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Usually, he does not meddle in other people’s business. He doesn’t care enough to ask what happened or why it happened. As long as they are doing their designated tasks, he doesn’t care.
But today, he knows Dongha put extra effort into this date—taking out the most expensive bike in their collection, buying a new Versace jacket, getting himself fully styled.
So when the other boy storms into his office without knocking, like the gates of hell have been flung open, Baekjin finds himself curious about how he managed to fumble his date this time.
Still, he finds it difficult to open his mouth. He doesn’t usually do this—talking about things that aren’t business-related. At least, he doesn’t open up. They always seem to know too much about him anyway, as if they can read his mind, or so they claim. They’re always the ones opening up too, without him ever needing to ask.
Today, however, Dongha simply crosses the short distance between the door and the couch and collapses onto it, looking sullen. He slips his hands into his jacket pockets, leans his head back, and stares at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes with an exhausted sigh.
If it were Seongje, Baekjin would have ignored it. The other boy almost always looks like this when he comes into the office, claiming the space and sprawling as if he owns it. But Dongha and Seongmuk usually carry themselves well. They remain composed in front of him.
Baekjin studies him for a long moment, weighing what to say, considering how to begin.
“What happened?” he asks at last. “Did you get stood up on that date?” He keeps his attention on his phone, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I’m tired,” Dongha says gruffly, not bothering to look his way. “And no, she didn’t ditch the date.”
That should be it. He asked. His curiosity is satisfied. End of conversation.
But this isn’t how Dongha usually is, and that only deepens Baekjin’s curiosity. Something is bothering him. Could he help in some way? If it’s studies, he could definitely help with that, even if that idea is weird in his mind-sitting and teaching Dongha. He mentally shakes the image away.
If it’s family related, there’s nothing he can do. If it’s money, they can discuss it. If it’s union-related, Dongha should already be talking if he doesn’t want to die.
“Did it not go well?” Baekjin asks, only to keep the conversation going, to test the waters. Perhaps he can coax Dongha into talking. He isn’t even sure why he’s trying, they aren't like that.
For a moment it looks like Dongha is about to say something. so Baekjin waits.
“She said I look gay.” he says in a neutral tone.
A deafening silence settles over the room and lingers. At this hour, the low hum of the air conditioner is the only sound surrounding them. Then, suddenly, Baekjin bursts into laughter.
Dongha’s head snaps in his direction.
Baekjin brings a hand up to clap over his mouth, cutting the sound short. When he lowers it and slips it back into his pocket, his lips are pressed into a tight line, still fighting the urge to smile. He looks away, his gaze skittering around the room, but Dongha keeps staring at him and the expression on his face is… strange.
It’s one he’s never seen Dongha wear before. Usually not fazed by anything so easily considering he himself has a way to faze others with his easy but intimidating presence—but now he looks both stunned and amused. The gleam in his eyes makes something unfamiliar twist in Baekjin’s stomach. He leans back in his chair more, almost like he was trying to hide away from that look, trying to defuse a tension he hadn’t meant to create.
“You do look a little gay,” Baekjin says, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Dongha huffs from the couch, and thankfully, that look disappears. Unfortunately, it’s replaced by something worse. He rises and crosses the short distance to Baekjin’s desk, taking the chair across from him. Baekjin follows every movement with his eyes, never once looking away.
“Well,” Dongha says, “she called me gay because I kept talking about you.” He peers up at Baekjin from beneath his lashes, brows lifting in a deliberate challenge. “Should I take that to mean I’m gay for you?”
Baekjin’s fist tightens in his pocket. He doesn’t know why, but it isn’t anger that he feels. Of course it isn’t. Because it’s Dongha. This kind of back-and-forth has always been allowed between them.
“Say whatever you want,” Baekjin replies. He rolls his head away with practiced elegance before cutting Dongha a sidelong glance. “You don’t have a chance with me. You know that.”
Dongha presses his lips together, suppressing a smile—or maybe a smirk—as he nods, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he’s considering something deeply amusing. Then his eyes flick back up to meet Baekjin’s.
