Chapter Text
The Visionary Marketing's seventh-floor headquarters hummed with their usual sterile efficiency, casting a pale glow of bright light over the open-plan office that stretched before Joong Archen Aydin like a battlefield awaiting orders. It was 8:47 AM, thirteen minutes before the scheduled department meeting, and already the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a letter opener.
Joong—as everyone called him, because "Archen" felt too formal for a man who had once shown up to work in mismatched socks and somehow made it look intentional—leaned back in his ergonomic chair, his long fingers drumming a silent rhythm against his thigh. He'd been at Visionary for three years now, climbing the ranks with a combination of ruthless ambition and genuine creative brilliance that made him both admired and slightly feared by his colleagues. The "golden boy," some called him. Others, less charitably, called him the "workaholic robot." Neither label bothered him. Results spoke louder than gossip.
But today, even Joong felt the weight of the morning.
The loss of TechNova Solutions had hit the department like a freight train. Two hundred million baht in annual revenue, gone to a rival firm that had undercut them with a flashier presentation and a promise of faster turnaround. Joong had been part of the pitch team, had worked ninety-hour weeks for a month straight, and still they'd lost. The memory of Phuwin's stoic face as he delivered the news still burned in his chest.
"You're brooding again."
Joong looked up to find Pond Naravit standing at his cubicle entrance, two cups of coffee in hand. Pond was the Creative Director, but he'd never been the type to lord his title over anyone. With his easy smile and perpetually messy hair, he looked more like a grad student than a man who had tripled the department's revenue in two years. His relationship with Phuwin Tangsakyuen—the Head of Strategy, currently standing at the front of the conference room with a tablet and a grim expression—was the worst-kept secret in the office, and also the most inspiring. They were proof that work and love could coexist, if you were brave enough to try.
"I'm not brooding," Joong said, accepting the coffee. "I'm strategizing."
"Uh-huh." Pond pulled up a spare chair, the wheels squeaking against the industrial carpet. "And what's the strategy? How to look intimidating while drinking coffee?"
Joong allowed himself a small smile. "The strategy is figuring out how to win back what we lost."
"That's what I like about you, Archen." Pond used his formal name deliberately, a sign of seriousness. "You're never satisfied. You're always hungry." He took a sip of his own coffee. "But today, I need you to be more than hungry. I need you to be brilliant."
The conference room doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Phuwin's voice carried across the floor: "Everyone in. Now."
The conference room could comfortably seat thirty people. Today, it held twenty-two, and the air was so thick with anxiety that Joong could practically taste it. He took his usual seat near the front, close enough to see the fine print on Phuwin's presentation slides but far enough to observe everyone's reactions. It was a habit he'd developed years ago—positioning himself to see the whole battlefield.
Aou Thanaboon and Boom Tharatorn slid into seats across from him, their usual dynamic on full display. Aou was calm, almost zen-like, his dark eyes taking in the room with quiet assessment. Boom, by contrast, was a live wire, his knee bouncing under the table as he whispered something that made Aou roll his eyes.
"Dude, you're going to vibrate the whole building," Aou muttered.
"I can't help it," Boom whispered back. "When Pond gets that look, it means trouble. Remember the last time? We had to work three weekends in a row."
"That was because you accidentally deleted the entire presentation folder." Pond said without looking at his side.
"That was ONE TIME."
Joong tuned out their bickering and focused on the front of the room. Phuwin stood at the podium, his posture perfect, his expression carefully neutral. Beside him, Pond leaned against the whiteboard, arms crossed, his earlier warmth replaced by something sharper. They made a formidable pair—Phuwin the strategic mind, Pond the creative force. Together, they'd built the department into a powerhouse.
And today, they looked like they were about to dismantle it.
"Good morning," Phuwin began, his voice carrying easily across the room. "I'll get straight to the point. As you all know, we lost the TechNova account last week. It was a significant blow—financially, but also reputationally. The partners are concerned. The board is concerned. And I'll be honest with you: I am concerned."
A murmur rippled through the room. Joong kept his face neutral, but his mind was already racing. Phuwin never admitted concern. It was a calculated move, meant to galvanize them.
"However," Phuwin continued, and the room fell silent again, "we have an opportunity. A major one. Perhaps the biggest in the company's history."
