Work Text:
Jeno wakes up with his lungs begging for air.
His eyes snap open to a bedroom ceiling still painted in the muted, pre-dawn gray. There is no alarm ringing, no phone vibrating on the nightstand, but his pulse hammers against his ribs like a warning drum.
The phantom weight drops onto his chest instantly. It is suffocating pressure. His brain skips right over the reality of the soft mattress and immediately dives into the inbox he left alone five hours ago. The endless email threads, the incomplete spreadsheet cells, the client presentation due by the end of the week. The corporate machine does not sleep, and lately, it has thoroughly convinced Jeno that he shouldn't either.
He sits up, dragging a heavy hand down his face. His skin is cold with a thin layer of sweat. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed. The instinct is practically hardwired into his muscles now: wake up, bypass the bathroom, walk straight down the hall, and flip open the laptop. If he can just get a head start, if he can just clear ten emails before the sun comes up, maybe the crushing feeling inside his chest will lessen.
He stands. His joints pop, protesting the severe lack of rest. He takes a step toward the bedroom door, his mind already composing a formal reply to the marketing department.
"Where are you going?"
The voice is thick with sleep, muffled by the pillows. The bed creaks behind him. Jeno doesn't stop walking.
"Office," Jeno rasps, his throat incredibly dry. "Just need to check one thing."
He makes it to the hallway. The door to his workspace is right there, slightly ajar, practically pulling him in. But before his hand can reach the knob, another hand slips around his waist.
Donghyuck is a warm weight against his side. His hair is an absolute disaster, sticking out in messy tufts, and his eyes are barely open. He is wearing one of Jeno's oversized shirts, the fabric slipping lazily off his shoulder. Jeno expects Donghyuck to just hug him from behind, complain about the cold air, and drag him back to bed.
Instead, Donghyuck’s grip tightens around his waist.
Using his entire body weight, Donghyuck intercepts the trajectory. He doesn't say a single word about the work. He simply steps into Jeno's path, turning his boyfriend's body away from the office door and steering him to the right, guiding him straight into the open kitchen.
"Hyuck, wait," Jeno grumbles, a weak, resigned protest escaping his lips. "I really have to—"
"Sit," Donghyuck interrupts. His voice is flat, brooking zero arguments. He pushes Jeno down onto one of the wooden barstools by the kitchen island.
Jeno blinks, entirely thrown off guard. This is new. Usually, Donghyuck sleeps straight through Jeno's early morning panic, or simply mumbles a complaint from under the covers. But today, Donghyuck is standing by the stove, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and reaching for a frying pan.
"I had the most exhausting dream last night," Donghyuck announces out of nowhere.
He turns the dial on the stove. The burner clicks, bursting into a ring of blue flame. He tosses a square of butter into the pan. It immediately begins to sizzle and melt, filling the air with a rich, savory scent.
Jeno stares at his boyfriend's back, his brain struggling to switch tracks. His fingers twitch against his thighs, craving the familiar plastic of a keyboard. His chest is still tight. The anxiety hums right under his skin, whispering about the Q3 budget analysis. He needs to categorize those expenses. He needs to follow up on the vendor contracts. He needs to—
"So, I was in this underground subway station," Donghyuck continues, cracking two eggs into the pan with a loud hiss. He doesn't look back at Jeno; he just keeps talking, his tone wildly conversational for six in the morning. "Except the train never arrived. Instead, this giant, terrifying penguin wearing a leather jacket waddled up to the platform."
Jeno’s brow furrows heavily. "A penguin?"
"A penguin," Donghyuck confirms, grabbing a spatula. "And he looked at me, dead in the eye, and told me I was late for the annual fish-slapping festival. Which, by the way, is a very exclusive event. I didn't even have a ticket."
Jeno wants to stand up. He wants to excuse himself and retreat to the safety of his desk. His mind spirals back toward reality. The burnout he has been carrying for months is a heavy, invisible cloak. It narrows his vision. It turns every minor notification into a catastrophe. He spends twelve hours a day staring at a screen, managing crises that aren't his to manage, climbing a corporate ladder that only seems to get steeper and more unstable. The stress is a physical ache settling in the back of his neck, a constant companion telling him he is perpetually falling behind.
But Donghyuck is waving the spatula through the air now, gesturing wildly.
"So the penguin hands me a metal briefcase," Donghyuck says, sliding the cooked eggs onto a ceramic plate and dropping two slices of bread into the toaster. "I open it. Guess what’s inside?"
"I literally have no idea," Jeno mutters, rubbing his temples.
"Glitter," Donghyuck deadpans. "Pounds and pounds of green glitter. And the penguin says, 'Protect it with your life, Donghyuck.' Then he does a backflip onto the tracks and disappears."