“Because of Baku?”
Baekjin rolls his eyes, affecting boredom, but the gesture only seems to intrigue Dongha further. He leans forward, forearms crossing atop the desk, posture closing in like he’s settling into something confidential.
“What’s so special about him?” Dongha asks. “I don’t get it.”
Baekjin shoots him another sharp side glance, but it barely dents Dongha’s sudden fascination with his love life. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, making their gleam all the more pronounced.
“Does he fuck that good?”
Baekjin’s eyes widen. He opens his mouth to respond, but shock steals the words from him. Where is this audacity coming from? Is Dongha drunk?
It isn’t that Baekjin objects to sharing things with these idiots. It’s just…
It’s about Baku.
And that is something he doesn’t like to discuss. Not with anyone.
“Stay within your limits,” he says coolly, though the surprise in his eyes betrays him. He’s far too taken aback to appear genuinely threatening.
So, clearly, it does nothing to deter Dongha. He intends to press on.
“No, I’m just curious, you know,” he says, leaning farther in until his upper body is nearly sprawled across the desk. “What got you so hooked, man? If you’re still pining after him two years later, the first time must’ve felt like heaven, right?”
Baekjin shoots him a glare sharp enough to wound before turning away. His expression smooths back into neutrality, at least thats what he tried for. But something thoughtful lingers beneath—and in that moment he slips. Almost a fleeting softness left behind, almost a tinge of innocence reflecting on his face. Dongha notices immediately.
“Wait, Look at me.” Mischief already threads his voice as he leans closer, trying to catch Baekjin’s face. When Baekjin angles himself even farther away, not nearly subtle enough, the realization settles in, cementing something for Dongha.
He bursts out laughing. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
Baekjin cuts him a side glance so lethal it could kill on impact. Dongha only laughs harder, clapping his hands like he’s just witnessed the greatest joke of the century.
Baekjin can do nothing but glare. He could throw him out, of course—he should—but doing that now would only confirm it. His embarrassment. So instead, he tilts his head back and sinks deeper into his chair, adopting an air of deliberate leisure.
Dongha’s laughter tapers off, though the amusement never quite leaves his face.
“Do you think not losing my virginity at sixteen is a tragedy?” Baekjin asks evenly. There’s no salvaging his dignity now; the damage is already done. Heat creeps up his neck, his face flushing despite himself. “If anything, I take pride in remaining untainted by filthy, undeserving hands.” He lifts his chin, posture rigid with defiance as though this is the hill he intends to die on.
“Fucking hell, Jin,” Dongha scoffs. “He didn’t even fuck you, and you’re acting like he gave you the royal treatment.”
It lands less like a joke and more like an insult. A provocation.
“Well, he could,” Baekjin replies, cocking a brow in a cool challenge. “I see the potential.”
“It’s not about what he is capable of,” Dongha says quietly. “It’s about what you are capable of taking.” Something sharp flickers in Dongha’s eyes—gone before Baekjin can catch it, swallowed once more by easy mischief.
Dongha rocks back in his chair, lounging comfortably as he studies him. Baekjin meets his gaze without flinching, calm and controlled. Dongha is enjoying himself far too much for Baekjin’s liking, and yet he makes no move to send him away.
“Since you take such pride in being an untainted virgin,” Dongha adds, “do you even know what actually goes on?” They shouldn’t be talking like this. They shouldn’t be talking about such things.
Baekjin scoffs, genuinely offended. “I’m inexperienced, not stupid,” he says flatly. “I have knowledge.”
“From what? A biology textbook?” Dongha bursts into laughter at his own joke. When Baekjin shoots him a glare sharp enough to draw blood, Dongha hastily covers his mouth but the snickering continues, muffled and unapologetic.
“You talk like you fuck around on a daily basis,” Baekjin remarks coolly.
“Well, I’m not a virgin.” Dongha shrugs, casual as ever.
“Should I pin a medal on you?” Baekjin replies dryly. The conversation is unnecessary, irritating. He needs Dongha to wrap this up and take it elsewhere—to people who actually enjoy this kind of brainless, juvenile banter.