He clicked his tablet, and the screen behind him lit up with a sleek logo: a silver crest with elegant script that read "Prestige Motors."
"Prestige Motors," Phuwin said, letting the name hang in the air. "They're the largest luxury automobile brand in Southeast Asia. And they're looking for a complete rebrand. Digital overhaul, new marketing strategy, everything. The contract is worth seven hundred million baht."
The room exploded into whispers. Seven hundred million. That was almost triple of what TechNova had been worth. It was the kind of account that made careers, that put firms on the map, that turned good marketers into legends.
Pond stepped forward, his voice cutting through the noise. "We've been given an exclusive invitation to pitch. We have six weeks to prepare. And I'm not going to lie to you—this will be the most intense six weeks of your professional lives. We're going to be competing against three other firms, including the one that stole TechNova from us. Winning this pitch isn't just about the money. It's about proving we're still the best."
Phuwin took over again. "To maximize efficiency, I've divided the department into pairs. Each pair will work on a specific aspect of the pitch, and we'll reconvene weekly to integrate our findings. The pairs will be—" He paused, scanning his tablet. "Aou and Boom."
Boom's hand shot up. "Yes! Partners in crime! We're going to—"
"Boom," Pond interrupted, "you'll be handling the logistical framework. I need detailed budgets, timelines, resource allocation. No creativity. Just numbers."
Boom deflated. "Numbers? But I'm a creative!"
"You're a creative who nearly bankrupted a client last year with 'visionary' spending," Pond said dryly. "You're on numbers."
Aou patted Boom's shoulder, his expression one of exaggerated sympathy. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll help you count."
The room laughed, the tension easing slightly. Joong appreciated Pond's ability to lighten the mood even in stressful moments. It was a skill he'd never quite mastered himself.
Phuwin continued: "Santa and Perth."
Santa Pongsapak, the easy-going new hire from the sales department, sat up straighter. He had an easy charm that had made him popular within weeks of joining, his boyish good looks and cheerful nature disarming even the grumpiest executives. Next to him, Perth Tanapon looked like his polar opposite—pragmatic, stoic, and perpetually unimpressed. They made an odd pair, but Joong could see the logic. Perth's practicality would ground Santa's boundless enthusiasm.
"We need you two on competitor analysis," Phuwin explained. "I want to know everything about the other firms. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their pricing models, their creative styles. Leave no stone unturned."
"On it, boss!" Santa gave a mock salute.
Perth just nodded, already making notes on his tablet.
Phuwin paused, looking at his tablet. "And finally—" He glanced up, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Joong. "Joong Archen and Dunk Natachai."
Joong felt a jolt go through him, electric and unexpected. He kept his expression neutral, but his heart had picked up its pace. Across the room, he could see Dunk's reaction—a slight widening of the eyes, a barely perceptible shift in his posture. Their eyes met across the conference table for the briefest of moments, and Joong felt something he couldn't quite name.
"Joong and Dunk," Phuwin continued, "you'll be handling the creative strategy. The core narrative, the emotional arc, the visual identity. This is the heart of the pitch. If the creative fails, we all fail."
Pond chimed in: "I don't need to tell you two that this is a massive responsibility. Joong, I've seen your work. You're the best storyteller on this team. Dunk, your design instincts are second to none. Together, you're going to create something that makes Prestige Motors weep with joy." He grinned. "No pressure."
Dunk managed a small laugh, but Joong noticed the way his fingers tightened around his pen. Dunk Natachai was something of an enigma to Joong. They'd worked in the same department for two years, attended the same meetings, collaborated on smaller projects, but Joong had never really gotten to know him. He knew the surface details: Dunk was meticulous, quiet, and devastatingly creative. He always submitted his work a day early, never missed a deadline, and rarely spoke in meetings unless directly asked.
But there was more there. Joong had seen glimpses of it—the way Dunk's eyes lit up when he was passionate about an idea, the way he doodled tiny illustrations in the margins of his notes, the way he bit his lower lip when he was concentrating. Joong had noticed all of it, catalogued it without fully understanding why.
"Joong?" Pond's voice cut through his thoughts. "You, okay?"
Joong blinked. "Fine. Just processing."
"Good. Start processing together. I want a preliminary outline by Friday."
