rose

“If it’s morning for you, good morning,” Haechan’s ears ring as he watches the flat TV screen in his living room, “If it’s night, then, goodnight! And remember…”

“If you don’t see me again, have a nice life!” Haechan repeats the words of the host. His words. Words that he, himself came up with. His punchline — which was stolen by the crusty rat who took his place, who managed to steal from him even the intonation as he spoke the words.

Haechan scoffs, turning the TV off, and throwing his slippers away, not caring where they land. 

He made a colossal mistake, and he’d like to shirk his way out of it easily by saying it wasn’t him. The only problem? He said it on television, everyone has seen his stupid face plastered on their TV’s as he possibly fumbled his career forever. 

But how was he supposed to know people don’t have a sense of humour? Right after it slipped past his lips, his bosses warned him about the repercussions of such a joke, and even if they thought the joke was great and howled with laughter while slapping him on his back repeatedly, the audience didn’t appreciate it.

He sits back on his disgustingly big couch, and rewinds what happened that one night. 

He told his usual jokes, everyone laughed, the live band used the drums and trumpets for effect. And then, just because he felt very brave and his ego was skyrocketing after looking at the amused faces in the audience, he thought it would be a good idea to add one last joke — instead of his usual concluding line for the end of the night.

“And since this was a topic tonight… before I get to wish you a good night,” He announced, grin stretching from ear to ear, showing his pearly white teeth — a smile everyone loves or, better said, used to love, “I got one last joke about abortion that never gets old… just like the baby…”

Crickets. No one laughed, not even a sound coming from the live band — not even the disappointed sound of the trumpet at his flopping joke. 

He cringes remembering how he ended the night, the phone calls from his producers and bosses, and them wishing him the whole thing wouldn’t escalate into something bigger. 

Except, it did escalate.

His amazing rating dropped and, to put it simply, he got called in the office and put on unpaid leave until things settled and waters calmed down.

And even after being put on leave, people still came for his head. Women, activists, whole communities fuelled the online debates, criticism, and hate train over his words and actions. He saw his life being desiccated, under a magnifying glass for everyone to judge and study thoroughly, trying to find past mistakes that could be the final nail in his coffin, and which could erase him from being in the public eye.

Lee Donghyuck, who managed to work hard and make a name for himself. Lee Donghyuck, who moved on from his passion and dream job, leaving being a prosecutor for a better and, what he was hoping to be, a calmer future.

Lee Donghyuck, the almighty county prosecutor left his life behind after audiences loved his presence and made him famous, turned into his television persona — Lee Haechan — and the audiences stepped on him like a disgusting cockroach, ready to get discarded of him, who he once was, and what he once represented.

And worst of all, he got a call asking him to come into office tomorrow — and Haechan knows that’s not a good sign for him. 

You know who Haechan is. Of course you do, whoever claims not to know who he is is either lying or has been living under a rock for the past couple of years. 

He used to be a very diligent prosecutor, who took his job seriously and did his best trying to catch bad guys and getting them convicted for the longest times for their heinous crimes. He used to be one of the best in his field, of the highest competence, so much that lawyers already knew they were on thin ice trying to fight him in court, their clients most likely ending up in jail.

He had an innate talent at what he was doing, and an honest love for his profession — so much that people could just tell he lived and breathed to be a prosecutor. This passion opened a door for him — in television this time. 

There used to be this one program, with people dropping by either in person or with a phone call, and they brought up their legal battles asking for advice — all televised. And Haechan was the one expert the producers called most of the times. 

Phone calls turned into physical appearances at the studio, where he interacted with the audience. He walked in the studio like he owned the entire planet. Expensive suits, expensive leather shoes, Rolex and jewellery adorned his wrists. He had a glint in his eyes, one that could make anyone fall for his charms. 

He was cocky, and for a good reason. He knew just how good he was at his job and, quite frankly, at everything in his life. And although his cockiness might have rubbed some people the wrong way — a handful of people out of an ocean of amazed and satisfied audiences — Haechan was very talented with his charms. He talked to people like he was close to them, like they were long lost friends. He gave them pieces of advice that one would have given to the people you only cared about the most, or to real clients. Not some random person on a TV show. 

He connected with the people, and everyone loved him. He became a legend, well known, well liked — and viewer rates skyrocketed. 

So much that they gave him his own night show. That’s when he became Lee Haechan — but you’ve known him for far longer than you’d like to admit. 

You’ve known him from when he was Lee Donghyuck, a simple student. He studied law and was an insufferable presence in your classes. Your opinions clashed, but then you united against people who had opinions that not only were different than yours, but also wrong. It’s like you were allowed to fight each other, but the moment someone else tried to intervene or take either one of your places, you teamed up to fight back.

You can’t really say you were total strangers to each other. You acknowledged each other, and each other’s talent at what you were doing. Back then, you thought his presence was aggravating, with his usual talent at picking up fights with you and bickering during debates and classes, and you swear he had a sick glint of satisfaction in his eyes every time he saw you getting worked up over him contradicting you.

You got to work on some projects together, and he was close to some people from your small circle of friends. When you’re a law student, there’s not much time you can spend relaxing or going on dates, so the friends you make in your first year are basically the ones you’re stuck with. You heard stories, whispers, but not once did you consider Donghyuck more than what he was — a friend of a friend, who liked driving you insane with every chance he got. 

Everyone liked him, got along with him well, yet you kept your distance — mainly because you couldn’t stand his cockiness when he was so satisfied with his driving you up the wall, or when he knew he was right and that he won an argument or debate.

And then your studies ended, and he climbed the success ladder with big and quick steps, while you liked taking your time. 

You focused on your career, and you liked gloating that your success rate was almost impeccable. Sure, the amount of work load couldn’t compare to what Donghyuck had to work with as a prosecutor, but you never diminished your efforts and your talent. 

For this exact reason, you picked up doing pro bono work every chance you got — being driven by the thought that you could do your part and help people out, with this small aspect at least, and it became an important part of your life, one that helped you stay grounded.

After reminiscing the past, and knowing what’s to come in the next weeks, it boosts your confidence and makes you completely satisfied with yourself, like nothing — and no one — can take you down. 

Which is exactly why the drive to the studio feels extremely exciting, like your skin is tingling to get to work — this being the first time you work on this type of case. 

Your heels clink on the shiny floors as you make your way towards the conference room, where your bosses and your client are waiting for you to make an appearance.

And with a few minutes left to spare before your meeting starts, you stall on the hallways of the headquarters, because you hate showing up earlier — or later, for that matter — for appointments. You like being very precise, organised in every little aspect of your life because, after all, these are the only moments you try to stay away from unpredictability. 

“Oh, hi!” You’re snatched out of your thoughts as you look at your watch. Two more minutes left before going in. “Is there a reason you’re not going in?” Johnny Suh, one of your bosses, smiles while looking at you, all confused.

You shrug, taking a sip from your coffee, “Still two minutes left,” 

He shakes his head like he doesn’t take you seriously, and the sly smile on his features makes you understand he really isn’t, “Don’t be silly,” He gestures for you to walk towards the door, huge hand barely touching your tricep respectfully in order to guide you in, “He’s already here,”

He opens the door for you, and you give him a small smile, complying with his request to go in. He’s your boss, after all.

“I told you that’s not it! I didn’t mean it that way, I was jus-” You recognise the voice, high in pitch with frustration, and he stops his rambling when he turns his head to look at who’s walking inside the conference room. 

“Y/n?” He’s in disbelief, and a small crease forms in between his eyebrows.

“You two know each other?” Johnny asks, sitting down at the huge table, “Of course you do! I forgot you used to work in the same field,” He looks over a few papers as he takes his blazer off, “Then there’s no need for formal introductions, right?”

You take your seat right across from where Donghyuck is sitting, and you watch as he pouts with confusion while looking at you. You smile, a kind of devious and calm smile he’s never seen on your face before — and it almost creeps him out.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asks you, leaning in over the table as if your answer is meant to be a secret, for his ears only. As if the room isn’t filled with producers and executives.

“Y/n is your lawyer,” Another executive speaks up before Johnny can ease Donghyuck into it. 

You’re impressed by the straightforwardness, realising that the sooner the bandaid gets ripped off, the better for everyone. 

“My what?!” Donghyuck’s voice is high in pitch, proving to you that his usual exaggerating persona from the past hasn’t changed a bit. “I don’t need a lawyer,”

“Yet,” the CFO intervenes, and Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at her. 

His eyebrows furrow while taking his sweet moment trying to understand what is going on. 

“I’m sorry but-” He snakes his head incredulously, his gaze moving between your figure and Johnny’s, “Am I being sued for something?”

“Not yet,” The CFO corrects him, and judging by the crease between Donghyuck’s eyebrows, you know he’s getting frustrated. 

“But we can’t take chances on this, Haechan,” Johnny speaks up, “We know that your image is being taunted right now, and that people are very much against you,” He explains, like it should be obvious to Donghyuck that things aren’t going to calm down so easily and so soon. “Shall anything happen, Y/n’s here to assist you the best she can while also trying to work on your public image and clear your name,”

“Shall anything happen,” Donghyuck snaps, “I can represent myself very well, you all know this already,”

You look at him, now that you have the proper opportunity to see him in real time, and not on a screen. It’s been so long since you last saw him in person, you’re almost in owe at how his features remained the same, yet they became bolder, stronger, more contoured. He matured, and it brought a glow to him that you never imagined possible — not to his annoying face, anyway.

