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The Bar looked like a glitter bomb filled with synthetic pheromones had detonated directly over the dance floor. Streamers of metallic pink and red hung from the ceiling, catching the strobe lights and turning the room into a swirling vortex of aggressive romance. A life-sized ice sculpture of two swans kissing was slowly melting near the DJ booth, dripping tragically onto the sticky floorboards. Giant, inflatable velvet hearts throbbed against the walls in time with the deafening, relentless bass.
Kim stood near the edge of the VIP section, entirely miserable. He was wearing a headache that pulsed rhythmically behind his eyes. Winner had finally stormed out after throwing a massive, exhausting tantrum over the bartender bringing him the wrong brand of sparkling water. This left Kim standing completely alone, holding a violently pink mocktail garnished with a plastic Cupid and a curly straw. Every muscle in his back was coiled tight with residual stress. He needed quiet. He needed a dark cave. Instead, he was trapped in a neon Valentine’s Day fever dream.
Across the sticky floor, Way sat wedged into a plush velvet booth located directly beneath a flickering neon sign that declared the area the "Snuggle Zone." Way was trying his absolute best to maintain his signature brooding, dangerous aura. He wore a dark leather jacket and a scowl that usually sent people running. It was a valiant effort, but it was entirely ruined by the massive fishbowl drink sitting on the table in front of him. The beverage bubbled ominously, glowing neon blue and featuring three plastic flamingos, a paper umbrella, and a fizzing sparkler. Way took a slow sip through a bright pink straw, his dark eyes scanning the room with intense, tragic longing.
Kim decided he had suffered enough. He set the offensive pink drink on a passing tray and made a break for the exit. He just wanted his bed. But as he navigated the sea of dancing couples, his foot caught on a stray, aggressively large bouquet of synthetic red roses someone had abandoned on the floor. Kim squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the inevitable, humiliating impact with the floorboards.
He never hit the ground.
Strong, heroic arms caught him firmly by the waist. Time seemed to slow down to an absolute crawl. The heavy bass of the club mysteriously faded into the background, replaced by what sounded distinctively like a lone saxophone playing a sultry, completely unearned solo. Way pulled him upright with effortless grace, spinning Kim around so their faces stopped mere inches apart. Way’s dark hair fell perfectly across his forehead. His lips were parted slightly, glistening under the pink strobe lights.
Way’s large, warm hand rested against the bare skin of Kim’s waist where his shirt had ridden up. The second their skin connected, Way’s power flared to life. But Way was completely overwhelmed by the sheer, aggressive romance of the holiday and was perhaps a few sips too deep into his flamingo fishbowl. Instead of a terrifying command, Way accidentally projected his unfiltered subconscious directly into Kim’s brain.
Suddenly, Kim’s mind was flooded with vivid, sparkling images. He saw fluffy golden retriever puppies tumbling through a sunlit meadow of daisies. He felt the phantom sensation of a weighted blanket wrapping securely around his shoulders. He saw a mental projection of Way hand-feeding him chocolate-covered strawberries on a luxurious bearskin rug in front of a roaring, crackling fireplace.
The mental imagery was accompanied by a wave of profound, unconditional safety and adoration. Kim’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. All the exhaustion of dealing with Winner instantly melted away, replaced by a puddle of absolute, giddy mush.
"Are you a parking ticket?" Way whispered. His voice was deep, raspy, and entirely serious, completely ignoring the sheer absurdity of the moment. "Because you have fine written all over you."
Kim blinked rapidly. He was entirely dazzled by the terrible line and the mental projection of a puppy wearing a tiny red bowtie that was currently playing on a loop in his head. "Did you just..."
"Do you have a map?" Way continued, gazing deeply into Kim’s soul with an intensity that rivaled a soap opera lead. "Because I am getting completely lost in your eyes."
Kim felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rise in his throat. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. It was exactly what he needed. The heavy, dark world they usually lived in was gone, replaced by a sparkly anime filter. "Take me somewhere quiet," Kim breathed out, "And tell me I am pretty."