The meeting ended with a flurry of activity. Everyone was scrambling to form mini-groups, exchange phone numbers, and schedule their first brainstorming sessions. Joong hung back, watching the chaos with a practiced eye. He was good at waiting. Good at letting the noise settle so he could see clearly.
He saw Dunk approach Aou and Boom, saw Aou place a comforting hand on Dunk's shoulder, saw Boom say something that made Dunk laugh. It was a genuine laugh, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made his whole face soften. Joong felt something shift in his chest.
"What's that look for?" Phuwin appeared at his elbow, his voice low enough that only Joong could hear.
"What look?"
"The one that says you're already planning your entire campaign and also trying to figure out what Dunk's favourite coffee order is."
Joong turned to face him, careful to keep his expression neutral. "I don't drink coffee. And I don't know his favourite order. Because I haven't asked."
"I never said you did." Phuwin's smile was infuriatingly knowing. "But I have a feeling you're going to. Soon." He clapped Joong on the shoulder. "Be nice to him. Dunk's good. Really good. But he's not like you—he doesn't thrive on pressure. He needs encouragement, not competition."
"I'm not going to be competitive with him. We're on the same team."
"Sure you are." Phuwin walked away, calling over his shoulder, "And Joong? Stop trying to look so intimidating. It doesn't work with me."
Joong watched him go, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Phuwin had always been too perceptive for his own good. It was why he was Head of Strategy.
He turned back to the room, and his eyes found Dunk again. He was now talking to Santa, who seemed to be complimenting his work from the last project. Dunk's cheeks were faintly pink, and Joong felt an irrational stab of annoyance. It wasn't jealousy. It was... concern. Yes. Concern that Dunk was wasting his time with the new hire when they had a massive project to start.
He made his decision and before he could overthink it, he was walking across the room, his footsteps purposeful.
"Dunk." His voice came out sharper than he'd intended. "A word?"
Dunk looked up, surprise flickering across his features. "Oh. Yes, of course." He turned to Santa. "Sorry, we'll catch up later."
"No problem, dude!" Santa's smile was effortless. "Good luck with the project. You guys are going to crush it."
Joong didn't wait for Santa to finish. He was already heading toward the small conference room they'd been assigned—the one with the glass walls and the whiteboard and the faint smell of stale coffee. He heard Dunk's footsteps behind him, softer than his own.
They entered the room, and Joong closed the door. The glass walls meant they could still be seen, but not heard. Privacy was a luxury in an open-plan office.
"So," Dunk said, settling into one of the chairs. "First brainstorming session?"
"First brainstorming session," Joong confirmed, taking the seat across from him. "I usually like to start by getting to know my partner's thought process. So, I'm just going to ask you directly: what's your take on the Prestige account? Raw, unfiltered."
Dunk blinked. "Raw and unfiltered?"
"That's what I said." Joong replied.
There was a pause. Dunk seemed to be studying him, trying to read something in his expression. Joong made sure that his face gave nothing away. This was a test, of sorts. He wanted to see if Dunk would be intimidated by his directness or will rise to meet it.
"I think we're approaching it wrong," Dunk said finally.
Joong's eyebrow twitched upward. "I'm listening."
"We're thinking of Prestige Motors as a car company. But that's not what they are anymore. They're a lifestyle brand. Every ad they've released in the past year has been about aspiration, not acceleration. They don't want to sell cars—they want to sell a way of life." Dunk leaned forward, his voice gaining enthusiasm. "So, our pitch shouldn't be about horsepower or engineering or speed. It should be about freedom. About status. About the feeling of driving a Prestige."
Joong sat back, genuinely surprised. He'd expected Dunk to be more tentative, more willing to go along with whatever he proposed. Instead, Dunk had just articulated exactly the approach Joong had been considering, but with a tone that he hadn't quite formulated himself.
"That's..." Joong paused. "That's actually really good."
Dunk's cheeks flushed again, but he didn't look away. "Thanks. I've been thinking about it since the meeting." He pulled out his tablet, scrolling through notes. "I've got some mood board ideas too. Colour palettes, visual themes, that kind of thing. I can show you if you want."
"Yes, Show me."