Eyes have become fiercer, like they’ve seen so many things. His jaw is visibly more defined, stronger, and when it sets with annoyance it shows you just how much he’s changed. You saw this exact jaw so many times in the past, and with every little sign of contradiction coming from someone else against him, he acted the same — jaw setting when upset, tongue in his cheek when he was taking it lightheartedly.

You look at his hands, that have also changed over time. Veins are more prominent under his tanned, honey-like skin, jewellery now adorning his wrist and fingers with beautiful golden rings and bracelets complimenting his skin tone. 

It’s like he hasn’t changed when it comes to his behaviour, but physically he’s become something nearly out of this world — as much as you hate to admit it. Never in a thousand years were you thinking you’d ever be admitting to yourself how good-looking he’s gotten, and certainly you don’t plan to share your thought with anyone else. You guess you’ll have to take this secret to your grave, especially because you know that if your thoughts made it to his ears, you’d never know the end of it. 

“Haechan,” Another executive calls his name, as a warning. “This is Y/n’s job, not yours. I think you’ve done enough, ”

Donghyuck turns around to look at you, straight in the eye. Everything the execs are telling him, all the instructions and pieces of advice they’re directing his way, you know he’s not listening. He’s looking at you like he’s ready to take a bite out of you, and if you didn’t already know him and his ways you’d be afraid right now.

Instead, you pucker your lips trying to mask your smile, trying to keep a professional façade in front of everyone. 

What is he so worked up for, anyway? You ask yourself. No one said he’s not capable of representing himself, but you were literally hired for this kind of matters, and it’s ironic that he’s your very first client since becoming a corporate lawyer. 

You’re fairly certain Donghyuck has paid no attention to anything going on during this meeting, so you already know you’ll have to pay extra attention to everything he does until everything calms down.

As the meeting comes to an end, and everyone gets up to leave, Donghyuck doesn’t move — doesn’t even bid anyone goodbye as they exit the conference room. 

It’s just the two of you now, and you look at him as he watches every single movement of yours. The way you click on your retractable pen before putting it away in your tiny and fancy pencil case; the way you pile your files before putting them back inside your shoulder bag.

“Why are you here?” He rasps, still not relaxing in his seat. His elbows seem to be glued to the table as he keeps his fingers intertwined, not letting emotions betray him. Or so he hopes, because you know him pretty well to know he’s pissed by your presence. 

“Have you not been paying attention?” You mock him, raising your eyebrows at him, “I’m the corporate lawyer,”

He huffs a mocking breath, rolling his eyes at you before clicking his tongue, “I don’t need a lawyer,”

You sigh, suddenly at your limit after hearing him going on like a broken record, “You don’t. Yet.” You snatch your bag away from the table, gracefully placing it on your shoulder — albeit its heaviness, “You’re a fool if you think I’m here for you, though.”

“What?” He barks, not able to refrain anymore. He has so much pent up rage from the past few weeks that he’s been dying to let out, and you’re doing your best to make him snap. Just like the old days. “What does that even mean?”

“I thought you were smarter than this,” You reply, but it comes out more as a question dripping with mockery, and it has him pushing his tongue in the inside of his cheek, “I’m a corporate lawyer, which means that I’m protecting their interests and their image, not yours. I’m sure you already know how that works… When you get in trouble, they also do,” You remind him, and you’re not even sure why you have to go through this with him right now — he’s supposed to know all this stuff already. 

“I need to go now,” You announce, finally turning your back to him, “We’ll keep in touch,”

There’s a gram of satisfaction jubilating inside your body, and you can’t help the smirk that takes over your features as you leave him behind, knowing his ego and pride are now sore.

Haechan’s ears pick up a muffled sound, but he’s still too tired to care. He’s been home for a while, still on a leave, and he hasn’t seen you ever since you left the office with that arrogance that makes him want to climb walls. 

The muffled sound becomes clearer, like someone properly banging on his door, and he waits a few more moments praying that whoever is at his door will soon go away. He’s not expecting anyone, he’s sure security downstairs didn’t let anyone get to his door, yet the knocking is incessant — and it gets on his nerves.

His barefoot steps thud as he makes his way, dizzy and sleepy, towards the front door. He looks through the peephole before letting out a groan, but unlocks the door nonetheless.

“Why are you here?” He locks the door after you, and you kick your heels off, out of politeness, walking  down his entry hallway towards his living room. 

He lives in one of those luxurious buildings — and you didn’t expect less coming from a former prosecutor who made a fortune out of his job, and a fortune more from his new job in television. His living room has you fighting the urge to let out a low whistle in appreciation, and you throw a quick glance around trying not to be too obvious with your curiosity. Everything is tidy; the decor is neat, showing his personal taste with every item of eclectic furniture and memorabilia, and the place smells like him. 

You turn around on your heels, facing him once again, “You didn’t pick up my calls,” You explain, looking him up and down.

He snickers as he looks for his glasses around the living room. His hair is ruffled, his voice is raspy, and he’s still in his pyjama shorts — you definitely snatched him out of bed.

He sits on the couch, placing his glassed on the bridge of his nose before looking at you, “I don’t pick up calls from unknown callers,” He shrugs, getting more comfortable in his seat, but not offering you to take a sit.

Not that you would need him to offer you anything, not even an invitation. But because you’re in a hurry, you decide to just stand a few feet away from him. 

“I told you we’d keep in touch,” You bark, furrowing your eyebrows at him, “So didn’t you think that maybe, just maybe, your lawyer is the one calling?”

He shrugs, muffling a yawn, “You could have sent me an email,” 

“I did,” Your reply is dry, and you see him avoiding your gaze. “Go get ready, we’re going out,”

“Oh?” He squeals delighted, “Like a date?” He quips, grinning ear to ear, but stands up nonetheless.

You roll your eyes at him, “Just dress nicely,”

“Where are you taking me? I’m not a brunch person, I prefer candlelit dinners, you kn-” He’s interrupted by your steps, following him to his dressing room. “What are you doing?”

You let out the fakest, most mocking sound of endearment while looking at him and at how he keeps his hands over his clothed chest, as if you could see through his t-shirt.

“I didn’t realise you are a prude,” You mock him, looking at the enormous dressing room. “Go ahead, it’s not like I haven’t seen a man’s bare torso before,” You instruct him, and you can’t help but look at how an entire dresser is full of expensive suits and shirts made of Egyptian cotton. You suppress the need to let out a low whistle for the second time today, “I need you to look impeccable, I know the press is still after you. They can’t catch you lacking,”

He hums, and you’re sure he didn’t pay attention to what you just told him. That, or he just doesn’t care if he’s caught dressing like a homeless person. But it would be disastrous to his image, especially because most of his public appearances have been nothing short of perfect — and dressing badly right now could start discourse around press, and around everyone actively being against him. 

You see him pulling his white t-shirt off his back, tossing it on the loveseat in the corner of the room. 

Your eyes fall on his V line, out of instinct. It’s defined, it travels down to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, that are hanging dangerously low on his hips, and you feel like you can’t take your eyes off of him. Like there’s a magnetic force that doesn’t allow you to look away from him — and the same force has your eyes travelling across the waistband, gaze shifting to the happy trail on his lower abdomen.

You gulp, finally taking your eyes off his tanned skin, looking for something more appropriate to gawk at — like the vanity behind you. You turn around as if you didn’t just momentarily lose yourself in the sight of Donghyuck’s bare torso. 

If he noticed your gawking, he doesn’t say anything — and you go about your inspecting his vanity while he gets dressed, moaning about you invading his privacy. 

You look at the many bottles of perfumes scattered on the vanity, realising just how neat he is even with arranging his cologne and perfume bottles. You pick up a few, smelling them, and you’re instantly slapped by his usual scents — the ones he used back when you were students. 

“Excuse me, miss… sorry…” He mumbles while sliding up next to you and into your personal space, snatching the bottle of Diptyque from your grasp and spraying it on his bare chest and, surprisingly, all around himself.

You cough, stepping away from him, and you see how his slim fingers button his shirt up with dexterity. 

You shake your head, “Did you not apply deodorant?” 

A cocky smirk appears in the corner of his mouth, “I don’t need that,” He licks his lips, “You’ll learn that about me,” 

You throw him an incredulous look, “And how would I do that?”

That insufferable cocky smirk makes an appearance once again, and he shakes his head while styling his shirt, “There are a few ways. You’ll see… eventually,”

His cockiness irks you. You liked him better when he was sulking over the fact that you are his lawyer. 

You managed to book an important interview for him, one that can straighten his career back to the way it used to be. 

He’s going to talk about his old cases, he’s going to talk about all the times he helped people struggling with legal matters. He’s going to bring back all the good he’s done to society, and you’re sure that will stop the online hate train he’s still being the victim of. 

