Work Text:
Ever since Jira was a little boy, he knew he wanted to be a trophy wife.
If reincarnation is actually a thing, Jira likes to think he’s always been a trophy wife. In all the lives he’s lived, he’s married to an older, richer man (preferably in the same shape as Koh) who dotes on him and pays the credit card bill no matter how high it is. Koh’s great like that. He never asks questions, he just pays (and sometimes, if it’s really high, he’ll send Jira a look that says ‘wow, really?’ Which is always funny).
Though, how Jira became the trophy wife (technically husband, but honestly Jira likes it when Koh calls him his wife) of a multi-billionaire is a short and rather amusing story of luck. Ten years ago, Jira, in a pitiful state after one too many bad relationships, had decided to make himself a profile on a dating website.
Ing, who’d been there, and too wine-drunk to be helpful, played around with the preferences, and just for their own amusement set it so only men who made at least seven figures could message him.
Of course, that greatly reduced the amount of people who could view Jira’s profile, but at least it let him be seen by Koh. They talked for a short while, with Jira’s first impression being that Koh was an asshole while Koh thought Jira was a straight-up gold digger (which, isn’t wrong, but lol), but they still braved the date. They ended up getting into a violent argument about the use of AI at the restaurant, and Jira swore to himself that he’d never darken this asshole’s doorstep again, but…Jira is into red flags..
He showed up at Koh’s apartment a day later, they argued some more, had round after round of amazing sex, and then they started to actually talk again.
Being married to an asshole with an aversion to people isn’t easy, but it’s not just the money and the stability, Jira actually loves Koh. He loves their arguments and how Koh can always make him see things differently. He loves how Koh encourages his art and will drop everything to be his model (though Jira is half-convinced Koh does it because he wants an opportunity to be naked; that man is a nudist in all but name). He loves the way Koh smiles and makes his own wine and hates making eye contact with anyone but Jira and—
Well, safe to say, Jira loves his husband.
HOWEVER.
The one thing that gets on Jira’s nerves is Koh’s aforementioned aversion to people. It has to be because of trauma or autism or something (Jira doesn’t know, Koh doesn’t like to talk about his therapy sessions). If there’s a way to avoid being in public, Koh will figure it out, and it’s annoying when Ji just wants to go out and show off his handsome (clothed) husband.
Hell, Ing (and subsequently all of Jira’s friends) believed for years that Jira made Koh up to explain away credit card fraud. Like, no! The fancy metal card Jira uses to pay for their fancy brunches is actually his (in their eyes) imaginary boyfriend. Imagine their shock when Jira invited them to his wedding and Koh actually showed up.
Which, speaking of, what a day. Their million dollar destination wedding felt more like a stage show than a declaration of love. It’d been a ploy for Koh to trick the shareholders of his company into believing he’s not some cold-hearted hermit. That day had been Koh’s proof that he’s a future family man! He loves kids!
(What a fucking joke.)
(Jira once asked if they could get a puppy and Koh locked him outside on the balcony for an hour. They aren’t having kids. Ever).
(And Jira attended his own wedding only for the honeymoon to Aruba and the prospect of being fucked on the beach.)
(If you were curious, beach sex is amazing.)
Anyway, this is where our story starts.
Jira is in the kitchen, washing his paintbrushes in the sink when a pair of well-defined arms snake around his waist. Ji instinctively leans back into the warm, naked chest and offers up his neck to be kissed. Koh is gentle, overly affectionate, and it instantly puts Jira on edge.
“What do you want?” Jira grumbles. He tries to elbow his husband, but he’s squeezed tighter.
“What?” Koh murmurs into his skin. “Can’t I kiss my beautiful husband?”
“You can, but not like this,” Jira says, and once more tries to shake off the monkey clinging to his back.
Koh, at least, gets the hint and moves, but only to lean up against the counter beside the sink. Jira glares weakly up at him, but he can hardly stay upset when Koh looks so hot in the early morning light.
He looks healthier too, his skin brighter and glowy. When they first met, Jira hadn’t liked the dark bags beneath Koh’s eyes or the paleness of his face. Granted, his husband hadn’t really been sleeping at that time, but now, after meeting Jira, Koh’s been better.
“What’s up?” Jira sighs.
“I just need a favor,” Koh says, perfectly innocent.
