Chapter Text
Joong stood in front of the full length bedroom mirror, applying a liberal amount of body oil across his chest and shoulders.
He caught his reflection under the warm lighting and grinned. Getting a rare Friday off as compensation for working overtime last weekend was already a miracle in the corporate world, but having Dunk promise to wrap up at Navori by seven o'clock made it a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity.
For the past three weeks, their late-night routine had consisted of collapsing onto the sofa after long work shifts and binge-watching The Heart Killers. Joong had caught the way Dunk’s dark eyes widened during Fadel’s iconic, slicked-back, shirtless scene and how Dunk had playfully teased him about whether Joong could ever pull off that kind of raw, confident energy.
Joong had taken that as a personal challenge.
He skipped the white singlet entirely. He put on a pair of ultra fitted black trousers, slicked his dark hair back with water, poured essential oil across his collarbones, and lightly misted his honey tanned skin to replicate Fadel’s dripping, glistening entrance.
In the living room, Joong set the mood. The main overhead lights were turned completely off, leaving only the soft, ambient glow of the city skyline filtering through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows. He queued up a heavy, rhythmic, sensual track on the sound system, setting the volume to a low, sultry bassline.
He checked the clock on his phone: 6:58 PM.
Joong took his position by the high-rise window, framing his broad shoulders against the twinkling city lights behind him, striking a smoldering, oiled-up pose facing the front foyer.
Any second now, Joong thought, a proud smirk tugging at his lips.
Meanwhile, in the elevator rising to the thirty-second floor, two people stood holding insulated canvas tote bags.
"Malinee," the distinguished gentleman said, adjusting his wire rimmed glasses and looking weary. "I still think this is a terrible idea. Dunk is twenty seven years old. He runs a high-end restaurant, he has a busy life, and we are showing up at his apartment at seven o'clock on a Friday without calling first."
"Oh, hush, Prasert," Mae Malinee replied smoothly, patting her husband's arm with absolute authority. "He’s my son, and it’s been six whole months since he last came home to Phuket! Every time I call, he says he's too busy at Navori. He works too hard and probably eats takeout every night."
"He's an award-winning chef, dear," Por Prasert noted dryly. "I assure you he is not starving."
"Professional food isn't home cooking," she insisted, tapping her shoe rhythmically as the elevator chimed for floor thirty-two. "I made his favorite Phuket seafood curry and prepared all the ingredients for meal prep. We'll leave it in his fridge, make him a nice dinner, and surprise him. He usually stays at the restaurant until midnight anyway, so we have plenty of time."
Por Prasert sighed softly, adjusting his grip on the heavy Tupperware bags. "Yes, dear."
They stepped out into the carpeted hallway, stopping in front of the familiar double doors. Pulling a silver family spare key from her designer purse, Mae Malinee slid it into the deadbolt with a quiet click.
Across town at Navori, the kitchen was in high tension.
"Chef!" the floor manager hurried up to the pass, looking pale. "The new server just lost her footing in the main dining room. She spilled an entire tray of braised short ribs and jus straight onto Table 4."
Dunk pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sharp, exhaled breath. "Table 4? The high-society guests from the bank's executive board?"
"Yes, Chef. They're very understanding, but their clothes..."
Dunk dropped his clipboard onto the pass, rolling his sleeves down and pulling on a crisp blazer. "I'll handle it personally. Prepare a fresh course immediately, offer a vintage bottle of wine, and inform them that their entire dinner tonight is on the house."
He glanced at the kitchen clock: 7:02 PM.
He had promised Joong he would be home by seven. Dunk pulled out his phone to send a quick text, but a sudden barrage of questions from his sous chef pulled his attention straight back into the crisis.
At 7:00 PM sharp, Joong heard the distinct sound of the front lock disengaging.
Right on time, Joong thought, his dimples peeking out as he leaned back against the glass pane, throwing his head back slightly and rolling his shoulders to show off the glistening sheen of oil under the dim ambient lights.
The heavy front door swung open.