You explain everything to him, you line the whole plan down for him to understand, to know what he should expect from the interview. Given that today is going to be just about getting a new suit for the interview, you think he needs to have enough time to mull over his thoughts and possible answers involving the topics about his past. 

You also made sure they wouldn’t bring up the recent controversy — you made a clear script of topics to be addressed, you’ve made it clear to the producers. And you think this is the perfect opportunity for him to clear his name, save his career, and dodge any more criticism from the public. That, and the fact you know the editor working on said program, so it’s going to be easy to have everything under control. 

“As always,” You start, touching the collar of his shirt, styling it on his nape as he looks at himself in the big mirror, and your fingers comb through the strands of hair that are getting longer, “Don’t talk to the press. Ignore them, I know you have a big prosecuting mouth, but try your best not to make this even worse,”

Your words irk Donghyuck, who follows after you as you stand by his door, putting your heels back on before heading outside. 

You’re acting like he’s an idiot who runs his mouth. Like he doesn’t know what he has to do now that he’s walking on thin ice, and he wants to remind you that he’s been around the press more than you have.

“Stop bossing me around,” He rasps as he locks his front door, and you can tell that he’s getting worked up, by the way he’s pouting while talking. You walk ahead of him, going towards the lifts, “You show up to my place, dictating orders that I have to follow because you’re… my lawyer,” He barks, and it comes out more as a question, “You think you know best, but I’m not your puppy! I’m not following you around!” 

You stop in your tracks, and he nearly slams into your back as he doesn’t catch your pausing. You turn around, pouting at him. 

“I’m not asking you to follow me around, Donghyuck,” You mock him, posing and looking up at him, “You’re the one literally choosing to walk behind me, puppy boy,” You point your head at him, and you grab his cheeks with your free hand, squishing them together to make him pout, “You’re my puppy because you genuinely want to,” 

You turn around, heels clinking on the marbled floors of the hallways as you make your way towards the lifts once again, “Ya comin’?” You ask him without halting your steps.

Donghyuck stays still for a moment, right as and where you left him. He looks at the way you sway your hips as you walk down the hallway, and he feels like the collar of his shirt is strangling him. He’s very confident about what he said about not needing deodorant, but he didn’t think you’d have him in the palm of your hand, talking down to him and making him sweat.

He clears his throat, choosing to stay silent as he follows you, and the thought that he is your puppy is starting to be very convincing inside his brain. 

When interview day arrives, Donghyuck walks inside the studio like he owns the place — his usual confidence overflowing and becoming obvious even to the blind. 

You pull him by the sleeve. “Tone your ego down,” You whisper through your teeth, for him to hear, “Be humble,”

“I am humble,” He looks down at you, the proximity of your bodies making his minty breath fan down on your face. “Imagine just how insufferable I am when I don’t have to walk on glass,”

“Oh,” You push at his chest, taking a step back, “I don’t have to imagine,” You turn around, your back now facing him, and you roll your eyes out of frustration. 

He snorts, “I know you rolled your eyes at me,” He comments, voice low and raw with amusement. You turn around to look at him, and you see him grinning at you, pearly teeth on display as he tries to control his laughter, “You might not realise this yet, Y/n, but I know you,” He rasps, still amused, yet the glint in his eyes  seems serious.

His words dawn on you, and your stomach flutters — but you don’t want to overthink about his words and the implication behind them. There can be endless, and you choose not to think about any right now.

Donghyuck gets dragged towards the changing room, and you follow after him and the stylist. You keep a close eye on him. 

He’s leisurely making conversation with the stylist, making her ease into conversation and talk to him like they’re long lost friends. His innate gift of communicating is once again proven to you, and frankly to anyone else too. Even the ones mad at him seem to forget why they’re keeping away, once he opens his mouth. 

Such charms are a gift, but also a curse — judging by where it got him these days.

You look at him, all styled, all ready to go in his beautiful navy suit you personally handpicked for him a few days ago. The blue brings out the tan of his skin just perfectly; he smells like Diptyque once again, and his longer strands are styled beautifully in order to frame his face. 

You look up at him, while he plays with the buttons of his suit. The slope of his nose is perfect, and he pouts his full lips seemingly without realising, too busy paying attention to his sleeves.

You look at him in all his glory, and you let out a sigh. 

You place the palm of your hand right in between his shoulder blades, your other hand grabbing him by the base of his neck. You push on his back and at the base of his neck simultaneously, making him adjust his posture.

“Uh,” He huffs, and his eyes widen as gets startled by your sudden actions. He clears his throat, trying to fight a smile.

“You need to learn to stand up straight,” You judge, still pushing on his spine and throat.

He finally breaks, smirk obvious even to you, and you look up at him just in time to see him licking his bottom lip. 

“How’d you know I like this?” He provokes while smirking, looking down at you with the corner of his eye, but doesn’t change posture the moment you take your hands away from his body.

“Pervert,” You mumble, averting your gaze.

He chortles, turning around to look at you, posture still straight. He’s even taller than before, towering over you, and you hate that you have to look up at him.

“Oh c’mon!” He pulls you by the arm to get you to look at him, “You act like you weren't gawking at my naked body the other day,” He rasps lowly, keeping the banter between the two of you as you wait for him to be called for the interview, “I might be a pervert, but you’re not better than me!” 

His hands extend towards you, trying to grab you by the arms to get your attention — or any other reaction out of you — but you’re quick with your movements as you slap his hands away. He manages to grab you by the wrist, and you stop squirming as you feel his warm and velvety skin touching yours.

You look up at him, only to notice his eyes trailing across your features, and right after looking you straight in the eye for a few seconds, his gaze falls on your lips. His gaze is sultry as he doesn’t look away, he doesn’t even let go of your wrist, yet you become relaxed to his touch.

You feel your stomach fluttering. It’s the look in his eyes, it’s the tongue still playing on his bottom lip, his cologne flooding your senses thanks to the proximity of your bodies. Your senses are alert, he managed to wake them up with a simple touch, and you suddenly feel like hotness it starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.

Your doe eyes, and the slight blush of your cheeks are enough to rile Donghyuck up, and enough to give him a reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, this doesn’t feel so wrong. 

Just as you see him smirking once again, opening his mouth to let out something that you are sure is going to be pushing your buttons, he gets interrupted.

“Y/n?” A man’s voice snatches you out of the childish banter with Donghyuck, and you turn around to look for whoever just called your name. 

A big smile stretches on your face, “Sungchan!” 

The tall man takes a few steps, draping an arm around you, “You’re here, finally!” He smiles down at you, and then his gaze shifts towards Donghyuck, who's standing like a lost puppy behind you, “Lee Haechan! It’s so nice to finally get to meet you in person!” 

Donghyuck nods, seriousness suddenly taking over his features, and he looks at the tall man who’s now on the receiving end of all your attention. He seems like a positive person; a helper, maybe. Someone you can rely on at all times — but he doesn’t want to imagine you, of all people, relying on the man who has you grinning from eat to ear right now. It should be him, the source of your grinning and decompressing, not this person you probably don’t even know as well as you know him.

He feels hotness starting to bother him, creeping up his neck — all the way to his jaw and ears. He feels uncomfortable, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. He starts feeling like a puppy once again, and he has the urge to take his tie off and possibly beat this man with it. Who cares if he adds one more controversy to the whole fiasco? Certainly not him, because he’s ready to do it if it means he has your attention back on himself.

Just as he’s ready to intervene in your conversation — even if he doesn’t know how, but he thinks he can find a way to ruin the shameless batting of eyelashes from your part — a voice calls for his name, announcing that he’s ready to go. 

You turn around to look at him one last time, signalling him to be calm and level headed. 

“I’ve always wanted to meet him!” Sungchan’s eyes sparkle while looking at the small screen as you follow the interview. 

Donghyuck makes pleasant jokes to break the ice, witty sarcasm dripping off the tip of his tongue, enamouring the host, and you know he’s safe. He’s got this — like always.

Your attention shifts to Sungchan. You met him a long time ago, fresh out of university, during language classes you picked up as a hobby. You bonded over common interests and the fact that you attended the same course allowed you to study together from time to time, and spend more time together.

But then you started becoming busier with your career, and attending those classes became close to impossible. You kept in touch with Sungchan, and now he promised he’d help you out with Donghyuck’s interview.

You take your eyes off the small screen yet again, once you hear Sungchan humming.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, voice raw, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” 

You blink at him, and you try to keep your usual seriousness, but it becomes difficult when you notice how much his eyes are sparkling as he looks at you. You move your weight on your other leg, averting your gaze as you try to mask your delight. 

The interview will air in a couple of weeks, and by that time everything will calm down with Donghyuck’s issue. Plus, this gives you the perfect opportunity to discuss more about how you’d like the interview to come out.

“Pick me up at eight,” You tell him, smiling softly, right before your gaze returns to the small screen.

Time goes by, Sungchan eventually leaves the studio, and Donghyuck seems to have the host wrapped around his pinky finger. 

He waltz towards you, confidence coming out of every single pore on his skin, and he winks your way as he goes back to changing in his casual clothes. 