Jira turns off the tap and looks at Koh, a hand on his hip. “What kind of favor?” When Koh asks for favors it can be as simple as Jira being the one to make dinner tonight, to them catching a last-minute flight halfway across the country for work. It can be anything, and so, Jira just wants clear communication . “Don’t be meek, it’s not like you.” he says. “Just tell me what you want, babe.”
Koh smiles and melts a little bit in a way that makes him look softer, more approachable. He reaches out to take Jira’s wrist and pulls him closer. “Some dumbass,” Koh, though complaining, starts in the warm, overly fond voice he uses just for Jira, “sent an important document I need to the office rather than here, and I don’t want to go and get them.”
Jira winds an arm around Koh’s waist and rests his chin on the rise of Koh’s chest. This way he can stare up at his husband with big doe eyes when he asks, “You want me to grab them?”
“Of course.” Koh smiles down at him and runs a reverent thumb across Jira’s cheek. “My wife is very capable.”
Jira giggles. Koh knows exactly what buttons to push to get his way. That being said, Jira wonders if it’s healthy to coddle his husband’s hatred of the public so much. “What about Pheem?” Jira asks in a last-ditch effort. “Can’t he get it for you?”
Koh immediately pouts. “He’s busy,” he says. “And ignoring my phone calls.”
“Okay,” Jira lets out a loud sigh. “Okay, I’ll go get this precious document you need so badly.”
“You’re the best,” Koh coos, and kisses Jira soundly. The second they get their lips on each other, Jira finds himself forgetting all about not coddling his husband.
After some more kisses and heavy petting, Koh disappears only to return with a garment bag. As if already knowing Jira would accept, Koh gifts him with a nice velvet suit that fits Jira like a glove and sends him out with a playful slap to the ass.
Jira doesn’t know why it really matters if he dresses up to go to Koh’s office, but he reasons that Koh is a possessive man. He likes to make it abundantly clear to others that he takes care of the special people in his life, and Ji is the most important.
It is, however, slightly embarrassing to go into the office looking like a million bucks when he’s just Koh’s quiet, attic wife that spends his days painting away in the private studio located in their fancy apartment and ordering shit online. Jira doesn’t let himself show hesitation though, and instead pictures himself as a confident businessman as he walks the crowded halls.
Most of the workers give Ji a wide berth, and the few that have the balls to stare give him a look one would give a unicorn entering their subway car. Jira really doesn’t understand their shock, so when Koh’s office appears in sight, he goes inside and hides.
Which is easier said than done.
Jira shuts the door and enough dust kicks up to make him sneeze. And, as Jira comes to find, it’s not just the door, but the entire room coated in a thin layer of dust. It looks like no one has stepped foot in this room in years, and it smells like that, too.
Ugh. Koh is really something.
Jira sighs loudly and goes to open a window, because clearly nobody else has. The stale smell lessens when fresh air is introduced, and Ji sticks some of the thick folders out of the window to beat the dust off them. It doesn’t do much, but it’s at least something.
And, Ji even discovers, a painting he’d done is framed here. It’s on the desk, beside the dusty computer and another frame that holds a picture of only Jira. He’s looking up at the camera, a confused smile on his face and a pair of crappy angel wings strapped to his back. It’d been from their first Halloween, when Jira forced Koh out and he’d been the only one to dress up, but Koh kept calling him ‘his pretty little angel,’ and Jira couldn’t find it within himself to get mad.
It makes him smile to know that Koh printed the picture out and keeps it at his desk…that he rarely visits. Like, if he ever does show up, he needs Jira’s smile and his artwork to motivate him. Jira carefully wipes the dust from the photographs and sets them back where they belong.
“Excuse me.”
A knock jerks Jira from his reverie and he looks up to see a man in a suit shuffling in. He, too, takes a moment to sneeze and wave the dust away from his face.
Jira smiles and carefully sits in Koh’s desk chair. “How can I help you?”
The man looks momentarily stunned before he rights himself. “I… I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. K.” Jira quietly mouths ‘Mr. K’ to himself. “But I had a question, and normally I’d email you, but seeing that you are in office—” The man trails off, visibly nervous, but Jira is too stunned to speak.
This man…thinks Jira…is his husband.