Silence settles into the room, thick and heavy. Baekjin closes his eyes, but it does little to shut Dongha out. He can feel the other man’s stare like a tangible thing, lingering against his skin, making it impossible to fully retreat into himself.
“Have you at least kissed someone?” Dongha asks.
Baekjin exhales slowly through his nose.
No. He hasn’t. And Dongha, with his broken humour, would find that endlessly funny and highly amusing. Worse, humiliating. The idea of Dongha discovering that he hasn’t even had his first kiss—let alone that he’d been quietly hoping it would be with Baku—makes his stomach knot.
Dongha would laugh.
Or worse, he would look at him with pity in his eyes.
And pity is intolerable for him. Baekjin would rather endure mockery than that soft, sympathetic look, as if he were something broken or pathetic. He'll have to kill Dongha if he looked at him like he were a kicked puppy desperate to be taken in. Like a stray cat left out in the rain, waiting to be claimed. No, he won’t offer himself up for that. Not again.
“Yes,” he lies, eyes still closed. If he looked at Dongha now, the truth would betray itself instantly.
The low hum of the air conditioner fills the space between them. For several moments, neither of them speaks. Baekjin knows though, Dongha hasn’t let it go. So he waits, waits for him to open his mouth, coiled and ready to fucking snap his head. Now he would have a reason to.
“You’re lying, aren’t you?”
Baekjin’s eyes snap open. Swiftly, he pushes off of his chair and in one smooth motion, bracing his crossed arms against the desk as he leans forward. The movement is deliberate, fluid, purposeful enough to startle Dongha into widening his eyes and leaning back instinctively.
“Why are you so interested in my sex life?” Baekjin asks, letting go off the usual sharpness for something syrupy and smooth. “Do you want something?” He tilts his head, lashes lowering in a slow, deliberate flutter as he looks at Dongha through them.
It’s a look Dongha has never seen before. Because Baekjin never does such things with anyone.
There’s a faint, unreadable curve to Baekjin’s lips—almost a smile, almost nothing. His eyes are wide and innocent at first glance, but beneath that lies intent: calculated, coaxing. The kind of look used to disarm, to entice, to lure someone into a trap they won’t realize they’ve stepped into until it’s too late. Baekjin has no such intentions. Just a little teasing? Provocation?
And it isn’t just that Dongha recognizes the look.
It’s that it’s coming from Baekjin.
The realization knocks the air from his lungs, his breath catching painfully in his throat.
“I— no, I was…” Dongha stammers, his gaze skittering everywhere except Baekjin.
Baekjin rises suddenly from his chair and rounds the desk. Dongha tracks the movement instinctively, eyes widening when Baekjin stops in front of him and grips his jacket collar, hauling him upright. Dongha doesn’t resist. He doesn’t have the nerve to. He goes pliant in Baekjin’s hands, far too easy to maneuver.
Baekjin drives him backward, step after step, until Dongha’s back collides with the wall and a startled breath punches from his lungs.
Before he can fully register what’s happening, Baekjin presses in closer, crowding him against the wall, leaving barely a breath of space between them. Dongha freezes, muscles locking as he holds his breath, terrified that a single wrong move might provoke something he won’t survive.
“What would shut you up?” Baekjin murmurs, his voice pitched low and grave, vibrating through the thick air between them. “Do you want me to show you how good I am to prove that I’m not lying?”
The softness Baekjin had worn so easily vanishes, replaced by something sharp and frighteningly serious. It pins Dongha in place more effectively than Baekjin’s grip ever could.
Then Baekjin smirks, slow and deliberate.
Confidence, after all, is the key. Even to cover up a lie.
“Tell me, Dongha,” he says quietly. “Should I?”
He tilts his head, brows lifting, the severity dissolving seamlessly into that feigned innocence again. He can feel the faint tremor beneath his hold on Dongha, and the small smile on Baekjin’s lips widens—not outwardly, but in the way his eyes darken and gleam with something unmistakably sensual.