Jeno stares at him. The absurdity of the image forces a short, confused exhale from his nose. "He backflipped."
"A flawless backflip," Donghyuck nods seriously. The toaster pops. He grabs the bread, slaps it onto the plate next to the eggs, and pushes the whole thing across the counter until it stops right in front of Jeno. "Eat. Before the penguin comes back for his glitter."
Jeno looks down at the food. He is not hungry. His stomach is tied in knots of residual panic. But Donghyuck crosses his arms and leans his hip against the counter, watching him expectantly.
Resigned, Jeno picks up a fork. He takes a bite. It is simple, warm, and perfectly cooked.
"Anyway," Donghyuck rambles on, moving to start the coffee machine. "Then I had to run from the subway cops because apparently, carrying unlicensed green glitter is a felony in this dream world. I ended up hiding in a bakery run by a very judgmental golden retriever..."
Jeno chews his food mechanically. As Donghyuck’s voice fills the room, dipping into ridiculous character accents and exaggerated gasps, something begins to shift. The constant, deafening roar of impending deadlines in Jeno's head starts to falter. The absurd narrative demands just enough cognitive processing to completely hijack his attention. He cannot actively worry about the marketing presentation when he is trying to picture a golden retriever baking croissants.
Minute by minute, the frantic beating against his ribs slows down. The iron grip on his lungs loosens. He breathes in the smell of roasted coffee beans and toasted bread. He watches the morning sunlight finally break through the kitchen window, catching the messy, unbrushed strands of Donghyuck’s hair.
Before Jeno even realizes it, his fork scrapes against empty ceramic. The plate is clear.
He blinks, looking down at the scattered breadcrumbs. He takes a deep breath, and the air goes all the way into his lungs without getting stuck in his throat. The phantom pressure is completely gone.
Jeno looks up. Donghyuck has stopped talking. He is sipping from a mug, his sleepy eyes watching Jeno over the rim with a soft, knowing calculation.
Jeno sighs, a long, deflating sound. He runs a hand through his hair, the lingering tension melting out of his shoulders.
"That is the stupidest story I have ever heard," Jeno grumbles, his voice completely lacking any real bite.
Donghyuck smirks, setting his mug down on the counter. "It's a very serious matter. The penguin trusted me." He reaches over, taking the empty plate from Jeno’s hands. "Go shower. The spreadsheets aren't going anywhere."
Jeno doesn't argue. He slides off the stool, his feet feeling significantly lighter against the floorboards than they had ten minutes ago. He didn't check his laptop. He didn't read a single email. And surprisingly, the world hasn't ended.
Jeno’s eyes snap open to the dim gray light filtering through the blinds. The morning air in the bedroom feels thick, heavy with the weight of unread notifications sitting on his desk. He rolls out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his face, his mind instantly booting up the day's financial projections.
He pushes the bedroom door open, fully expecting the apartment to be completely still. Donghyuck is a notorious night owl, usually dead to the world until at least nine in the morning.
Instead, the rich smell of roasted coffee beans hits Jeno in the face.
Donghyuck is leaning against the kitchen island, fully dressed in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, sipping from a ceramic mug. He looks very, very awake—bathed in the soft glow of the stovetop light.
Jeno stops in his tracks, blinking slowly at the impossible sight. "Why are you up?"
Donghyuck sets the mug down. Without missing a beat, he walks over, loops his arm firmly around Jeno’s waist, and turns him away from the hallway leading to the home office.
"Sit," Donghyuck instructs, steering a grumbling Jeno toward the wooden barstool.
"I have to send the marketing brief," Jeno protests weakly. His body goes limp, offering zero real resistance as he is pushed down onto the seat.
"You have to hear about Mrs. Shin from 454B," Donghyuck counters seamlessly, sliding a plate of buttered toast and a steaming cup of coffee across the counter.
Jeno stares blankly at the dark liquid. His brain is still stuck on the second-quarter budget. His pulse races, a familiar, uncomfortable thumping against his ribs. He needs open his laptop. He needs to check the team's progress.
"So," Donghyuck starts, leaning his elbows on the counter, ignoring Jeno’s distant expression. "You know she got that new puppy, right? The tiny fluffy one that looks exactly like a burnt chicken nugget?"
Jeno doesn't respond. His eyes trace the steam rising from his mug. If he just checks his phone for five minutes—
"I saw her down in the lobby at two in the morning," Donghyuck continues, waving his hands to paint the scene. "She was wearing a full floral nightgown, holding a massive flashlight like an FBI agent. I asked her what she was doing, and she looked me dead in the eye and said, 'The nugget has breached containment.'"