Dunk slid the tablet across the table, and Joong spent the next few minutes studying the digital mood board. It was stunning—a sophisticated blend of deep burgundies and muted golds, with images of open roads, luxury interiors, and people who looked effortlessly glamorous. The design was elegant, understated, and perfectly aligned with the prestige aesthetic.
"These are yours?" Joong asked, looking up.
"Yeah. Just some rough ideas. Nothing finalized."
"They're not rough. They're polished." Joong pushed the tablet back. "You've done this before."
"I've done a lot of mood boards." Dunk's smile was self-deprecating. "It's kind of my thing."
Joong found himself wanting to know more. "What else is your thing?"
Dunk blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Your thing. You said mood boards are your thing. What else? What drives you? What makes you tick? I want to understand how you think." It wasn't just about work anymore. Joong recognized the shift in himself and didn't try to stop it.
Dunk looked down at his tablet, seeming to consider the question. "I... I like art. I studied fine arts before I switched to marketing."
"What made you switch?"
"I wanted to create things that people could actually use. With fine arts, it's so personal—it's about your own expression. Marketing is about connecting with people on a broader scale. I like that. I like understanding what makes people feel something." He laughed softly. "Does that sound pretentious?"
"Not at all. I studied literature and communication." Joong was surprised at himself for sharing that. It wasn't something he usually told people. "I got into marketing because I was good at analyzing stories. An ad is just a story with a specific goal."
Dunk's eyes lit up. "Yes! That's exactly it! A story with a goal. I've never thought of it that way, but it suits perfectly."
Their eyes met, and Joong felt something shift in the air between them. It was subtle, like the temperature dropping a few degrees, but it was enough to make his breath catch. He forced himself to look away.
"Let's start the actual brainstorming," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "I have some ideas for the narrative framework."
The hours slipped away like water through fingers. Joong lost track of time as they worked, his mind fully engaged in the creative process. Dunk was a revelation—his ideas were sharp, his feedback was insightful, and his energy was infectious. They built on each other's thoughts, finishing each other's sentences, pushing each other toward better solutions.
"We need a hero's journey framework," Joong said, sketching on the whiteboard. "The Prestige driver isn't just buying a car—they're buying transformation. They're going from ordinary to extraordinary."
"The before and after," Dunk agreed, adding his own notes to the whiteboard. "Before: the mundane commute, the crowded train, the sense of being one of many. After: the open road, the freedom, the sense of being seen."
"Exactly. The car becomes a symbol of their new identity."
"Right. And we can show that through the visuals. The contrast between the grey city and the golden horizon. The isolation of the crowd versus the solitude of the open road."
Joong turned to look at him, and found Dunk already looking back. In the soft glow of the conference room lights, his features were sharper, more defined. Joong noticed the way his hair fell across his forehead, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his lips. He forced himself to look away again.
"We should get some food," he said abruptly. "I'm starving."
Dunk glanced at his watch. "Oh god, it's 9 PM. How did that happen?"
"It's called hyperfocus." Joong pulled out his phone. "I'm ordering noodles. Do you have a preference?"
"Any noodle is fine. I like spice."
"I know." Joong said it without thinking, and then froze when he realized what he'd admitted.
Dunk was staring at him. "How do you know I like spice?"
"I saw you eating that spicy basil noodles at the team lunch last week." Joong kept his eyes on his phone, scrolling through the delivery app. "You added four chili flakes to it. You looked happy."
There was a silence. Joong didn't look up.
"I didn't realize you paid attention," Dunk said finally, his voice soft.
"I pay attention to everything." Joong's tone was deliberately casual. "It's part of my job."
He heard Dunk laugh, a small sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. "So, it's a professional observation? Not personal?"
"Entirely professional. I'm a professional observer." Joong finally looked up, and his heart stumbled at the expression on Dunk's face. He was smiling, but there was something else in his eyes. Something uncertain and hopeful and terrified.
"I'm glad you're on my team," Dunk said quietly.
"Me too." Joong meant it more than he could say.
The noodles arrived, and they ate in comfortable silence for a while. Joong watched the way Dunk wrapped the chopsticks around the noodles, the way he focused on the food like it was the most important thing in the world. Dunk ate slowly, deliberately, savouring each bite. Joong ate quickly, efficiently, as if food was fuel rather than pleasure.
"You should slow down," Dunk said, gesturing towards him with his own chopsticks. "You'll get indigestion."