And it does something to Dongha. As if the pressure in his chest became unbearable, he exhales sharply, his breath brushing Baekjin’s face, and only then does Baekjin realize just how impossibly close they are standing.
He blinks once. Then again. Each blink feels like clawing his way back to himself. Coming back to his sense.
But then Dongha’s hand lands on Baekjin’s waist.
The touch startles him.
Dongha looks dazed, caught in something like a trance—an expression Baekjin has never seen on him before. A foreign look. His eyes are dark, unfocused, almost lost, and the sight sends an unexpected jolt through Baekjin’s chest.
Dongha’s gaze flicks to his lips. The simple act sends a shiver down Baekjin’s spine. He swallows instinctively.
When Dongha’s arm slides fully around his waist and pulls him flush against his chest, Baekjin gasps. His hands come up reflexively, bracing against Dongha’s chest in meek protest, but it barely makes any difference. He looks Dongha in the eye but the other looks gone. He is already leaning in, control slipping, breath uneven.
“Do— Dongha,” Baekjin stutters from within his hold. And for a moment it seems to work. Something breaks. Dongha’s eyes snap back to his, and when he takes in Baekjin’s blown pupils—wide, dark, unmistakably affected—his grip loosens immediately.
“Oh. I—” Dongha steps back, voice rough, almost bewildered. “I didn’t realize we weren’t actually going to… follow through.”
He looks almost dazed, as though he doesn’t quite understand what just came over him.
Did he really think Baekjin would actually kiss him? Was he insane? How could Baekjin, of all people, be the one? And as his first kiss? Dongha must be out of his mind to even imagine it.
And yet, neither of them pulls away. Dongha’s hand twitches on Baekjin’s waist, and Baekjin feels a sharp, quiet gasp escape him.
Baekjin can’t even tell who moved first. Was it Dongha, snaking his arm around Baekjin again, drawing him in with bold certainty? Like he had all the goddamn rights. Or was it Baekjin, looping his arm around Dongha’s shoulders, tilting his head, bringing them impossibly close? All he knows is that the look in Dongha’s eyes—dark, smoldering, intoxicating—pulling him in like a force he cannot resist.
He’s always found Dongha’s eyes magnetic, dangerous in their intensity, though he would never admit it aloud, he’d rather die. But now—the way they glitter with desire, daring him—feels like nothing he’s ever seen. Perhaps no one has ever dared to look at him this way before, or perhaps he’s simply never noticed. Either way, the pull is undeniable, irresistible, like gravity itself fucking dragging him forward.
Yes. He’d blame gravity.
And fuck it—he’s sixteen for godsake. If there’s ever a first kiss, now is the time. And who better than his friend, his partner in everything, to share it with?
Their lips meet halfway. Fire ignites in Baekjin’s chest, a wave of heat crashing through him, and his heartbeat flutters wildly, betraying a thrill he never expected to feel.
Their lips move against each other fast and hot, with a kind of desperation that's unknown to Baekjin. Their teeth clash against each other for the lack of sync but they soon find their rhythm when Dongha guides him with his arm looping around his waist, just holding him steady and slows down the kiss to deepen it.
The heat that travels straight down to his gut makes Baekjin hum with satisfaction. Because god it feels nice. It feels so fucking good. His lashes brushing against his cheek as he tilts his face for better access, to dive deeper, to take more. But Dongha is busy savouring the taste of his lips, sucking on his bottom lip insistently before taking the upper lip between his teeth and nibbling lightly. His hands knit the flesh under his palm making Baekjin press closer and closer. It all makes Baekjin moan against him.
The embarrassing sound makes Baekjin freeze momentarily. He flinch in shame and almost pulls back in surprise but Dongha has no plans to fucking stop. He licks Baekjin's lips making him gasp and open up just for Dongha to invade his mouth with his tongue. Their tongues meet and Baekjin lets out another embarrassing moan, so loud it echoes off the empty office. But the feel of Dongha's tongue against his has him weak in the knee, he buckles forward like his knees are about to give out, feeling more like jelly. But Dongha keeps him steady with a firm hold on his waist. And it's so hot, it's so hot, Baekjin only tightens the loop of his arm around Dongha's shoulders, pressing closer.