Jeno's brow twitches. The corporate noise in his head stutters.
"Apparently," Donghyuck says, taking a very slow sip of his coffee, "the puppy figured out how to unlock her sliding door. And it didn't just escape. It stole her dentures off the nightstand and took them on a joyride. She was out there crawling through the lobby bushes, trying to negotiate with a three-pound dog holding a full set of human teeth."
The image crashes right through the heavy fog in Jeno’s brain. The ridiculous visual stops his spiraling thoughts dead in their tracks. The marketing brief suddenly feels insignificant compared to the idea of a tiny puppy running loose in the dark with a plastic dentures.
A short, breathy sound escapes Jeno’s chest. He presses his lips together, but the corners of his mouth betray him, pulling upward. Then, a small, genuine laugh slips out into the hushed kitchen.
Donghyuck smiles behind his mug, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He taps the kitchen counter twice, completely satisfied. "Drink your coffee, babe. The emails can wait."
The morning no longer begins with the harsh, metallic taste of panic. Muscle memory is a malleable thing, and over the past month, Jeno’s internal wiring has been completely rewritten.
He wakes up as the early sunlight spills across the duvet. His chest rises and falls in a steady, unbroken rhythm. There is no phantom weight pressing against his ribs, no deafening rush of anxiety demanding he check his inbox. He just breathes in the still air of the bedroom, entirely at peace.
When he slides out of bed and walks down the hallway, he doesn't even glance at the closed door of the home office. His bare feet carry him straight toward the golden, artificial glow of the open kitchen.
Donghyuck is already there, standing barefoot at the stove, humming a low melody over the sizzle of butter. Jeno shuffles to his usual barstool and practically collapses over the island counter. He crosses his arms over the cool quartz and rests his chin on his wrists. He blinks up at Donghyuck through heavy, sleep-laden eyelashes, waiting with the patient, docile energy of a very tired puppy.
Donghyuck glances over his shoulder, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He turns off the burner and plates the food, walking around the island to deliver it himself. Instead of sliding the plate across the counter from afar, Donghyuck steps right into Jeno's personal space, pressing his hip against the edge of the stool.
"So, I have a working theory," Donghyuck announces, his tone serious. "The pigeons that keep landing on our balcony? They aren't just birds. They are definitely running a highly organized, underground syndicate. I saw two of them exchanging a half-eaten bagel for a shiny wrapper yesterday, and the tension was palpable—"
Jeno looks up at Donghyuck, traces the relaxed slope of his boyfriend's shoulders, the messy bedhead, and registers the calculated effort it takes to concoct these ridiculous stories every single dawn just to keep the shadows out of Jeno's mind.
An overwhelming surge of affection hits him right in the center of his chest.
Before Donghyuck can continue his avian conspiracy, Jeno reaches out. His hands settle firmly on the curve of Donghyuck’s waist. With a gentle but decisive tug, Jeno pulls him forward, slotting Donghyuck into the narrow space between his parted knees.
Donghyuck stumbles slightly, the sentence dying on his tongue. He looks down, startled by the sudden physical interruption.
"Thank you," Jeno murmurs. His voice is a low, raw rumble in the morning stillness, stripped of any playfulness. He keeps his gaze locked on Donghyuck’s, his thumbs tracing slow, heavy arcs against the soft cotton of Donghyuck shirt—or probably his another shirt that Donghyuck manage to pull out from his closet. "For greatly taking care of me."
Donghyuck’s eyes widen slightly, disarmed by the vulnerability in the admission. A faint dusting of pink creeps up the back of his neck. He is phenomenal at deflecting, but terrible at accepting genuine praise.
To combat the heavy sincerity, Donghyuck huffs. He reaches down, his palms coming up to cup both sides of Jeno’s face. He squishes Jeno’s cheeks together with just enough force to make his lips pucker slightly, leaning down to press a firm kiss right onto the tip of Jeno’s nose.
"Don't get used to it," Donghyuck nags, though his voice is impossibly fond, lacking its usual bite. His thumbs stroke the cheekbones he is currently squishing. "Someone has to make sure you don't legally marry a spreadsheet. If I don't feed you, you'll literally wither away at that desk and I'll be forced to explain to your boss why—"
Jeno doesn't let him finish the sentence. He shifts his grip on Donghyuck’s waist, pulling him down the last remaining inch. He tilts his chin up and captures Donghyuck’s lips in a slow, languid kiss.
Donghyuck melts instantly. The rambling evaporates into a soft, surprised sigh against Jeno's mouth. His fingers slide from Jeno's cheeks to tangle deeply into his hair. The kiss is unhurried, and deeply grounding—a wordless, physical vow that Jeno is finally present, right here, and not anywhere else.