It seems laughable, but not entirely implausible. Koh is such a private person, Jira can’t help but empathize with his husband’s employees. They must have seen Jira walk into this office and immediately assumed that this was their absent boss. They’ve never seen Koh’s face, and if they’d come in here, they would have seen Ji’s face instead! Of course, it’s quite vain to have framed photos of yourself in your own office, but that’s neither here nor there.
Jira’s face is all these people know.
Fuck, okay.
Jira sits there for a moment and makes a rash decision.
He is technically Mr. K. By marriage.
“Let me see if I can help,” Ji says, and the man blinks dumbly back at him, as if not expecting that. Jira tries hard not to laugh. This man must have emailed Koh before and got a mean response, so to have that same man be nice to you would feel like a trap. “Did you forget? That’s okay, I’ll be here if you remember.” Jira grins mischievously and it seems to jolt the man back into his body.
His question is about different designer brands—brands Jira knows personally and is happy to help distinguish for contact purposes. The tension that had been in the man’s shoulder dissipates and he leaves the office calmer, more sure of himself.
Jira feels slightly accomplished to have helped, and waves the man goodbye. Once that’s over with, Jira goes to open the desk drawers in hopes of finding the document he’s supposed to bring home, but he’s interrupted by someone else.
They come in droves, all with questions and pitiful expressions Jira doesn’t have the heart to turn away. He answers to the best of his abilities, although he’s more familiar with some things than others, but none are the same. With each new employee, Jira realizes more and more why Koh avoids coming to the office.
“Oh, before you leave,” Jira calls to the last person he’s decided to ‘see’ today, “why is my office so dusty?”
The young woman blushes and shuffles awkwardly. “Sir, I think the cleaning crew is too scared to move any of your things.”
Of course. Jira sighs and massages his temples. Sometimes his husband can be too much. “Tell them to please clean in here, there’s enough dust to give me asthma.”
“Of course, sir.” The woman gives a stilted bow and scurries away, and it takes Jira a moment to register what she just did.
Bow? Bow at him?
What is he? A king?
Heh.
No, of course not.
Jira’s the queen.
—
Jira doesn’t know why he keeps going to Koh’s office to play Mr. K. He tells his husband he can’t find the document, and Koh doesn’t question it. Jira likes that. He gets enough questions when he’s at ‘work.’
It does feel slightly…wrong to pretend to work. Like, Jira is somehow spitting at the working class, but, really, he’d been like them until he married a multi-billionaire. Jira’s even advised others to marry rich, and they might have giggled and told him he’s silly, but Jira was serious.
If you want to get anywhere in life, you need to become a trophy wife.
Anyway, it’s been a total of one week since Jira started his game of pretend when Pheem finally decides to show up.
Jira is sat at Koh’s desk doodling with the computer mouse on Paint when the head of IT arrives. Pheem doesn’t even knock, he just enters and slams his back against the closed door. “You,” he starts with a violent, derisive point at Jira, “need to go home.”
“Hello to you too, Pheem.” Jira smiles.
“Your husband,” and Pheem spits this term with great hatred, “is blowing up my phone. He’s pissed, and only you can make him un-pissed.”
Long ago, Pheem had a very, very large crush on Jira. It had been obvious when they first met, and knowing Koh (his best friend) is a right jackass, Pheem tried his best to help Jira dodge a bullet, but the thing about Jira is that he likes jackasses. He likes them a lot. He loves his asshole husband, and he wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Realizing this, Pheem got unbelievably jealous and went on a little bit of a tirade, but they got past that. Pheem is now capable of sitting down with Jira and not trying to flirt with him every chance he gets. They are friends…until Koh starts to have a tantrum and Pheem’s quick fix is to put the Jira bandaid on it.
“Why is he pissed?” Jira asks, and looks at his art. It’s a rather pixelated drawing of red tulips, but he thinks it’ll look very pretty when he puts the design to watercolor tonight.
“Because you aren’t home!” Pheem hisses, his voice carefully low. “You’re here, interacting with people, and he hates that!”
Jira just shrugs. “I’m helping out. Koh hasn’t even confronted me.”
“Because he doesn’t like to upset you!” Pheem roars in a whisper. “Ji, you’re just as bad as your asshole hus—” The curse dies on Pheem’s tongue when a young lady with a swishing ponytail knocks on the door.
“Mr. K! Hey! I have something you need to sign!” she says cheerily. Jira likes her. He can’t remember her name, but he knows she does her very own colorful nails, and Jira appreciates creativity. He wonders if he painted his nails like that, would Koh like it?