Joong didn't look up immediately, letting the low, heavy bassline of the music fill the silence as he dropped his voice into a deep, raspy whisper. "Welcome home, Chef. I hope you're hungry, because I—"
"Oh my goodness gracious, Prasert!" a sharp, aristocratic female voice gasped from the foyer. "Is... is there a pipe burst in here?!"
Joong froze.
The sultry music continued to thump softly in the background.
Joong slowly, agonizingly turned his head toward the entryway.
Standing in the dim hallway light was an immaculate, elegant woman wearing a pearl necklace and holding two large insulated Tupperware totes, beside a tall, distinguished gentleman in a tailored polo who was staring at Joong through his glasses in absolute, stunned silence.
Joong’s brain completely short-circuited.
He was bare-chested. He was dripping wet. He was covered in lavender essential oil. His trousers were impossibly tight. And he was currently posing like a high end stripper in front of Dunk's parents, who were holding containers of homemade food from Phuket.
"I... uh..." Joong stammered, the smooth, confident Fadel persona evaporating into thin air as his face flushed a bright, burning crimson. "I... hello?"
Mae Malinee blinked, her eyes traveling from Joong’s slicked-back hair, down his glistening, oiled chest, straight to his bare feet. She turned slowly to look at her husband.
"Dear," she murmured, her voice laced with polite confusion. "Did Dunk hire a personal trainer? Or is this... a private hot yoga class?"
"I don't think it's yoga, dear," Por Prasert muttered under his breath, looking intensely interested in the ceiling molding to give Joong some semblance of privacy.
"I AM NOT A STRIPPER!" Joong blurted out in sheer, mortified panic.
He frantically scrambled across the living room floor, snatching a plush knit throw blanket off the sofa and wrapping it tightly around his shoulders like a giant towel, clutching it to his neck.
"I mean.... hello, Por! Hello, Mae!" Joong bowed rapidly, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he thought he might pass out. "I am Joong! I am... I live here! I am Dunk's partner!"
Mae Malinee paused, her eyes widening slightly before softening into a warm, deeply curious expression. "Oh! Joong! The project manager Dunk talks about on the phone!"
She set the Tupperware bags down on the entryway bench, stepping further into the apartment and looking around the dimly lit room with the low, sensual music still playing. "Well... it is very nice to finally meet you, dear. Though we clearly came at an... interesting time."
Joong looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "I can explain, it was a joke....from a TV show—"
"Malinee, please," Por Prasert said gently, placing a hand on his wife's shoulder before offering Joong a small, sympathetic nod. "Son, why don't you go wash off... whatever that oil is, and put on a shirt? We'll put the curry in the kitchen."
"YES. YES POR. THANK YOU POR," Joong squeaked, turning on his heel and practically flying down the hallway into the master bathroom, slamming the door shut.
Thirty minutes later, the front door unlocked again.
Dunk rushed into the apartment, looking winded and anxious. "Baby! I am so sorry, a waitress spilled short ribs on Table 4 and I had to—"
Dunk stopped dead in his tracks.
The living room lights were fully turned on.
Sitting on the cream sofa was Joong, wearing an oversized, fully buttoned flannel shirt zipped to his chin, his hair damp from a frantic shower, holding a mug of warm tea with both hands and looking utterly shell-shocked.
Sitting across from him at the marble kitchen island were Mae Malinee and Por Prasert, calmly unpacking glass containers of Southern Thai curry into the refrigerator.
Dunk stared at the scene, his jaw slightly slack. "Mae? Por? What are you doing here?"
Mae Malinee turned around, beaming warmly as she held up a container of fresh jasmine rice. "We came to surprise you with home-cooked meal prep, sweetheart! It's been six months since you visited us in Phuket. But don't worry—your lovely boyfriend was just hosting a very... energetic welcome for us."
Joong slowly buried his glowing red face entirely into his hands, letting out a long, muffled groan.
Dunk looked between his blushing boyfriend and his parents, a slow realization dawning on his face as he remembered their Heart Killers conversation from two nights ago.
A sharp, hysterical laugh burst out of Dunk’s chest, ringing through the high-rise apartment as the finale of their story officially began.