Way did not hesitate for a single second. He scooped Kim up bridal style right there in the middle of the crowded club. Kim gasped, throwing his arms around Way’s neck to steady himself. Way carried him through the sea of dancing bodies, his face set in a look of fierce, romantic determination.
They bumped past a couple making out against a pillar, ignored the bouncer giving them a deeply confused look, and finally found a narrow hallway leading away from the main floor.
Way spotted a heavy metal door marked "Janitorial Supply - Do Not Enter." It was not exactly a luxury penthouse suite, but it was secluded and dark. Way kicked the door open with his boot, carried Kim inside, and let the heavy door click shut ominously behind them.
The room smelled strongly of lemon pine cleaner and damp mops, but Kim did not care in the slightest. Way set him down gently against a sturdy metal shelving unit packed with industrial toilet paper. The only light in the room came from a sliver of neon pink filtering under the doorframe. Way stepped into Kim’s space, pinning him gently against the shelves. He reached up, his fingers brushing the hair out of Kim’s eyes with agonizing slowness. As soon as Way touched his cheek, the mental floodgates opened once again.
Kim was hit with a tsunami of pure, unadulterated devotion. He saw imaginary fireworks exploding in a starry night sky. He felt the warmth of a thousand gentle hugs pressing into his skin. Way leaned in, their lips brushing softly at first. It was not a desperate, drunken clash of teeth. It was a cinematic, soft-focus kiss. Way tasted like blue raspberry syrup, expensive whiskey, and pure sugar.
Kim melted into it entirely. He let his hands tangle in the soft strands of Way’s dark hair, sighing softly into the kiss as Way wrapped his arms securely around Kim’s waist. Every time their skin touched in a new place, Kim felt another wave of ridiculous, sappy imagery. He heard a choir of angels singing a harmonious chord. He literally saw a cartoon heart beating out of Way’s chest.
Way kissed him deeply and tenderly, treating every inch of Kim’s mouth like it was the most precious thing he had ever encountered in his entire life. It was cloying, it was excessive, and Kim was entirely addicted to it. They kissed until their lips were swollen, their breathing was ragged, and Kim’s head was spinning with cotton candy clouds and endless sunshine. Way’s hands mapped the planes of Kim’s back, projecting a feeling of absolute worship with every single caress.
Eventually, the biological need for oxygen forced them to part. Kim rested his forehead against Way’s chest, panting softly, a dopey, completely uncharacteristic grin plastered across his face. Way kissed the top of his head, projecting a mental image of them growing old together on a wooden porch swing.
"We should probably get out of here," Kim whispered, his voice incredibly soft and fond. "Before someone comes looking for a mop and finds us making out next to the bleach."
Way nodded, a heroic glint shining in his eye. He turned around and confidently grabbed the cold metal handle of the door. He pushed. Nothing happened. He pulled. It rattled loudly, but the mechanism held firm. Way frowned, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows drawing together. He put his broad shoulder against the metal and shoved hard. The door refused to budge.
Way turned back to Kim. His heroic, romance-novel expression was quickly replaced by a look of mild panic. "It is locked. From the outside."
Kim stared at him, the romantic, syrupy haze lifting just enough for cold reality to set in. "You mean we are trapped? In a janitorial closet? On Valentine's Day?"
"Do not worry, I will protect you," Way declared immediately, puffing out his chest. He reached for Kim’s hand, instantly projecting an epic fantasy image of himself fighting off a fire-breathing dragon with nothing but a push broom.
Kim could not help it. He burst out laughing. The sound echoed loudly off the metal shelves and plastic buckets, bright and genuine. He laughed until his sides ached and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Way watched him, utterly bewildered for a moment, before a slow, goofy, incredibly boyish smile spread across his own face. The broody, dangerous persona completely evaporated into thin air, leaving behind two guys standing in the dark next to a commercial floor buffer.