"Life is too short for slow eating."
"That's a terrible philosophy."
"It's a practical philosophy." Joong finished the last of his noodles and set the container aside. "Tell me more about your fine arts background."
Dunk's eyebrows rose. "You're actually interested?"
"I don't ask questions I don't care about."
Dunk was quiet for a moment. Then he started talking—about his university days, about the paintings he'd sold in small galleries, about his decision to shift to marketing when he realized he wanted a career that could support a comfortable life. He talked about his family, his younger sister who was a doctor, his parents who still didn't quite understand what he did.
"They ask me to explain it every time I visit," Dunk said, laughing. "And every time, I say, 'I make people want things.' And they still don't get it."
"I think you make people feel things," Joong corrected. "And then they want things because of how they feel."
Dunk looked at him with an expression Joong couldn't quite identify. "That's really beautiful," he said softly. "I've never heard anyone it put that way before."
"It's just marketing."
"No. It's more than that."
The air between them felt charged again. Joong could feel the weight of Dunk's gaze, could hear the quiet sound of his breathing. He was suddenly, acutely aware of the physical space between them—the few feet of conference table, the chairs, the way his own body was positioned. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of something he didn't quite understand.
"We should get back to work," he said, his voice a little too sharp.
Dunk blinked, the spell broken. "Right. Of course. Work."
They worked for another two hours, refining their ideas, sketching out the skeleton of the pitch. By the time they finally packed up, it was nearly midnight. The office was empty except for the security guard and a few cleaners.
They walked to the elevator together, their footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. The building was quiet at night, the usual hustle and bustle replaced by an almost reverent silence.
"That was good," Dunk said as they waited for the elevator. "Really good. I feel like we're actually going to do this."
"We're going to win this," Joong corrected. "There's no other option."
"No pressure, then."
"Pressure is my fuel. I don't know how to work without it."
Dunk laughed. "I'm learning that. You're like a machine—just working and working."
"I don't sleep much either."
"Doesn't surprise me." The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. "What do you do when you're not working? Like, for fun?"
Joong considered the question. "I read. I go to the gym. I take photos sometimes."
"Photos? Like, of what?"
"Anything interesting. Architecture. Street scenes. People." He glanced at Dunk. "I'm not very good at it. It's just a hobby."
"I'd love to see some of them sometime."
It was a casual statement, but Joong felt it land like a blow. He wanted to say something—anything—that would match the openness in Dunk's voice. But the words wouldn't come.
They reached the ground floor and walked toward the parking lot. The cool night air was a relief after the stuffy conference room. Joong could see his car in the distance, and he felt a strange reluctance to say goodbye.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Dunk asked, stopping near his own car.
"Same time. Same place." Joong replied.
Dunk hesitated. "Joong, can I ask you something?"
Joong felt his heart pick up speed. "What?"
"Why did you suggest we work together? I mean, you could have requested anyone. But you asked for me." Dunk's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why?"
Joong was silent for a long moment. He could feel the weight of the question, could feel the way it pressed against all the walls he'd carefully constructed around himself. He could tell a lie—say it was about strategy, about talent, about the needs of the project. But lying to Dunk suddenly felt impossible.
"Because I've been watching you for two years," he admitted. "And I've wanted to know you. That's why."
Dunk's eyes went wide. "You... you wanted to know me?"
"I wanted to understand what made you tick." Joong took a step closer. "I still don't fully understand it. But I want to."
Dunk was frozen, his expression caught between surprise and something softer. "Joong..."
"I'm not trying to be inappropriate," Joong said quickly. "I'm just... I've never met anyone like you. And this project was the perfect excuse. So, I took it."
There was a long silence. Joong braced himself for rejection, for Dunk to tell him he was being unprofessional, for the careful walls they'd been building to come crashing down.
But instead, Dunk smiled. It was a small, hesitant smile, but it was there. "I've been watching you too, you know," he said softly. "You're kind of impossible to ignore."
Joong's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're... you're really something, Joong. The way you work, the way you think, the way you don't even realize how intense you are." Dunk laughed quietly. "It's intimidating. But also... also kind of amazing."
Joong felt like the ground had shifted beneath his feet. He'd been so focused on his own fascination with Dunk that he hadn't considered the possibility that Dunk might feel something too. Now it was all he could think about.