Dongha’a experience speaks volumes as he makes Baekjin's head dizzy with the way he licks every corner of his mouth. Drinking the taste of bitter coffee off his mouth. Baekjin wants to savor it but at the same time he wants to take over and try too. Because it's technically his first time and he should be the one learning to see what he is capable of. So he slows them down and slowly tangles his tingue with dongha, thier hot breath mingling against their open mouth. it almost like a dance of tongue, slow and smooth and the idea is almost filthy in baekjin's mind. he would have puked if it wasn't making his body buzz with thrill and want. He takes Dongha’s tongue in between his lips and sucks at it, his eys closing and soft humming sound escaping his mouth. the reaction he gets is not immediate but its hard. Dongha's groaned so loudly in his mouth, Baekjin felt the vibration against his chest running straight south. Dongha's knees give out and his grip falters.
Fuck.
They pull back simultaneously, as if burned by the intensity of their own heat. But the fire between them refuses to die down. The heat certainly got too much for them to contain. Baekjin licks his slick lips, chest rising and falling as he pants. Dongha runs a hand through his hair, shoulders heaving, breath ragged. He doesn’t meet Baekjin’s gaze, even as Baekjin seeks the contact, searching for something… validation? It feels ridiculous.
Dongha slumps against the wall, knees buckling as though gravity itself has betrayed him. His hands clutch his head, as if the intensity of the moment were a personal catastrophe. Or as if he has been hit by a tragedy.
Baekjin tries to compose himself, forcing his wrecked expression into the sharp, controlled mask he wears in public. His face must be flushed because he can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He drags a cold hand over his face, trying to chase away the lingering flush, and adjusts his jacket, restoring the illusion of calm, effortless control.
Dongha groans into his hands, still avoiding his gaze.
Baekjin huffs, feigning amusement, though inside his mind, chaos reigns. He turns elegantly, striding toward his desk with the grace of someone born to command attention. Settling into his chair, he leans back, faking the confidence that has always been his shield. After all, his best lesson in life has always been: fake it till you make it.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” he says softly, the light lilt in his voice betraying a faint warmth.
Dongha finally peeks through the cracks of his fingers. Baekjin offers a half-smile, controlled, effortless, acting as if this were merely a favor he’d granted Dongha, rather than the monumental concession Dongha had actually provided.
“But I hope that counts as sufficient evidence that I’m not inexperienced.”
Dongha seems to crack at that. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his hands from his face, eyes narrowing as he studies Baekjin. Baekjin shifts slightly, tension coiling beneath his controlled exterior. As if the hands of Dongha have left an imprint on him that still buzzes over his skin.
Without a word, Dongha rises. The smirk curling on his lips is dangerous, unnervingly confident. Baekjin’s stomach tightens. He fears Dongha may see through his carefully curated bluff.
With measured grace, Dongha approaches, each step radiating quiet authority. He halts at Baekjin’s desk, leaning forward, palm flat against the polished surface. Baekjin’s eyes narrow. No one has ever dared to occupy his space with such audacity. No one, except Baku. No one else is allowed this kind of proximity. Hover over him like they had any right.
“There was barely any contribution from you,” Dongha murmurs, tilting his head, those glinting, mischievous eyes fixed on him. “I did all the work.” His tone is playful, teasing, a subtle provocation wrapped in charm.
Baekjin leans forward in turn, resting his elbows on the desk and closing the distance until only inches separate them. His voice, smooth and silken, tilts his head the other side with measured grace, perhaps more suggestive than he intends. “Now… if you want to kiss me again, just say it clearly.”
Dongha clicks his tongue, a scoff escaping him. “Can I?” He raises a brow, his voice hushed low. That single motion sends a jolt through Baekjin, his chest tightening as his breath catches.
