Chapter Text
The midday sun streamed through the glass panels of Maison Élysée in molten sheets of gold, warming the pale marble tables and striking the crystal chandelier until it fractured into diamond-bright shards across the walls. The air carried the bright roast of Ethiopian beans, softened by a delicate lift of bergamot.
A single pour-over here cost more than most people’s dinner, yet the patrons never so much as glanced at the receipt.
Jaemin had been here exactly twice before, both times with Jeno. The place catered to a particular tax bracket—not quite his, but near enough that he’d never felt compelled to be impressed. He simply didn’t have the patience for the theatrics of it all.
Today, though, the campus cafeteria had been unbearable, all clattering trays and shouted conversations, and his political theory paper was due by four.
“Go to Maison Élysée,” Jeno had said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Good coffee. No one will bother you. And it’s not like you don’t belong there.”
He wasn’t wrong. The Na family was comfortable—more than comfortable. His father had spent fifteen years as executive assistant to the President of Liu Corporation, which translated to private schools and a nice apartment near campus and the quiet confidence of never feeling out of place in rooms like this one.
Jaemin had ordered a flat white, claimed a corner table, and spread his research across the cool marble. The hush was ideal: faint clink of porcelain, distant murmurs, the understated ripple of a classical piano. He’d actually made progress.
Then the door opened, and the atmosphere tilted.
Liu Yangyang drifted in like a swan indulging a pond of ducks. His blonde hair caught the light with every step, a cream silk blouse falling effortlessly over his frame, sleeves pushed back to reveal slender wrists circled with fine gold bracelets. Pearl drops swayed from his ears as he glanced over his shoulder, laughter soft and luminous.
Behind him followed Huang Renjun and Lee Donghyuck—council vice president and treasurer, respectively—both heirs to fortunes vast enough to swallow half the country without strain. Donghyuck noticed him first. The smirk came at once, slow and knowing, a flicker of lazy amusement. He slid into the seat beside Renjun with the air of someone settling in to watch a show.
Yangyang froze for half a heartbeat when he noticed Jaemin. His lashes swept down, then up again, and his smile sharpened into something dangerous.
He drifted closer, hips rolling in that liquid, deliberate cadence, heels tapping a soft, distracting rhythm on marble.
“How quaint.” Yangyang’s mouth curved prettily. “I didn’t realize Maison Élysée had started doing charity lunches.”
“I’m just working,” Jaemin said evenly, lifting his eyes to meet that glassy stare. “Not bothering anyone.”
“Oh, darling. You exist. That’s bother enough.”
One manicured hand rose to twirl a lock of pale hair. “But don’t stop on my account. Drink in all the wisdom you can. Become the very best version of… whatever this is.” He leaned in, palms flat on the table, close enough that Jaemin caught the gardenia scent of him. “It won’t change the ending. People like you exist to serve people like me. Your father certainly does.”
Jaemin’s jaw locked. “Are you done.”
“He’s excellent at it, actually,” Yangyang continued, voice still airy, almost admiring. “I’m sure he’s bursting with pride seeing his boy here, playing dress-up with the real thing.” His smile sharpened, teeth flashing. “Even dating one. I wonder how Jeno manages it.” A tilt of the head, feigned curiosity. “Must be desperation, don’t you think?”
The words struck like needles. Jeno had warned him about Yangyang’s poison, but knowing didn’t dull the sting. Jaemin’s fingers curled, nails biting palms as he forced himself still.
Yangyang watched him struggle. Something moved behind those eyes—satisfaction, certainly, but also something else. A flicker. Disappointment, maybe. Or boredom. His attention always wandered once the reaction dulled.
Renjun exhaled loudly. “Can you wrap up the bullying so we can order? I’m starving.”
Yangyang blinked, surfaced from wherever he’d gone. Then he laughed, tossing his hair back in a graceful arc. “Bon appétit, darling.”
He turned away, floating back to his table in a drift of silk and perfume. Within seconds, they’d absorbed him back into their orbit, three perfect figures in a perfect room, and Jaemin had ceased to exist.
Still, Jaemin’s gaze lingered a second longer than it should have—fingers hovering above his laptop. He watched Yangyang laugh at something Donghyuck said. Watched him lift his white porcelain cup.
And for just a second Yangyang’s eyes went somewhere else. Distant. Almost absent. Then the lashes swept down, the beautiful face rearranged itself into languid amusement, and he said something that made Renjun scoff.
Jaemin turned back to his screen.
He almost resented Jeno in that moment. It would have been easier to hate Yangyang—if Jaemin hadn’t first learned to see him through his boyfriend’s gentler lens.
Now fury found no place to settle; instead, his stubborn heart kept cataloguing treacherous details: the infuriating tenderness threaded through his voice even when it could cut, the elegant line of his throat tipped back in laughter, the quiet ache unfurling low in Jaemin’s chest, urging him to reach across the impossible distance.
Jaemin exhaled hard and forced his fingers to move again.