He’s relaxed, he’s his usual self as he bids everyone goodbye, and even stops to shake hands of a few executives, all while carrying his expensive suit over his shoulder. You watch him being in his natural habitat — surrounded by people, being loved and appreciated by them. He smiles, lips curving while his smile reaches his eyes as he tries to dodge certain topics and turn people down in the most polite way. And he has the tact for it, he has diplomacy, yet he has the easygoing humour that knows exactly when to attenuate conflictual topics.

You’re still wondering why he got himself in this position in the first place. Going from being a prosecutor — profession which, by the way, endowed him with all the skills he sports nowadays — to becoming a tv host who has easily fallen in disgrace, victim of sensitive judgement and especially of cancel culture.

“So,” He starts, approaching his Porsche in the parking lot, “Should we have dinner together, tomorrow? You know… to celebrate the fact that tonight was a success,” 

You raise your eyebrows, and you see the unfaltering glint in his eyes only getting bigger with excitement. You think it’s because your plan was successful, he enjoyed the interview, and it will be enough to clear up all sorts of confusion when it comes to his controversies. 

“I’d love to,” You start, and you think the glint in his eyes became even more sparkly, “But…” You suck air through your teeth, wrinkling your nose.

Donghyuck doesn’t like how you wrinkle your nose — or, to put it better, what it implies.

He nods insistingly, pushing you to continue, “I’m fairly sure you didn’t have anything planned,”

You shrug, “Sungchan kinda beat you to it,”

The sky falls on him. While he was following your orders, another man worked his charms on you? 

“You’re ditching me for someone you barely know?” He’s getting worked up, but he’s trying to keep it light by pushing his tongue in the inside on his cheek as he smiles with disbelief.

“Sungchan and I are friends,” You retort, suddenly not liking how you have to explain your life to Donghyuck — who has been a total stranger to you, and with whom you only reconnected a month ago.

“Friends?” He sniggers, disbelief making his voice high in pitch, “If you’re friends with him, then what does that make us?” 

“You’re my client, Donghyuck,” You spit out, arrogance matching his during his worst days. This is the first time Donghyuck hates the way you say his name. “I’ll call you soon. You better pick up my calls!” You warn him as your heels clink on the concrete, as you walk towards the exit.

And Donghyuck feels his insides churning as he thinks of what you’ve just told him. 

Unbelievable.

It’s unbelievable how he is at home, bored out of his mind, and you’re out on a what? A date?

He likes to think it’s just a simple chit-chat with an old friend, but he’s a man and he knows how the ones of his kind can get when there’s a pretty girl around. 

You called him his client, but he remembers how you called him a fool for believing you were his lawyer. 

Your usual biting back every time he tries to get closer hasn’t changed. Maybe you misunderstood his intentions, and no, this isn’t about him asking you out — because he totally did that, and was hoping you’d finally warm up to him. 

You literally rocked his world when you reappeared in his life, yet you’re now out with that Sung-something, and he feels like he is going to lose all progress made with you up until now. Is it a crime that he wants to crash your supposed date? That he doesn’t care if the press finds him wandering the streets as he looks for the restaurant that man took you out to?

Instead, he picks up his phone. He wants to send a text, just to make sure you’re having fun — but who is he kidding? He wants to send a text to bring your attention on him. 

How long have you known this Sung person for, anyway? Donghyuck bets the history between him and you feels heavier, fuller than whatever friendship you have with that guy because, after all, as much as you might not have liked it, you two were always around each other all those years back. 

He sighs, taking a sip from his glass of wine, and he lets his intrusive thoughts win. He dials your number,  but just as expected, you don’t pick up. So he insists, because that’s what he’s best at — pushing your buttons.

“You better be dying and for some reason I’m the last number in your recents,” You spit through gritted teeth, as you pick up his call. 

He smiles like a fool when he finally hears your voice, “I am dying,” He chuckles, playing with the rings on his fingers, “Dying to see you again,”

“Unbelievable,” You let out an outraged mumble. He can’t see you, but he knows you just rolled your eyes at his comeback. 

If only you could see him now, you’d see his pupils are the shape of hearts as his eyes glint just imagining you reacting to him. 

“Why did you call me? I’m kinda busy,” You burst his bubble, and he’s the one rolling his eyes now. Just the thought of your whereabouts and the company you keep right now is making his throat go dry.

“Oh, really?” He plays dumb, yet he knows he can’t fool you, “Was it tonight? I forgot about that,” He’s shameless, and he hears your scoffing.

“We literally talked about this last night, Hyuck,” His heart skips a bit at the way you call his name, because only people who are close to him can use his government name — and he certainly feels you being close to him, as much as neither of you have ever addressed this before. 

“I must have forgotten,” His tone drips with fake innocence, a pout forming on his plump lips. 

You hate that you can envision him right now — in his home attire, his fluffy hair unkept, only combed through by his fingers, glasses resting on the bridge of his pretty nose, bare feet taking steps between the living room and kitchen. 

“So, what? Are you on a date right now?” He challenges, finally letting you know why he’s calling. You make a sound that he takes as a confirmation of his fears, “With Mr Lanky?”

“Donghyuck!” You warn, outraged and tired. “You’re lucky he’s gone to the restroom and couldn’t hear this useless conversation,”

“Oh, I don’t know, gorgeous,” He smirks to himself, “He’s been gone for a while. What if he’s got the runs after talking to a gorgeous girl like yourself?” His tone is low and, as much as you want to hang up the call, his voice makes your stomach flutter. 

That, or the cheese soufflé is the one to blame. 

“Come by later,” He rasps, and you almost think you didn’t hear him right, “If things are disastrous and he really shat himself… just come by,”

And he doesn’t wait to hear your reply. He doesn’t want to hear a smart comeback coming from you, but he hopes you’ll come to him. 

And while you don’t show up to his place like he asked you, you certainly think about him for the rest of the night. Sungchan, who seemed like a knight in shiny armour when he picked you up, has suddenly shifted in your eyes — especially after the phone call from Donghyuck. 

Your energy deflects, you’re sure the man across the table picks up on this as well. The more you look at him, the more you realise he just isn’t what you want and what you need.

His jokes aren’t obtuse, offensive, or genuinely funny either. The sparkle in his eyes is there only when he talks about work, and you hate that you reached a point in which you’re comparing him to the obnoxious person hunting your mind. 

Truth be told, no one does it like him. You realise that even your past so-called rivalry between the two of you was something you missed while he was out there trying to conquer the world. 

Suddenly, the night seems wasted. The cheese soufflé too insipid, the steak too dry, the company not what you were hoping for. And not because Sungchan is a bad guy with an abysmal personality, but because he’s not Donghyuck. 

“Everything okay?” Sungchan asks you at some point, and you realise you haven’t been listening to him, and that he probably noticed. 

You nod, giving him a small smile, just hoping that it’s enough to fool you both. Everything seemed to be going well until Donghyuck called you. 

“Do you think you can send me a copy of the interview after you’re done with it?” You mumble absentmindedly, playing with the fork in your hand.

Sungchan smiles, teeth on display, “Y/n, I’m not here to talk about Haechan’s interview,” He announces, and a lump sets in your throat, “I wanted to have this opportunity to ask you out,”

Oh, you mouth as you find it difficult to keep your eyes on him.

He lets out a huff of laughter, albeit you know it’s not light and genuine, “But I guess it’s better if we keep  our friendship this way, right?” He’s hurt, but he’s faking it not to make you uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, Sungchan, I didn-” You try to explain but he shakes his hand, smile still present on his lips.

“No worries! I dropped it on you out of the blue, I apologise for that!” He doesn’t have to apologise for his feelings, yet he does — literally thinking that he made you uncomfortable with his small and innocent confession. 

Your chest suddenly hurts, and your eyes feel like they’re becoming fuller with unspoken feelings and emotions, and he pats your hand from across the table as he senses his mistake. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad, ‘kay? We’re just at different places in our lives, even if your and someone else’s are perfectly aligned right now! I just had to shoot my shot, I hope you can understand,” He’s awfully comforting, and somehow if feels even heavier inside your chest.

You try to shake this strange feeling away, but your insides start churning at the unbearable thought that you rejected the man in front of you, and at the thought of your bubbling feelings that need to be addressed soon.  

The door swings open, and you already think this is a bad idea. The smirk in the corner of his mouth confirms that maybe you were better off at home, in your pyjamas.

It’s been a few days since you last spoke to Donghyuck, and as much as you hate do admit it, your last interaction with Sungchan planted a thought in your brain. One that you can’t really ignore. Instead, you show up to his doorstep trying to get the answers you need.

“Wowza, gorgeous!” Donghyuck smirks, eyeing you from head to toe. He moves away from the doorway, allowing you to walk in, and you stop by the entrance. “I think you really like my place, that’s why you drop by all the time,” He rasps, eyes glinting, “That, or maybe you just like me,”

You roll your eyes, glance stopping on one picture by the entrance — that you didn’t notice last time you were here. Probably because his sleepy figure was standing in front of it, unknowingly blocking your view. You recognise the picture, it’s one of the last pictures you took with your friends as a whole group, back during your university years — before Jaemin relocated to another big city, before one of your girl friends got herself into rehab; back when everything seemed normal and felt whole. You spot yourself in a corner, hugging Jaemin and Yizhuo — your closest friends during university — and you spot Donghyuck in the other corner, smiling at the camera like he’s the sun itself. 

