JL snorted. “Most humans do, hyung”
“LOOK at them! They’re— they’re arm-ing! They’re very ARMED!”
“Please never speak again,” Woongki said, wiping tears of laughter.
And then—suddenly and terrifyingly—the guy began approaching their table. Jacket draped over one arm, expression warm and just the slightest bit shy.
JL and Woongki straightened like they were judges on a dating show.
Zhangshu?
He sat frozen like a stuffed toy on a claw machine arm, suspended between fate and panic.
When the guy finally reached them, he smiled—a soft, polite, devastating smile.
“Hi,” he said, voice warm and deep. “Your friend said you needed a jacket?”
Zhangshu opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing came out. Absolutely nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
JL leaned back, whispering, “Oh my God, he’s broken. We broke our bestie.”
Woongki smacked JL’s shoulder. “Shush, let nature take its course.”
The guy chuckled, mistaking the silence for shyness instead of full-blown internal combustion.
“It’s okay,” he said, holding out the jacket. “You can borrow it. I don’t mind.”
Zhangshu finally managed to make a sound —a tiny, tragic, mouse-like squeak.
But he still didn’t take the jacket.
So the guy extended his hand a little more, encouraging, gentle.
“I’m Steven, by the way.”
The name snapped something in Zhangshu’s fogged-out brain.
“Sh— Shuai— Shuaibo,” he stammered. “Zhang— I’m— yes.”
Steven’s smile softened into something strangely fond. “Nice to meet you, Shuaibo.”
From his seat, JL silently screamed. Across him, Woongki silently screamed. Both of them silently screamed in sync.
Still smiling, Steven asked, “May I…?”—and without touching him, gestured lightly as if asking permission to drape the jacket on his shoulders.
Zhangshu, helpless and flustered, just nodded.
Steven placed the jacket around him gently —intentionally—lingering just enough to make Zhangshu’s breath hitch but not enough to be inappropriate.
It smelled like warm spice, laundry, and a man who knew how to use cologne but didn’t overdo it.
It smelled like danger.
Steven stepped back, hands returning to his pockets.
“There you go,” he said with an easy grin. “It looks better on you than on me.”
JL kicked Woongki’s foot under the table.
Woongki kicked back.
Zhangshu clutched the tablecloth like it might anchor him to Earth.
“T–Thank you,” he finally managed. “I… I didn’t— They— It’s—”
Steven laughed softly. “It’s okay. Your friends seems nice.”
“No, they’re not,” Zhangshu muttered.
“They’re also eavesdropping,” Steven added without even turning around.
JL and Woongki froze.
Caught.
Steven didn’t call them out further—he just winked at them politely before returning his gaze to Zhangshu.
“I’ll be over there if you need anything else,” he said. “Or if you want to talk later.”
And with that…
He walked back to his table.
Zhangshu stared after him, still stunned, still pink, still wrapped in a jacket he absolutely did not need in this tropical climate.
JL exhaled shakily.
Woongki whispered reverently: “…you’re welcome.”
**************************************
Steven had barely settled back at his table when Zhangshu spun around to face his two traitor best friends.
“EXPLAIN,” he hissed.
JL took one slow sip of his matcha latte like a criminal with no remorse.
Woongki adjusted his sunglasses indoors like the diva he was.
“We were helping you,” JL said.
“We were facilitating destiny,” Woongki corrected, flicking his wrist.
“I HATE YOU BOTH,” Zhangshu whisper-yelled. “He saw me choke on my drink. I probably looked like a dying froggy."
JL shrugged. “He looked interested.”
“Interested in my obituary!”
“You’re being dramatic,” Woongki said. “Anyway, continue your life update. You were ranting about the toddler CSI team—”
“Oh my God, fine,” Zhangshu groaned, taking a shaky sip of his drink. “Okay. So remember little Daisuke? The one who speaks like an eighty-year-old? He walked up to me yesterday and said, ‘Teacher, I believe we are all born with a purpose.’”