“Mr. K,” Pheem breathes like he’s been punched in the gut.
“Yes, that’s right.” Jira gestures to the girl to bring the paper to him. “That’s me.”
“This is what you’ve been doing,” Pheem says in a daze, and he needs to grab the desk so he doesn’t fall on his butt.
“Is there something wrong, Mr. Pheem?” the girl asks, hastily fanning Pheem’s face. Thankfully, the office is no longer dusty and this doesn’t cause a whirlwind of particles.
“I’m only helping, Mr. Pheem,” Jira teases as he finishes the fancy swirl Koh uses when he signs his name. By this point, Jira can probably forge his husband’s signature in his sleep. “You know how busy my husband can be.”
The girl startles and she stares at Jira with stars in her eyes. “Mr. K, you’re married?”
“Yes, of course. Though our wedding was many years ago,” Jira coos.
“It’s only been two years,” Pheem objects.
“You went to the wedding?” The girl’s head whips back to Pheem, like an excited dog who can’t choose who to look at. “What was it like, Mr. Pheem?”
Pheem is fully at his wits’ end with this conversation. He’s figured out Jira’s game and he’s not happy at all. With a great sigh, Pheem throws his hands in the air and exclaims in his soft voice, “Who cares what it was like! Mr. K married a conniving twink!”
The girl’s eyes widen and she opens her mouth, but no sound leaves. She can only watch in horror as Pheem storms out of his office, muttering to himself about how he wants to quit. He won’t quit. He cares too much about Koh to quit.
On the other hand, the smile on Jira’s face only gets bigger and bigger. He steeples his fingers like he’s seen in movies and says, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
The girl shakes her head and takes the signed document from Jira’s hands. “Thank you, sir,” she says faintly, and stumbles out after Pheem.
Once the door closes, Jira has a good laugh at the chaos he’s causing.
—
Koh is catching on.
Jira hasn’t said anything, and Koh is not going to be the one to start the argument, but he knows what Jira is doing and his only complaint is that his wife isn’t home enough. Like… Jira can pretend to be him (be Koh’s guest), but can Jira please do it from the comfort of their couch? Koh misses his wife (and he’s also not sure if he should be paying Ji a salary for impersonating him, but. this sounds like a question for his lawyer—bless his heart).
Pheem is no help either. He says Jira is having too much fun to stop, but he also hints Ji might stop if Koh goes and tells him off in person. Which, okay, Koh knows a trap when it’s set. He knows that Pheem and Jira just want him to go to the office, but he also hates being in public…. A lot. Like, a lot, a lot.
He fucking despises the human race, excluding his husband and best friend (sometimes). That being said, Koh also knows when he’s been backed into a corner.
Jira won’t budge for Pheem, so surely it’s Koh's turn to drag his wife home…or perhaps groom Jira into being a better fake Mr. K and then Koh can stop being invited to those stupid in-person board meetings all the time.
That would be kinda perfect.
Koh waits to stage his ambush. He picks a nondescript day and doesn’t dress until Jira leaves the apartment with a loose ‘I’m going to the art supply store, idk when I’ll be back.’ Koh bids him adieu on his fake journey with his credit card and a kiss for the road, and then waits an hour before getting dressed.
Unlike Jira with his polished suits and designer blouses, Koh wears an oversized t-shirt and a pair of jeans that sit loosely around his thighs. He enjoys comfort over fashion, and it’s not like he’ll wear anything tailored—not after his parents got screwed over.
Koh likes his routine now and he’s not the type of guy to change it on a whim. Not like his beloved wife. Oh, those poets were right, opposites do attract.
With a fond sigh, Koh puts on a pair of sunglasses and heads to the office. It’s been a long time since he’s been here. Nothing is the same. The walls are painted a different color and they have new office chairs and rugs and computers; everything seems off-kilter, like the whole room’s been tilted on an axis.
Koh yearns for familiarity and, despite the receptionist and bodyguards chasing after him, his feet take him to comfort zone—not his office, but his person.
“Excuse me!” The shrill cries of the receptionist fall on deaf ears as Koh takes in the sight of his husband sitting behind his desk. Jira is so small that he needs to peek over the computer monitor to see who it is. His face is impassive, maybe a bit curious, but not completely open. It isn’t until he sees Koh that he blooms like one of the roses he keeps on their penthouse balcony.