For the next two hours, they sat side-by-side on top of two overturned industrial mop buckets. They shared a single, slightly crushed bag of stale pretzels that Kim miraculously found in his jacket pocket. Without the constant, deafening blare of the club music, the silence in the closet was actually incredibly peaceful. They talked in hushed voices, their shoulders pressed firmly together. Way kept his pinky finger linked gently with Kim’s, ensuring a steady stream of calming, silly mental images kept any feelings of claustrophobia completely at bay.
They joked endlessly about Winner’s worst crash outs. They rigorously ranked the worst Valentine’s Day decorations they had seen out on the floor. Kim learned that Way had a bizarre, secret fondness for romantic comedies featuring talking animals. Way learned that Kim secretly loved terrible, upbeat pop music when he was driving alone. It was the most relaxed, authentic, and genuinely happy Kim had felt in months.
"You know," Kim said softly, resting his head heavily on Way’s shoulder. "If anyone finds out we spent Valentine’s Day trapped in a mop closet sharing pretzels and making heart eyes at each other, our reputations will be entirely ruined."
Way gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "They would never fear me again. I am supposed to be intimidating. I cannot be known as the guy who projects mental puppies and rainbows when he gets kissed."
Kim giggled, the sound warm and bright in the dim, pine-scented space. "We have to make a pact. A very serious pact."
Way turned to him, his expression suddenly intensely serious, though his eyes were dancing with amusement. He held up his hand, his pinky finger extended solemnly. "A blood oath. Well, a pinky promise, but it's just as serious. We take this to our graves, Kim. We tell absolutely no one of the storage closet tryst. We remain dark, mysterious, and completely emotionally unavailable to the outside world."
Kim linked his pinky firmly around Way’s, sealing the ridiculous promise. "To our graves. We are terrifying badasses. We absolutely do not do sap." They pressed their thumbs together to fully seal the deal.
Just as they did, the heavy metal lock on the door clicked loudly. Bright, harsh, fluorescent light flooded the small room, blinding them both temporarily. A very confused bartender holding a clipboard and a flashlight stared down at them. Way and Kim were sitting on bright yellow buckets, their pinkies intertwined tightly, Kim’s hair a messy bird’s nest and Way’s lips stained bright red from the prolonged kissing.
The bartender blinked slowly, his eyes darting between the two supposedly dangerous men and the half-empty bag of pretzels. "I just needed some paper towels."
Way immediately dropped Kim’s hand and scrambled to his feet. He tried desperately to smooth down his leather jacket and adopt his darkest, most threatening glare. He failed miserably, mostly because his mental projection to Kim was currently showing a cartoon rabbit holding up a brightly colored 'Sorry' sign.
"We were inspecting the structural integrity of your shelving units," Way announced loudly, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. He grabbed Kim by the arm and hauled him up from the bucket. "It is completely subpar. You should report it to management. Good evening."
Way marched out of the closet with as much false dignity as he could possibly muster, pulling a thoroughly amused, silently shaking Kim along behind him. They navigated the back hallways quickly, avoiding the main floor entirely. As they finally reached the back alley exit of the club, stepping away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Way finally stopped and turned to face Kim.
The cool, crisp night air felt absolutely amazing against Kim’s flushed skin. Way looked at him, the goofy, soft smile returning to his face and melting away the fake scowl. He reached out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind Kim’s ear. A final, incredibly sweet mental image of a quiet sunrise over a calm, glittering ocean washed gently over Kim’s mind.
"Happy Valentine’s Day, Kim," Way whispered softly, the raspy tone entirely genuine this time.
"Happy Valentine’s Day, Way," Kim replied, his heart doing a ridiculous, entirely uncharacteristic flip in his chest.
They parted ways on the sidewalk, walking in opposite directions into the cool night. But Kim kept smiling all the way home, completely secure in the knowledge that underneath the brooding, dangerous exterior, the most intimidating guy in the city was nothing but a massive, ridiculous softie.
And their embarrassing, beautiful, completely sappy secret was perfectly safe.