It was one of the last outings you did as a group, right before graduation, and right before life got busy for all of you. Looking at all the faces in the picture, you realise that was one of the best trips you took, and you think of all the times Donghyuck made the outings better and less boring. 

He sees how you’re getting lost in the nostalgia of the past, as your gaze travels along the faces in the picture. Truth be told, that picture is there for one reason only, and said reason is now looking at it with eyes full of emotion. 

He looks at you once again. You look spectacular — black dress that kisses your curves and shapes the right way, your naked shoulders seem so soft and smooth and he has to fight the thought of what your skin might feel like under the burning skin of his hands. 

You’re gorgeous, and a lump forms in his throat as he feels like you’ve never been more unattainable than right now.

Are you… perhaps…

“Going on a date?” He can’t help but ask. He sees as your gaze moves from the picture, to look at him, and you put the frame down, “How’s skid marks?” His tone is bored as he turns around to walk towards his kitchen island.

You take your heels off, and you follow him towards his kitchen with angry patters as your bare feet take steps on the hardwood floor. 

“Don’t call him that!” You bark, his nickname for Sungchan suddenly upsetting you, “Be nice, he’s helping us,” 

“Is he?” He asks, not interested in the slightest to hear your reply, “Is that why you’re going out on dates with him? Or is it because he’s your friend and I’m your client?” Suddenly he’s attentive like a vulture — he wants to hear your reply to this one question.

“Can you be serious for one moment?” You question, not wanting to bicker with him right now. 

His cocky smirk makes an appearance, “I’m a prosecutor, Y/n. I can see you’re stalling,” He retorts, and he takes pleasure in seeing you biting your bottom lip, trying your best not to snap at him. “But alright, gorgeous. To what do I owe the immense pleasure of having you here tonight?” 

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, and your hands go to your dress before you can control yourself. 

“I was promised a dinner,” You purr, matter-of-factly. 

Donghyuck wants to grin, but fights it. How did you manage to stay out of his life for so long? It’s beyond his understanding. You make him want to start howling at the moon like a depraved dog, which reminds him of how you called him a puppy before.

And remembering the way you looked up at him as you did so, touching him, talking down to him — it literally gives Donghyuck goosebumps. But he’s not ready to admit this to anyone other than himself so, instead, he does what he knows best — he acts like he’s unfazed. 

He gets ready, as you look around his place. Despite him being home ever since he was put on unpaid leave, the whole place is spotless. You think it’s because he’s been living off take out all this time, and that he’s used one or maybe two cups to drink from, but you’re impressed either way.

He shows up wearing a tux, and he steps out of his dressing room manoeuvring a bow tie.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You fake a gasp, “I didn’t know we were attending the fucking Oscars!” 

He’s in front of the mirror, styling his bow tie while looking at you through the mirror. His eyes are piercing, he doesn’t dare look away — eyes locked onto yours — and he smirks.

“You did it first,” He points at your dress, “You thought we’d be staying in with you looking like that?!” He exaggerates, wrinkling his nose, “No way, baby,”

“Don’t call me that,” You mumble, moving towards the door, but you grab him by the sleeve to get his attention on you, “But do you think this is a good idea? Going out right now… with you and your problems?”

“Y/n,” He sighs, quickly checking his pockets for everything he needs before heading out, “You have to know me better than this by now… to know that it’s been so long that I don’t give a fuck anymore,” He opens the door for you, and this time you wait for him by the door, instead of walking in front of him towards the lifts, “And I can get us a table literally anywhere. Name the nicest place you wanna go to, and we can get in,”

“I think that’d be the case if you weren’t a prosecutor who turned into a disgraced tv personality,” You ridicule him as you walk on the long hallway, but he doesn’t seem too offended by it. You might be right, anyway. 

“It’s worth trying, at least,” He shrugs, and then he turns around to look at you with that cocky smirk that’s so typical him.

“What?” You sigh, looking at the led arrows signalling where the lift is coming from.

“So basically you admitted to showing up looking like trouble, thinking we’d be staying home?” He rasps, stupid grin of victory on his face, and then he tsks, “You just wanted to seduce me,”

You punch him in the stomach, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, you step inside the lift before he can register what you’re doing, “Let’s see how seduced you get by me making you take the stairs,” And you press the button, urging the doors to close before he can stop them with his foot or hand.

“That wasn’t very nice,” He retorts when you’re finally out on the street. 

You discovered he has four luxury cars parked in the underground parking lot of his building, and given your dress code tonight, he went straight to the Porsche.

“But you did it nonetheless,” You point out, looking at the pedestrians crossing the street, “Just like a puppy,”

He doesn’t even fight it, because he knows you’re right. Instead, he chooses to ignore it for his own good. 

He looks at you, as the red lights from the cars ahead contour your pretty features. And to think that out of endless possibilities you got back into his life by being his lawyer makes him feel like becoming a disgraced tv personality really helped him in his destiny. If it weren’t for his big, problematic mouth, he would have been alone and miserable right now — in his luxurious apartment, with his four cars parked underground, with lavish dinners and a reckless dating style. Instead, you showed up.

He can’t and won’t take it for granted. 

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice is small, almost as if your mind is somewhere else.

“I have a few options, if they take us in,” He jokes, using your words, “Is there something you’re craving, gorgeous?”

You actually think about it. As you take your sweet time trying to think of something, your glance wanders around his car — and it finally lands on Donghyuck. 

He’s relaxed, even as he speeds. His tux brings a certain air to him, like he’s the most expensive and most untouchable man on this entire planet. Confidence oozes from all his pores, even as he does nothing but keep a hand on the steering wheel — and you feel your insides churning, but you desperately hope for it to be because of hunger.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” You speak up before you can control yourself. His curiosity makes him throw you quick glances before his eyes go back to the road, seemingly taken by surprise by your change of tone. This isn’t going to be about food, and he knows it, “You were too good at what you were doing for you to be remembered by the public as nothing but a fragment of a proper scandal. It actually upsets me,”

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to answer, mainly because he doesn’t see it as you. He’s sorry you’re upset about this matter, and he wishes he could take it all away from you. He also wishes he could speak up and have a proper conversation about this topic and why he thinks you’re wrong, but it’s like his lips are sealed when it comes to speaking up about the matter. 

He didn’t know you cared about him, or anything involving him — including his career — this much.

His silence feels heavy as your ears start ringing waiting for his answer, and it never comes. You’re left waiting as you listen to the purring of his Porsche’s engine, and at the way he breathes evenly — not rushed, not panicked, not even upset. He just breathes as he refuses to make any kind of comment to what you just told him. Did you really think that opening up about this to the guy with the biggest ego in the world was a good idea?

Too lost into your own worries and overthinking, you fail to notice how the car slows down, and then you finally notice him carefully looking for somewhere to park. You look outside the window, not recognising this side of the city.

“Do you remember the greasy, meat sandwiches we had on our last trip together?” He asks, and he actually sees how your gaze starts sparkling at the memory he just brought up, “It’s one of the things I’ve been craving the most lately, thinking about that day. And luckily for us, this guy right here seems to have the exact recipe,” 

Never in a million years did you think you’d be having sandwiches with Donghyuck at the outskirts of the city, bought right from a street food truck, while the grease trailed down your forearms as you tried to keep it away from your outfit. Because obviously, looking straight out of a fashion magazine, like you’re ready to go to a charity gala and eat the most expensive food ever served to you could ever compare to seeing melted cheese and grease smudged on Donghyuck’s cheeks as he chewed his bite.

The first bite taken from your sandwich almost got a moan out of you, while Donghyuck’s got a proper grunt out of him. 

It feels almost painful to admit that he’s right thinking this was something you’d end up enjoying. It helps you go back to the past, when his smile was more carefree, when his jokes were even more obtuse than nowadays, when the sparkle brought to his eyes during classes or fights with you was more prominent. 

You know he’s hiding something, and you wish he’d open up to you — at least a little bit. But you don’t want him to shelter himself behind a shell you never knew he had. He’s always been loud, proud, morally upright — and something took that away from him. 

“Tell me this sandwich isn’t so much better than sex,” He moans, mouth absolutely full to the point it’s difficult for him to chew. 

You nearly knock the tall glass of non-alcoholic beer you’ve been sharing with him, and you give him a quizzical look.

“What kind of odd experiences have you been having?” Your tone is high in pitch, full of disbelief. 

“Oh, c’mon,” He swallows his bite, “Like you’ve never had a bad experience? With a man? Hard to believe,” 

“Were your bad experiences also with men?” You pout at him sympathetically, almost on the verge of pinching his cheek and ridiculing him.

He lets out a howl of laughter, almost choking, “Touché,” He comments, licking his lips, all content with the progression of your conversation. 