“That’s… philosophical,” JL said.
“That’s terrifying,” Woongki corrected.
“He followed it up with ‘Yours is to stop chaos, mine is to create it.’”
Zhangshu dropped his head into his hands. “What am I supposed to do with that?!”
JL cackled. “Raise the future villain of Makati, apparently.”
“Oh! And!” Zhangshu continued in full rant mode. “Today another kid—bless him—looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘Teacher, why do you always look tired?’”
“Kids are so honest,” JL said sympathetically
“Kids have NO FILTER,” Zhangshu snapped. “I said, ‘Teacher is fine,’ and he replied, ‘No you’re not.’ LIKE WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO WITH THAT, Zenzen?!”
Woongki wheezed. “They’re reading you like a picture book.”
“Picture book? They’re reading me like a divorce affidavit,” Zhangshu muttered darkly.
JL and Woongki nodded sympathetically at him for like 5 seconds.
“Okay, my turn,” JL said, leaning forward.
“My editor wants me to rewrite my entire last chapter.”
“Again?” Zhangshu and Woongki groaned in unison.
“Yes,” JL sighed. “He said the protagonist’s emotional arc felt too ‘constipated.’”
“You do write emotionally constipated men,” Woongki said thoughtfully.
“I JUST WRITE REALISTICALLY,” JL protested.
“You write men whose love language is staring at walls and hoping for their love interest to get the message,” Zhangshu said.
JL pointed his straw aggressively at him. “I’m sooo killing your favorite side character next.”
“You monster.”
“My turn!” Woongki raised a hand. “My idol client told me the other day he wanted an ‘effortlessly casual outfit’ yesterday.”
“That sounds normal?” JL asked.
Woongki scoffed. “He sent me inspo pics of K-drama airport fashion where the men look like they were styled by the heavens. Sir. Sir. That is not casual. That is curated divinity.”
“So what did you give him?” Zhangshu asked.
“A five-figure outfit.”
“WOONGKI!”
“He asked for EFFORTLESS! Effortless is EXPENSIVE!”
Zhangshu snorted so hard he nearly spilled his drink.
The three of them burst into chaotic laughter—the kind that made the table shake and other diners look over.
**************************************
They were halfway through teasing JL about drawing himself as the villain in his latest comic when—
A shadow fell over their table.
Zhangshu froze again as he looked up.
It was Steven.
Holding three tall glasses of iced tea, condensation glistening on the sides like a commercial.
His friends at the other table watched with the intensity of people witnessing a proposal.
Steven smiled politely.
“Hi again. I, uh… noticed the three of you switched to full chismis mode.”
Woongki slapped JL’s arm excitedly.
Steven continued, cheeks slightly pink:
“Thought you might want something cold to drink. I wasn’t sure what everyone liked, so… iced tea for all?”
He set the glasses down gently—one in front of each of them.
Even in broad daylight, Steven was stupidly, unfairly handsome.
Up close, even worse.
“This is for… all of us?” Zhangshu managed.
“Yeah,” Steven said with an easy grin. “You looked warm in my jacket. And your friends might be thirsty—”
“We are,” Woongki said instantly.
“Emotionally,” JL added.
“Spiritually,” Woongki agreed.
“Physically also,” JL said.
“STOP,” Zhangshu hissed.
Steven laughed quietly—a soft, chest-warming sound that made Zhangshu’s stomach flip.
“No pressure or anything,” Steven said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just thought… maybe later, when you guys finish, we could talk? I’d like to get to know you better.”
Zhangshu’s heart: doing a full 2PM
Heartbeat choreography.
“I…” he said, gripping his iced tea. “I’d like that. Maybe.”
Steven’s smile brightened — small, sincere, delighted.
“Great. I’ll be over there.”
Then, with a gentle nod to JL and Woongki:
“And thanks for… whatever you two did.”
“We accept gratitude in the form of cheesecake,” Woongki declared.