"Dunk," he said, and he wasn't sure what else he was going to say. He just knew he needed to say something.
But before he could find the words, Dunk stepped forward and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his cheek. It was over before Joong could react—just a brief brush of lips against skin, gone in an instant.
"Thank you," Dunk whispered. "For wanting to know me." He pulled back, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright. "Goodnight, Joong. I'll see you tomorrow."
And then he was gone, walking to his car, opening the door, and driving away before Joong could even process what had just happened.
Joong stood in the parking lot for a long time, his hand pressed to his cheek where Dunk's lips had been. The spot felt like it was burning, like a brand, like something he would never forget.
He finally got into his own car, but he didn't start the engine. He just sat there, staring at the empty space where Dunk's car had been, a smile spreading across his face despite everything.
"Well," he said to no one. "That happened."
He drove home in a daze, replaying the moment over and over. The softness of Dunk's lips. The warmth of his breath. The way his eyes had looked in the dim light of the parking lot.
Tomorrow was going to be very, very interesting.
Dunk could barely breathe. He sat in his car in the parking lot of his apartment building, his hands shaking slightly against the steering wheel. The drive home had been a blur—he'd barely been conscious of the road, too caught up in what he'd just done.
He'd kissed Joong. He'd actually kissed him. On the cheek, yes, but still. He'd touched his lips to Joong Archen's skin. He'd admitted out loud that he'd been watching him. That he found him amazing.
He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shaky laugh. "What is wrong with me?"
He'd always been cautious. Cautious with his heart, cautious with his feelings, cautious with letting people in. But something about Joong made him want to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it was the intensity—the way Joong looked at him like he was the only person in the room. Maybe it was the vulnerability—the way Joong had admitted he'd been watching him for two years, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Or maybe it was just that Joong was everything Dunk had ever wanted, and he was tired of pretending he didn't.
He finally got out of the car and walked up to his apartment. The place was small and neat, exactly the way he liked it. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw a message from an unknown number.
"This is Joong. I got your number from the work directory. Hope that's okay."
Dunk's heart stuttered. He typed back quickly.
"It's okay. How did you know it was my number?"
"I guessed. You're the only Dunk in the directory."
Dunk laughed out loud. It was such a Joong thing to say—direct, slightly awkward, but somehow endearing.
"That's very stalkerish of you."
"I prefer 'determined.'"
"Same thing."
There was a pause. Then Joong's next message came through.
"I'm glad you kissed me. I'm glad you did something I was too scared to do."
Dunk's cheeks burned.
"You seemed like you needed a push."
"I did. I need a lot of pushes. I'm not good at this."
"Good at what?"
"At saying how I feel. At admitting what I want. You're better at it than me."
"I'm not usually better at anything than you."
"You're better at everything than me. That's the problem."
Dunk stared at the message, a smile spreading across his face.
"I don't think that's a problem."
"It's a problem when it makes me want to kiss you and I can't figure out how to ask."
Dunk's breath caught.
"Then don't ask. Just do it. Next time."
"There will be a next time?"
"If you want it to be there."
"I want it to be there."
"Then it will be."
Dunk set his phone down and hugged a pillow to his chest, his heart racing. He'd never been this direct with anyone before. But Joong made him brave. Joong made him want to be honest, to take risks, to see where things could go.
His phone buzzed again.
"I have to ask: was it just the moment? Or is it something more?"
Dunk's fingers trembled as he typed his response.
"It's something more. I've felt it for a long time. I just didn't know how to say it."
"Neither did I. Now that I know you feel it too, I don't know what to do."
"Me neither. So, let's figure it out together."
"Together."
Dunk smiled at the word. It felt right. It felt like the beginning of something he'd been waiting for without realizing it.
"See you tomorrow, Joong."
"I'm looking forward to it. Goodnight, Dunk."
"Goodnight."
Dunk set the phone aside and let himself fall back onto the couch, a giddy laugh escaping his lips. Tomorrow was going to be a new day—a day where he didn't have to hide his feelings. A day where he and Joong could figure out what they were building together.
He went to his bedroom, got ready for bed with a soft warmth in his heart. He closed his eyes with a smile on his face, dreaming of open roads and golden horizons.