“You came!” Jira cheers, and the instant serotonin that rushes through Koh’s veins make this whole journey worth it. He hates the outside world and the two-faced people that walk it, but Koh loves his husband enough to bear it if it means seeing him so happy.
Jira stands up from Koh’s desk to greet him, to hug his husband the way he does every time they see each other, but this tender moment is cut short. A dirty hand grabs onto Koh’s elbow, and it instantly freezes him solid.
“Mr. K! I’m sorry!” the receptionist is babbling, her face red from running. “This man just snuck past security, we’re calling reinforcements—”
Jira takes ahold of the receptionist’s hand and pries it from Koh’s arm. “It’s fine,” he says as he replaces the touch with his own. The icy dread and revulsion begins to melt away under Jira’s sunshine touch. “This is my husband, I told him to come.”
“Your…husband?” The receptionist looks disappointed, and Koh looks away to hide his small, smug smile. He knows he married a beautiful man, so their jealousy and loathing is like sweet honey to him. They wish they could have Jira, but he’s all Koh’s, and no one else can have him like Koh does.
“Yes, I’m sorry he caused such a scene, he can be such a jerk,” Jira says.
Koh places his hand over Jira’s. “I’m an angel,” he says.
Jira narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue. Koh squeezes the smooth hand and is happy to receive a squeeze back.
“Thank you, that will be all,” Jira says, and gently shoos the receptionist (and the subsequent security guards) out of the office. Once the door is shut, Jira gives Koh a withering glare. “You couldn’t just ask the receptionist for an appointment? I would have cleared my schedule for you,” Jira complains.
“Your schedule?” Koh echoes, and leans down to kiss the side of Jira’s head. “Don’t you mean my schedule? I’m Mr. K.”
Jira smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’m Mr. K, too. That’s what happens when you get married,” he says.
“You fuse into one person?” Koh tries.
Jira scoffs. “No, I take your last name, idiot.”
Koh laughs, loudly. It’s a sound that used to be so rare, a ploy to not look vulnerable or childish, but since Jira came along, Koh feels as if he’s always laughing. His mischievous husband, the way his brain works and the conclusions he jumps to—it’s undeniably endearing.
“Can I still get that meeting?” Koh asks as he takes Jira’s hand and leads him to the office chair. He takes a seat and nudges Jira to sit on his lap, though it’s hardly needed. Jira eagerly claims his rightful spot and cuddles close, rewards Koh with kisses to his sensitive neck.
“I’m a very busy man,” Jira mumbles into Koh’s neck.
Koh looks at the computer in front of him and sees the line art of a dozen pixelated roses. They would look beautiful, but the program Jira has used makes them look somewhat amateur.
“You could have downloaded a better art program,” Koh remarks. “You have my credit card.”
“I thought I could figure it out, look.” Jira moves slightly to save the drawing and then shows Koh a folder filled to the brim with pixelated drawings. Most of them are still-life drawings of flowers, but Koh can pick out the familiar doodles of human bodies and peaceful faces. “I left you a lot of good drawings to encourage you.”
“Encourage me? I thought you were Mr. K,” Koh fake-complains, much to Jira’s delight.
“We’re both Mr. K,” Jira says with a warm smile. “That means we’re a team.”
Koh doesn’t know what he’d do without Jira. The person he is today is wholly changed by love and he’s not at all ashamed to admit it. He wants to protect Jira, to keep him happy and his smile kind. Koh won’t make the same mistake his parents made, and sure, he might come across cruel, but Jira knows his heart is in the right place, and that’s all that matters.
“I should get you a drawing tablet,” Koh says as they scroll through the different pieces. “I can pose for you, too.”
“Here?” Jira laughs.
“Of course, anything you want.” Koh kisses his smile and Jira melts like chocolate on a warm day.
“I don’t think your shareholders will like me drawing your nudes in the office,”
“What they don’t know won’t kill them, right, Mr. K?” Koh breathes into Jira’s lip while he slides his hand up Jira’s bare leg. Koh knows he’s won when a small, barely-there tremble shakes Jira’s thigh and those sharp eyes glaze over.
“You’re right, Mr. K,” Jira whispers in a daze, and Koh claims those soft lips for his own.