“Or skincare samples,” JL added.
Steven laughed again.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
As he walked away, all three besties watched him go.
Then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”
JL and Woongki screamed into the void. Silently, but violently.
“SHUT UP,” Zhangshu pleaded, face on fire.
“He brought drinks for ALL of us,” Woongki said, slamming the table. “THAT IS GOOD BOYFRIEND ENERGY.”
“He said he wants to get to know you!” JL squealed. “THAT IS ‘I WANT TO DATE YOU AND GET YOUR FRIENDS' APPROVAL’ ENERGY.”
“He has THE ARMS,” Woongki added reverently.
“He has MANNERS,” JL emphasized.
“He has INTEREST,” Woongki insisted.
“He has HIS JACKET ON YOU,” JL pointed out.
Zhangshu buried his face in his hands. “I hate him. I hate you. I hate myself. I hate this café.”
“You don’t hate him,” Woongki said smugly.
“You might even LIKE him,” JL added.
“I DO NOT—” Zhangshu peeked over his folded arms.
Steven looked up from his table… and gave him the softest, shyest smile.
Zhangshu melted like ice cream in May.
“…okay maybe a little,” he whispered.
His besties cheered.
And just like that—absurd as it was, unexpected as it was—the afternoon felt warmer. Lighter.
Like something was shifting.
Not a commitment.
Not a promise.
But a beginning.
A possibility.
With Steven sitting just one table away… and his jacket still settled comfortably in Zhangshu's shoulders.
**************************************
Epilogue - Six Months later
Same café. Same table. Same three best friends trying to have a normal brunch. Same chaotic brunch energy—except today, Zhang Shuaibo arrived with someone.
And by “with,” JL and Woongki meant:
Steven Kim’s car slowly pulling up in front of the café like a scene straight out of a commercial. Steven hopping out quickly to open the passenger door; and Zhangshu stepping out, cheeks somewhag pink.
“Okay,” Woongki whispered as he watched from their table by the window. “That’s… boyfriend behavior.”
JL nodded solemnly. “Soft-launch? Or hard-launch? I can’t tell.”
Steven ruffled Zhangshu’s hair before leaving him with a kiss to the temple— quick but real enough to make Zhangshu swat at him.
“Go! They’re watching!” Zhangshu hissed.
“They always watch,” Steven grinned. “Text me when you’re done, babe.”
“Ugh don't you have meeting to attend—” But Steven was already jogging back to the driver’s seat as he waved at Woongki and JL.
The moment the car disappeared down the street, JL and Woongki’s heads snapped toward Zhangshu as he sat down.
“SO?” they said at the same time.
Zhangshu opened the menu like nothing happened.
“…So what?”
“Oh don’t you so what us,” Woongki said.
“Mr. Muscles literally dropped you off like you’re his treasured Pokémon.”
“And kissed you,” JL added.
“It was the temple!”
“A kiss is a kiss,” they chorused.
Zhangshu, flustered but trying to look dignified, muttered, “He was just being nice.”
“Babes,” Woongki deadpanned, “men are not nice like that. They are only nice when they like you. Or when they want you to sign something.”
JL leaned forward, chin in hand.
“So… what’s the label? Exclusive? Official? Fling? Situationship? Year-long contract? Package deal with biceps?”
“It’s—!” Zhangshu took a deep breath. “…still new. We’re… taking it slow.”
JL and Woongki looked at each other knowingly. Which was the besties’ way of saying: Yeah, they’re absolutely dating.
JL softened a little. “So… you’re happy?”
A beat.
A small smile.
“…Yeah,” Zhangshu admitted. “I think I am.”
The two cooed obnoxiously until he threatened to leave.
**************************************
“Anyway,” Zhangshu said quickly, needing the subject to change before his blush killed him, “what about you two? JL? Any updates? Any news?”
JL talked about his manuscript being ahead of schedule for the first time in three years— a miracle he credited to fear and hope.