The interaction quiets down, and you see him eyeing you curiously before going back to his sandwich. But you know him just too well, and as expected, he throws the ball in your court after taking a big sip from your shared beer. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” He smiles softly, setting down his sandwich on the aluminium foil on the high table. When he sees you nodding, he waits a few more seconds, “Why did you not become a prosecutor?” He asks, cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — definitely needed in order to get rid of all the grease.

When he sees your questioning gaze, seemingly not understanding the question — or where it’s coming from, he clears his throat. “I mean, you had the skills. You and I were unbeatable at what we were doing, so when I didn’t see you in the field as one of my colleagues, I got worried. I was thinking you wasted so much potential being God knows where, doing God knows what. I had no idea of your whereabouts because, God is my witness, I really looked for you as a last resort to try and reach out and make you change your mind,” He rasps, but his tone is gentle, and it brings you comfort, “So where the hell have you been?”

You guess this is a good start for the candid conversation you were planning on starting with him, but didn’t know how to approach him first. Almost because you opened a small door earlier, during the car ride, and he seemed like he closed it shut in the blink of an eye. 

You set your sandwich down on the foil, right next to his, and you grab one of the wet wipes he extends towards you. 

“Becoming a prosecutor was never my goal,” You admit, cleaning the corners of your mouth, “I always wanted to study law to help the underprivileged. Yes, prosecuting bad guys always seems like the best choice when you think of a career in law and the whole concept of justice. But what about the people who can’t afford to be represented in court by someone who’s actually capable and confident with their skills? What about the NPO’s and charities that need someone to represent them? What about the people?”

He looks at you, at the small crease between your brows as you get so passionate about your love for your job, and he has the next question he wants to ask you, on the tip of his tongue. Yet you beat him to it.

“Why did you throw out a successful and rewarding career? Just to become a tv host?” You ask him. This question has been bothering you ever since you stumbled upon his show on television, right after he gave up his career.

“It’s more complicated than that,” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, and you understand that it really doesn’t come easy to him to open up about this change. So it really wasn’t about him loving being in the centre of attention on television, and the shift to a career in this field that could mean fulfilling this crazy need for attention faster. You judged him too harshly, even if it’s just Donghyuck.

“Then open up to me!” You plead, because it’s something you need to understand about him, “I’m the one that can understand you on this, better than anyone else,”

You’re right. Donghyuck knows this, and as much as he would have loved to tease you a bit for your choice of words and wanting to get closer to him, he refrains, understanding this is not the right time for this, for neither one of you.

“Everything was going well, I was on a roll,” He starts, finally giving in. If he wants to get somewhere with you, anywhere near where he wants you two to be, he needs to open up and finally face his past. “My success rate was unbeatable and, as you might have seen, they even talked me into helping people on national television,” He looks straight ahead, thinking of the past few years and what he’s gone through, “They made me their product and I enjoyed the money and the attention, this is one of the truths,” He clears his throat, reaching for the cold beer.

So what? Is that all he has to say about this drastic change in his life? You wonder to yourself. Were you right from the beginning? Did he really do it for the attention?

“But another truth is that… I did something I can never forgive myself for, not even today,” His voice breaks, and he’s still avoiding your gaze, “One of the last cases I worked on was just… atrocious. We’re talking about abuse of the worst kind, and it all ended with murder. This motherfucker murdered his entire family… and he got away with it,”

Realising the gravity of the story he’s telling you, you keep your mouth shut. 

He takes a big breath, “Someone tampered with key pieces of evidence in the case, so he walked out of court almost trotting. That piece of shit was beaming with satisfaction, and for the first time ever I could do nothing about it,” 

Your weight shifts from one leg, to the other, “Any internal investigation that could find the culprit?”

He nods, finally looking at you, and you get to see just how affected he still is by the whole matter, even if it’s been a while since it happened. Something this big always stays with you. 

He licks his lips, “Of course! I started an internal investigation to find answers, but then after a while I got a call from my higher ups telling me to drop it,” He pauses for a few seconds, and then lets out a ridiculing scoff, “Of course I didn’t! What kind of prosecutor with a moral compass does that?!” 

You think you have a faint idea of where this story is headed. He’s getting upset, eyebrows furrowed as he recalls his past.

“It took a call from a politician to threaten me, for me to stop the investigation. That’s also when I decided to quit,” His voice is small, yet upset. 

He’s playing with a peace of foil on the table, wrinkling and then smoothing it, and your eyes fall on his crooked pinky.

“But!” He snaps, suddenly back to having a good mood, and the enthusiasm takes you by surprise. “My turn!” He picks up your sandwich, taking a bite of it. “Why did you quit your career to become a corporate lawyer?” His mouth is full, but you understand him nonetheless. 

He keeps his eyes on you as you pick up his sandwich, and you shrug, “I needed a change,” You avert your gaze, looking at where his teeth sank into the soft bread, “I needed to see if there were more exciting things out there,”

“And how did that work out for you?” He giggles, thinking of the irony of your choice. You wanted to help the underprivileged, yet you ended up working for a corporation straight out of hell. 

He looks at you, and he can’t believe just how beautiful you are. You features are so soft in the food truck’s lighting, your skin literally shines in the cold hues. 

He sees you taking a bite from the sandwich you’re holding — his sandwich, and a smirk plays in the corner of his mouth.

“You know we’re basically kissing right now, right?” He rasps, squinting his eyes at you while he sports a shit-eating grin.

You roll your eyes at him, “Your kiss is greasy,” You retort almost instantly, dropping the last bits of sandwich back on the foil, and you clean the corners of your mouth. 

“Yours is worse,” He mumbles, side eyeing you. 

“What are you even talking about?” You’re confused by his nonsense, eyes scanning him from head to toe as he takes another bite from your sandwich. 

You find yourself gawking once again. He seems so relaxed, so comfortable around you, so confident even to be in public making a mess on his face when literally anybody can see him — not just you anymore. 

And it hits you. Since when did you think you and him were close enough to imagine yourself as the sole person allowed to see him in all sorts of circumstances? Your long history of knowing each other has never properly allowed you to go there with your thoughts, and yet you did — and it makes you feel completely out of place. 

Yet for some reason, you’ve always felt comfortable around him. Thinking of it now that he shuts up and lets you be alone with your thoughts for a little bit, you think of the past. Never, not even once — not even when you wanted to kill him for starting a contradicting argument for his sole entertainment — did you feel like he repulsed you. 

“See for yourself,” He bursts your bubble, and your eyes get back in focus as you look at his tan forearms, while he extends your sandwich towards you. “I know you didn’t believe me. Take a bite,” 

You throw him a skeptical look, and you see his eyes studying your face closely, searching for something. But you give in, nonetheless. And you touch his hand as he directs the sandwich to your lips.

And then, he snatches his hand away, his lips smacking yours instead. It happens in a split second, and you don’t even have the time to register it happening, but it doesn't feel bad, or wrong. He retracts for a bit, the hand holding the greasy piece of bread far away from your figure, and he grabs your chin with his fingers.

His thumb travels, caressing his way up from your chin to your bottom lip, and he keeps studying your face for any sign that this might not be what you want right now. And the moment he feels your eyes on his lips, and sees you kicking your lips out of habit, he bends down once again.

His kiss is fervent, almost desperate, like he feeds off of it. His lips are just as plump and soft as you thought they would be, and you don’t even think twice before parting your lips, granting him access. It feels hot, something you’ve never experienced before — not from a single kiss, anyway. 

His free hand travels towards the side of your face, fingers combing through your hair to pull you even closer. His abilities are to be praised right now, as he gets to control you to get you to do anything he puts his mind to with one hand only, the other still kept away from your bodies. 

The kiss gets deeper and heated fast, while neither one of you feels like pulling away. This might be a monumental mistake, but it surely doesn’t feel like that right now. Right now, you think you’re exactly where you want to be — while Donghyuck is absolutely certain he is where he’s always wanted to be. 

Your hands go up his neck, which has gotten incredibly hot, and you keep him close to yourself as your fingers play with the longer strands of hair from behind his ears. He grunts into the kiss, and you suddenly become breathless.

He retracts slightly, eyes still closed as he keeps giving you small pecks, allowing the both of you to get your breathing back to normal, as gracefully as possible. 

“Was my kiss greasy?” He rasps, tone low sending shivers down your spine.

You gulp, keeping your eyes closed, “No,” You shake your head almost imperceptibly, but he feels you moving your face in his grip, “But your greasy hand is in my hair,” You open your eyes just a bit, looking at him through your lashes, and you see him smirking.

“Shhhh, don’t ruin our moment,” He nudges your nose with his, then going back to pecking your lips.

And you give in once again, feeling his fingers pulling you towards him.

Your leg bounces as you sit on one of the leather armchairs in the waiting room, right outside of your boss’s office. 

Anxiety is pooling in the pit of your stomach like never before, not even when you had stressful cases on your hands did you ever feel like this. It makes you sweat, it makes you want to throw up, especially because you know you’re in big trouble.

You woke up with a terrible headache, like your body was preparing you for impact first thing in the morning, like it was giving you a sign that a shit storm was coming your way and that the headache was just the tip of the iceberg. 