Yet Baekjin’s face remains a mask of stony composure. He refuses to let his control slip, even as every instinct urges him to bridge the gap, to pull Dongha closer and explore every nuance of the hold, every heated breath of the kiss. In all honesty, Dongha could lean in and close the gap and Baekjin would only pull him closer, get into his arm just to experience that touch, that taste, to chase that feel again. But he cannot ask.
“Don’t act so greedy, Dongha,” he murmurs, a faint smile ghosting his lips. It’s subtle, almost fleeting, but sharp enough to cut through the progression that is so evidently building up to lead to his ruins.
Dongha scoffs again, but something dims, something shifts. Something slips from Baekjin's fingers—not his composure, but the moment, the opportunity—and a flicker of disappointment gnaws at him. Strange, unexpected. Losing this ephemeral chance stings far more than losing control and being seen ever would have.
But he doesn’t dwell. Doesn't mourn the loss for long. He has no reason to. He reminds himself of Baku, grounding himself in what is certain. He watches Dongha straighten, face composed, amusement dancing in his eyes. Not disappointment, just bemusement, a quiet acknowledgment of how unexpectedly close this encounter had ventured into uncharted territory.
Out of reach really. And it wasn’t that Baekjin was untouchable or unreachable being in his existence but because he had made himself impenetrable. Dongha, however, had breached that boundary—ventured too deep into a world no one ever glimpsed. And that realization hums with a tightening thrill Baekjin can’t entirely suppress.
Dongha looks rather satisfied though, almost giddy about such achievement. He gives him a wide smile that lights up his face as he turns to leave. Hands in his pockets, his body sways slightly, joy bubbling up through him.
“This stays between us,” Baekjin’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and authoritative. His gaze lands on Dongha, who freezes mid-step, as if the words themselves physically hold him in place.
Baekjin doesn’t need to speak further, the message travels through the weight of his stare alone.
“Well, I do like the idea of staying alive,” Dongha replies matter-of-factly, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
Baekjin rolls his eyes, shaking his head, but Dongha only chuckles before the door clicks softly behind him.
Dongha is far too dramatic for his own good. Baekjin wouldn't have done anything if Dongha were to announce that Baekjin kissed him. He’s not shy—far from it. In fact, he’s quite shameless, unconcerned with what anyone thinks. One of the reasons he has his union members relay messages to Baku instead of doing it himself.
Fucking hell. Baekjin sighs. Bless Dongha for this kiss. Baekjin can still feel the phantom heat of Dongha’s lips against his own. He tilts his head back, eyes closing, and the memory replay with unnerving clarity: scarily supplying visuals from moments ago. the curve of Dongha’s lips, the intensity in his gaze, the way desire practically radiated off him.
When he opens his eyes again, Baekjin exhales sharply. He is afraid he'll be thinking about that kiss for at least a week.
But he rarely ever forgets any fragment of contact with men who stir him, and this… this was more than a fragment.
Fuck—what if he starts liking Dongha? What if they kiss again? His sick irrational mind mutters “oh! that would be…nice,” but his chest tightens, heart flinching at the thought.
He slaps his forehead, trying to shut the thoughts down. Immediately, he grabs his phone, opens gallery and scrolls through his Baku folder. He taps on one of the many stalker angle photos, zooming in until Baku’s face fills the screen. He stares.
His lips press into a pout, brows knitting together.
“Fuck you, Baku,” he mutters, voice low and sulky. “This could have been us… but you can’t get your shit together and just come to me.” his vision blurring just for a moment, before he blinks away the water.
He sighs, sliding the phone back into his pocket. Leaning back in his chair, eyes closing again, he allows himself to linger on the kiss a little longer. Just a little. He can indulge in the rush of dopamine that wash over him every time he thinks of the kiss. The memory of warmth, the brush of lips, the whispered, unspoken tension.
It’s okay to think of Dongha for a day. To dream of him for a day. To let him occupy this small corner of his mind for a day or two.
What Baekjin doesn’t realize is how ridiculous he must look, a faint, secretive smile tugging at his lips as he imagines the kiss again and again. And he has no idea that this is probably the first—but certainly not the last—time he’ll dream of him. How he’ll let Dongha intrude so sweetly into his thoughts more often than not.