“Fear of who?” Woongki asked.
JL opened his mouth to answer, but at that exact second, his phone vibrated on the table.
All three of them looked down.
The caller ID flashed:
MAHAL 🩷🩵
—with a photo of Park Han, in all his handsome, very-boyfriend-coded glory.
The world went still.
Woongki gasped like an auntie discovering a scandal. “EXPLAIN YOURSELF.
“You told us your editor was strict and annoying!” Zhangshu accused.
“MAHAL?!”
“PARK HAN? AS IN YOUR EDITOR PARK HAN?!”
JL flinched, grabbed his phone, tried to hide behind a napkin. “It’s not— I mean— we’re— it’s—”
“You’re WHAT?!”
JL groaned into his hands. “We’re dating!!! Okay?! We’re dating! He’s my boyfriend! Stop screaming and screeching!”
Zhangshu gasped loud enough to summon angels. Woongki clutched his chest like he’d been betrayed in a teleserye.
“But you said he was your STRICT editor!”
“He is! Very strict! Extremely annoying! But also… my boyfriend.”
“So enemies to lovers?!”
“Slowburn office romance?!”
“Did you guys kiss between manuscripts?!”
“WOONGKI—!”
JL buried his face in his hands. “It just… happened. He confessed first. I thought he hated me but turns out he was just… awkward. And grumpy. A little tsundere.”
“That tracks,” Zhangshu nodded. “Han looks like he alphabetizes his feelings.”
JL laughed softly, nervous but glowing. “We didn’t tell people yet. He wanted to be sure I wasn’t saying yes because I was lonely or stressed. He told me… he wanted to earn it.”
Woongki slapped his arm. “You could’ve told us earlier!”
JL shrugged sheepishly. “I was waiting until it felt really real, I guess.”
“It’s real,” Zhangshu said, “if the caller ID is ‘Mahal.’”
JL blushed. “That's what he calls me actually, but he insisted I use it as his contact too. I just usually call him Hani.”
JL then answered the call with a shy smile tugging at his lips.
“Hello, mahal. Yes, I’m eating. Yes, I drank water. No, I didn’t forget sunscreen—okay, maybe I did—babe please don’t nag me in front of my friends—okay fine I’ll buy the donuts that you like—yes, I'll see you later.”
Woongki and Zhangshu stared at him like he had grown angel wings.
JL hung up, cheeks pink.
“Anyway,” he said, “you were saying something?”
Both besties leaned back, absolutely floored.
“Baby J,” Zhangshu whispered. “You’re in a healthy relationship. Like. A healthy one.”
“I know,” JL murmured, eyes soft. “It still surprises me too.”
**************************************
They realized something.
Three seats at the table.
One taken by a man in love.
Another slowly claimed by someone falling in love.
Both stared at their friend.
And Woongki only blinked at them before sipping his citrus iced tea like a calm storm.
“What?” he said. “I’m in my soft era. My ‘no dating, only loving myself’ era. I have skincare. I have peace. I have a career that keeps my wallet happy. I’m thriving.”
JL smiled gently. “And when you’re ready, someone good is gonna come along.”
Zhangshu nudged Woongki’s shoulder. “We just want you happy too. Even if you pretend you don’t like romance.”
“I don’t pretend,” Woongki said primly. “I genuinely don’t like it. Unless it’s your dramatic lives. That part? Entertaining.”
JL reached out his hand.
Zhangshu reached his too.
After a second of pretending he was above it all, Woongki sighed and placed his hand over theirs.
Their little trio ritual.
Just a soft press of palms.
A reminder they were home to each other—even with new people orbiting their lives.
Woongki then clinked his glass against theirs and raised it.
“To boyfriends, self-love, and more chaotic brunches.”
JL raised his glass.
“To new chapters.”
And Zhangshu lifted his own.
“To… whatever comes next.”
Their glasses met in the middle, soft and bright.
The story is far from over.
But it finally felt like the beginning of something beautiful.