And then you checked your phone. Texts, missed calls from Johnny, articles about you and Donghyuck. Apparently all the times you warned him about the press being on his trails should have been a reminder for you as well, because you appear together in all the pictures published. 

Pictures of you and him strolling around the street, pictures of you and him spotted shopping together. Pictures of you two at the studio, when the two of you were bickering, except no one knows that. From the looks of it, it seems like you two are being very close, to the point of Donghyuck grabbing you — which is totally true, but the circumstances were absolutely different than what they’re being made to seem like in these pictures. And then, the worst of all, pictures from two nights ago, when you and Donghyuck made out in the middle of the night right in front of the food truck, and then in his car — and there’s no excuse or any other explanation for these last pictures, there’s no way you can deny it. It’s all out there for everyone to see, like a reminder that lines have been crossed and you acted recklessly. 

You didn’t even try to call him, to try and talk to him about this, to try to find a version of a story plausible as to why the two of you — a lawyer and her client — were eating each other’s faces the other night. 

Instead, you called Johnny and came to the headquarters as soon as you managed to calm down the erratic  beating of your heart. 

You’re sure everyone around has heard the news or seen the pictures, and you fear of what they might be thinking of you right now. You’ve never been a fan of judgement, and being in the limelight now makes you incredibly anxious. 

Your temples are still throbbing, your throat is dry, and it feels like you’re living a nightmare. And right as you think about this, the lift dings, announcing someone is about to come out, and then you see him — your real nightmare. 

The man that turned your world upside down with just a smack of lips and a foul mouth full of smart comebacks and obnoxious jokes. He spots you right as he steps out of the lift.

“Good morning, gorgeous!” He takes a seat right next to you, on the other armchair, “What brings you here so early?” 

You look at him, genuinely wondering what is wrong with him. He looks at you like an innocent puppy, eyebrows raised and lips pouting, all while he swings his leg from left to right as he sits leisurely. 

“Are you being for real right now? Did you not see the news?” You bark at him, ready to start punching him. You’re at your limit, and he’s on very thin ice right now. 

He shakes his head, shrugging with innocence, “Johnny called me in as soon as I woke up, so I didn’t really have the time to be on my phone,” He explains, and you believe him — knowing that he’s not the type to be on his phone, given all the times he hasn’t picked up your calls or replied to your work emails as proof of this. “Why? What happened?” 

“You and I happened,” You point your index finger, moving it between you two.

“Right,” He smirks, and you genuinely think he’s doing it to provoke you into hurting him, “It certainly is a good morning!”

“Hyuck!” You slap his leg, turning towards him. The crease on your forehead is terribly cute to him, and he feels an urge to kiss your worries away — even if it might put his life in danger. “This is serious. There are pictures everywhere! We’re in so much trouble, and Johnny has been on the phone all morning,” You explain, and then you sigh, “What do you think they’re gonna do to us?”

He looks at you like he doesn’t understand what it is you want from him, “I don’t know, gorgeous,” He shrugs, feigning innocence, “They might have to hang us right outside this building,”

“See?! This is exactly the kind of shit you end up saying that gets you in trouble!” You cry, getting upset with him not taking anything seriously. 

He can see you’re getting worked up over this issue, and even if he feels bad for upsetting you with his jokes, he finds it incredibly endearing for some reason.

“You’re right, but let me ask you a question,” He turns his body to face yours, almost sitting on the edge of the cushion, “Now that we’re addressing this properly,” He moves his hand between your bodies, “My joke from that night wasn’t that bad, right?”

You roll your eyes, looking the other way as you try not to snap at him, “No, it was pretty good actually,” You confess, remembering that after the initial shock of seeing him making such joke on national television subsided, you let out a howl of laughter, “Too bad some people have boundaries they don’t joke about,”

“Thank you!” He lets out a sigh of relief, relaxing into his seat, almost as if your last line didn’t make it to his ears, “I agree that I should have made that joke in a different environment, but the backlash was too strong for just a simple joke,” He concludes, mumbling as if he wants you to know he’s not that bad as a person. 

The office door opens, and a very stressed Johnny appears in the doorway, “Y/n, get in,” He calls your name, but his gaze shifts to Donghyuck, “Great, you’re here too,” He doesn’t seem too ecstatic, and Donghyuck certainly does not appreciate the coldness of his boss’s tone, “Get in,”

You enter the office, taking a seat on the velvety couch in the corner of Johnny’s office. He sits across from you, and gives you a smile.

“I’d say we have a problem,” He relaxes into his seat, crossing his legs.

“And I’d agree,” You reply, noticing with the corner of your eye how Donghyuck’s head snaps to the side to look at you.

Johnny nods in understanding, seemingly content that you’re on the same page regarding this issue, “But we’d both be so wrong!”

“What?” You squeak, getting on the edge of your seat. You’re so confused right now, you squirm your eyes while looking at your boss. 

“See, dearest… the dating scandal brought you into the limelight, and people seem to be talking about you more than Haechan’s controversial joke,” Johnny explains, and you still don’t understand what the good part is to all this, “People are going to be curious about your life, and truth be told Y/n, your record is impeccable. They’ll talk about you, they’ll say you’re the perfect match for Haechan, and everything will calm down.” He claps his hands, satisfied with his explanation, “See? Everything will work out perfectly! I talked to our PR team and, between us, this is the perfect move! How did you end up thinking of this? This was a genius move!” 

You look at him, still confused, and then your gaze shifts to look at Donghyuck, who looks back at you just as confused. 

“Erm…” You clear your throat, tilting your head, “We didn’t do it as a PR move,” You explain, still very much confused. So much that your words come out as a question. 

Johnny opens his mouth, surprised, and then points at you, “Oh well, in this case… Congrats!” He looks at Donghyuck, “And good luck to you!” He eyes you this time, still smiling.

After being dismissed from Johnny’s office, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The headache is now gone, you feel like you can finally go back to relaxing after an entire morning spent thinking you’re three heartbeats away from having a stroke. 

You’re pretty much at peace with the fact that they’re going to focus on desiccating your past for a while, thus giving Donghyuck a bit of space after a long time. You’re not as problematic, you don’t make bad jokes, you’ve always been in your lane — and have always done your best to be respectful and good at doing your job, as best as you could. You’re sure that your life isn’t nearly as fascinating as Donghyuck’s, but you really don’t mind. 

Even as you walk inside his luxurious building and towards his apartment, Donghyuck follows your steps. He smiles at the thought that, even after weeks, he’s still following you wherever you’re going — and it doesn’t matter that you don’t have a key to his place. He looks at how determined your strut is, like the place is yours and not the other way around.

“What?” You ask him, not accustomed to having him silenced for so long. 

“Nothing,” He opens the door for you to walk in, still in front of him, “I might have to give you a key to my place,” He says nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal.

You choke on air, and you turn around to give him a horrified look, “A key?! Already?” You’re in disbelief, and quite frankly terrified of this man’s pace, “We haven’t talked about this stuff yet,”

“What is there to talk about?” He asks, and he seems genuinely confused. He seems relaxed, very comfortable with your presence even if you haven’t even been able to define your relationship yet. 

“This,” You point your finger at him, and then towards yourself, “We haven’t even defined what we are. We have stuff to talk about, and steps to take,”

He snaps his head to look at you, shaking it all confused and with his eyes squinting, “Again… what is there to talk about? Just move in, gorgeous, we can talk at home,” He’s serious as he approaches you, grabbing you by the chin before he guides your face to get closer to his.

His lips capture yours in a sweet yet passionate kiss. They're soft on top of yours, and for a moment he gets lost in the taste of your lip balm, “Is this enough to label us?” He rasps, letting you go before he starts heading towards his dressing room.

When you fail to answer, he comes back, bare feet loud on the hardwood floor, “You’re stalling. Again,” He warns, getting closer to you once again, “I don’t like that. I want things to be quick, precise, orderly. And I want you, Y/n,” 

His confession sets a lump in your throat that’s hard to gulp down, words suddenly too difficult to get out of you.

“Years passed and regrets amassed, and not acting upon my desires at the right time made me miserable. I don’t want that for myself, and I thought my intentions were clear enough for you to understand that I don’t need a label to define us, because I quite literally want to put the world at your feet, Y/n,” He speaks, and you try to fight a smile from creeping up on your features, “You came back into my life and you rocked my world and knocked some sense into me, one that was long forgotten and which I ended up despising. I will not sit back and watch you slip through my fingers again,”

He looks silly, but it makes your chest fill with warmth as you see his pout while he concludes his statement. He’s standing in front of you, wearing his pyjama shorts which he managed to change into right before he felt the need to come back and chew your ears off, and he’s still wearing his light blue shirt, cardigan discarded of as soon as he stepped back inside. 

“This reminds me just how good you are with argumentation,” You grin, but he knows you heard him loud and clear, and you’re not out the door — so that must mean you’re not turning him down, “Is this gonna be our thing? We get off complimenting each other on our argumentation skills?” The thought seems horrifying, but it gets a snort of laughter out of Donghyuck, nonetheless.

He shakes his head, unbuttoning his shirt. “I have a few other ways to get us off,”

“Is that so?” You purr, desire suddenly making your insides melt. 

Your eyes fall on the tanned skin of his chest, trailing all the way down to your favourite spot — the V line. He gets closer to you with dangerously slow steps, like he has you exactly where he wants, where he’s planned to have you all along. 

Just one quick glance up to his face, with your gaze locking into his, and the look he’s giving you makes you suddenly want to avert your gaze. He’s confident, proud, standing upright, walking towards you like he’s literally going to take a bite out of you — not that you would mind, anyway.

He stops in front of you, his breath hitting your face as you suddenly feel small, shy to look up at him. His gaze feels intimidating, and makes your skin burn with desire, your flimsy blouse suddenly too clingy and too uncomfortable on your skin. 

“I need to know, gorgeous,” He mumbles, slender fingers playing with a strand of your hair, pushing it back behind your ear, “What about that spare key,”

You hum with delight, stretching your arms around his neck, glueing your clothed chest to his bare one, and his hands travel hungrily behind your back with a tight grip.

“I think I’ll have no choice but to agree. The prosecution side had a very compelling argument,” You sing, finally looking up at him, and he keeps his mouth awfully close to yours, but your lips don’t touch.

He hums, nose nudging yours, and you can feel his fingers traveling under your blouse, fingertips touching your ardent skin and giving you goosebumps.

It makes you literally burn up with desire. His fingers squeeze your sides and the pressure feels almost too good given the force with which he’s doing it, all because of how much he wants you right now. His arms are around you in a split second, and you don’t even realise he’s taken you off the ground, determined steps making their way towards where you suppose his bedroom is. 

Normally, you’d look around yourself, but right now your mouth is too busy on his, tongues clashing as he moans into the kiss. Your fingers travel around his nape, up all the way into his hair, pulling gently at his strands — getting a proper grunt out of him. 

He puts you down, bare feet planted on what feels like a rug right by the foot of the bed, and he plays with the waistband of your pants, pulling them down but leaving your panties on.

 You push him back on the bed, and you get on top of him — you can feel he’s already rock hard, and your mouth is literally watering at the thought of tasting him. His hot mouth is on your neck, tongue playing around and leaving wet trails everywhere it can get, one of his free hands travels to your back to unhook your bra, helping you getting rid of your blouse and bra in a split second. 

You feel like you’re on a cloud, high on desire and pleasure — he could literally manoeuvre you around and you wouldn’t realise. His hands keep you steady on his lap, on top of his hard-on, not allowing you to move because he’d quite literally lose his mind if you gave him even the slightest friction. 

He keeps his mouth busy, lips kissing the plush of your breasts before his mouth latches onto your nipple, and he grunts with pleasure now that it finally dawns on him that he’s getting all of you to himself.

“So, so gorgeous, my baby,” He breathes on your swollen nip, right before his mouth latches onto the other, and hearing his airy praise from him has you moaning, head tilted to the side as you get lost in the pleasure, and you can’t help but move your hips on top of his lap.

He moans, fingers digging forcefully into your hips to stop you, yet the force with which he’s doing it makes you even more aroused. 

His moan vibrates around your nipple, and you push at his shoulders slightly, clearly giving him instructions on what to do. All the bullshit he pulled a while back about being your puppy and not taking orders from you? Totally bluffing. The man would do anything you’d ask of him, no questions asked.

You look at him in all his glory, admiring every single inch of his skin. Your fingers travel to the waistband of his pyjama shorts, and your nails pull at it, trying to move them out of the way. With a tiny bit of help from him, you managed to discard of the clothing item right before your gaze falls back on him, and you nearly let a gasp escape you.

Perfectly girthy, one vein travels from the base of his cock all the way up to his leaking tip. Trimmed at the base, his happy trail travels up his lower stomach, and you can’t resist the urge to graze it with your nail — going from his belly all the way back to the base of his cock, where you gently grab him. 

You bend down on top of him, and he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss. But you don’t allow him to enjoy your lips for too long, as they move down to travel on his jaw and across his chest, breath fanning over all the wet spots your lips leave behind. You finally stop your journey on his chest, where you playfully graze his nip with your teeth, while your eager hand gets back on his cock, squeezing his base lightly before travelling further down, making him grunt at the feeling. 

“Stop,” He’s out of breath, and the sound of his voice — laced with desperation and lust — makes your walls throb around nothing, “Please,” He pleads, throwing his head back.

The image of him being totally at your mercy makes you feral, almost like you want to continue your ministrations just to get more out of him. But it’s too much even for you, at least for right now, so you take pity on both of you.

You bend down, kissing his tip quickly before you take him inside the warmth of your mouth.

“Fuck!” He bucks his hips up, “I don’t think you should do this,” He’s almost crying, and his hands go up to his head in order to grab strands of hair he can pull at. 

But you ignore him. Flattening you tongue as you take all of him, you indulge in the pleasure of finally being able to suck him off. Salty and heavy on your tongue as you move your head up and down slowly, you moan around him, and for a moment you think Donghyuck is going to throw you off and away from himself.

You touch him one last time after you release his cock with a pop!, and he lands forcefully on his back once again.

“I think you’ll be the death of me,” He mumbles, breathlessly as he lays unmoving, waiting to catch his breath a bit. He’s painfully hard, tip still leaking with precum, but he raises his head when he feels you getting on top of him. “No,” He shakes his head, “Wanna taste you first,”

You feel like you could cry. You want to have him in all the ways possible, yet it’s becoming unbearable for you to be deprived of any proper friction. 

“Maybe later,” You tell him, already sliding your panties down your legs, “I need to feel you inside of me,” You moan as you sit on him for a bit, and he swears he can feel your clit throbbing on top of his unmoving and hard shaft.

You align him at your entrance, throwing your soaked panties at his head — and he doesn’t even bother to catch them on time. They land on his face, and he only moves one hand to grab them and keep them close for just a tiny bit to be able to smell your scent.

His eyes become glossy the moment you sink down on him, painfully slowly, and he can’t help the moan that rumbles out of his chest. 

“Fuck, fuck, baby,” He curses through gritted teeth, sucking his stomach in a few times, “I don’t think I can- I don’t think I’ll last,”

He overestimates your willpower right now, because he’s not aware that your insides are melting with lust and pleasure, feeling the need to feel him all the way deeply inside of you.

The moment you start undulating your hips, walls squeezing him deliciously, he looks down at where your bodies meet, and he can’t help himself from bringing his thumb so you can get off faster. You moan at the friction his thumb provides you every time your clit hits against it as you move your hips, and he swears the sounds you’re making are not helping his cause right now, already feeling like he’s on the verge of spilling inside of you.

Instead, his thumb does the right thing, and you reach your climax fast, surprising him. It comes in powerful, delightful waves that are prodding you to go on and continue your movements, and Donghyuck is too lost in the image of you climaxing on top of him to remember to take his thumb away from your sensitive clit.

Your thighs are burning, everything below the belt feels like it’s about to melt, but you stretch your hands up to his chest as your hips keep rocking on top of his. He’s speechless, he’s feeling too many things, especially because he’s been on the receiving end all the time, and this way he found it easier to get lost in all the pleasure he’s been feeling. 

He raises his head a bit, in order to have a better look at you, and he opens his arms before his hands travel to your hips.

You bend down, teeth grazing his jaw before you remember something, and you smirk as you get right up. Your hand travels to his neck, hand wrapping around the sides of his throat and putting the right amount of pressure.

His eyes become the size of saucers as he looks up at you, trying his best not to let out all the moans catching in his throat.

You giggle, and the sound of it has Donghyuck throbbing, “What happened to my talkative puppy boy?” You pout, delighted at seeing him squirming.

The choice of words, your tone, your relentless riding, the pressure around his neck, and the way your walls are squeezing him too tightly, it all becomes too much for Donghyuck to bear, and you see him rolling his eyes back before he lets out the loudest moan from the pit of his ribcage — and that alone is enough to turn you on again.

But you give in, stopping your movements yet still keeping him inside of you, and you collapse on his chest. You’re too spent to keep yourself upright right now, and Donghyuck feels limp as he tries to gather his bearings. 

You place your hand on his chest, drawing soothing circles as you wait for him to catch his breath, an you giggle when you hear him cursing. His sweaty skin sticks to yours, and he grabs your hand to bring it to his lips.

He keeps you close, he’s literally where he wants to be — with your weight on top of him, he feels like this is the safest and best place for him.

He raises his head, looking at your intertwined bodies, right before a stupid but spent smirk shows up on his face, “Given our last activity, I think I just proved to you that I don’t need deodorant,”

You smack his chest when you register his words, but giggle nonetheless because only Donghyuck could get to ruin a moment by bringing this nonsense up.

“Pervert,” You move on top of him just slightly, but it’s enough to make him suck air through his teeth.

He smirks, voice already raspy as he mumbles out loud, “Oh, you have no idea!” 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPEAKING MY TRUTH: we need to see more of obsessed and pervert!hyuck around (◞‸◟,) thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for me to drop fics from this series! this series means a lot to me and im not planning to abandon it, in case you were wondering — it's just that i have to be in the right place with my creativity <3 i hope you enjoyed this one, and i'll see you babies for the next one! ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა