#serrauthor replies

He self-consciously smooths down the button-up he wears to work. He’d been wearing a tie – dark blue with physics equations scribble all over it in white lines  but it was a little nerdy for even him, so he removed it before he even got to the cafe. Wonwoo checks his jeans; at least they’re not horribly stained. They’re even a clean pair.

Wonwoo feels himself sweat. At least his button-up is black.

It’s just dinner. What could go wrong?

Everything, Wonwoo decides nervously. Literally everything could go wrong.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo yelps, jumping in his seat. His eyes are hilariously wide behind his round glasses, but he can’t help it. Seungcheol damn near gave him a heart attack.

Wonwoo likes Seungcheol enough. He’s a nice guy, who takes in all kinds of cats if he can. More than half the cats in Catstronomy are strays, after all. He also runs adoption drives sometimes.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. Wonwoo is starting to realise that maybe he does that thing where he’s so in his head that he’s just staring, instead of answering the question.

“I’m... fine,” Wonwoo says with a weak smile.

Seungcheol is understandably unconvinced. “I don’t recall you looking three seconds away from puking when you’re ‘fine’.” He even does the stupid air quotes. When Seungcheol smiles, it’s sharp. “If you play with Junhui’s feelings, I will gut you and feed your entrails to the cats. Or worse.” He pauses dramatically, making sure to keep eye contact with Wonwoo. “I’ll sic Jihoon on you.”

Wonwoo’s face drains of colour. He’s seen Jihoon hoist Fluffy – the fattest Persian cat that’s almost as much fat as he is fluff – with one hand and not break out a sweat. Everyone else at least is red-faced after hefting that monster of a cat. Jihoon could literally pound him into a pulp, and it’s not a secret that Junhui is his favourite person in the cafe (after Seungcheol, of course).

“I really like Junhui,” Wonwoo blurts out. His palms are slick with sweat. “I wouldn’t ever hurt him, I swear!”

Seungcheol scrutinizes Wonwoo. Then, his expression relaxes into a genuine smile. Wonwoo wonders if it’s the nervous sweat on his upper lip that’s convincing.

“Good,” the owner of Catstronomy says. “Junhui probably hasn’t told you, but he likes you too. Don’t fuck this up.”

Wonwoo is frozen in his seat until Junhui picks him up.

“Hey! I’m done – why do you look like you want to piss your pants?” Junhui frowns, hands on his hips. “Did Seungcheol hyung threaten you?”

Wonwoo just nods mutely.

Junhui rolls his eyes theatrically. “Just because we call him the dad of the group doesn’t mean he has to act like it. He’s hopeless.”

Actually, Wonwoo is the hopeless one, but Junhui is convinced he isn’t, so he won’t quite disillusion him this early.

Wonwoo clears his throat and grins. From the look on Junhui’s face – equal parts amused and fond – it must look as awkward as it feels. At the very least, Junhui isn’t completely turned off and that’s a win.

“Ready to go to dinner?” Junhui asks, sliding out of his seat.

Wonwoo hesitates, then follows. He doesn’t flinch when Junhui pulls him out of the cafe with a jaunty wave towards Jihoon at the front counter. Junhui thinks out loud, listing potential date places. They all sound wonderful and Wonwoo would love to explore everywhere Junhui wants to go.

Junhui turns to Wonwoo expectantly.

“How about KBBQ?” Wonwoo asks.

Junhui face lights up. Wonwoo thinks that if Junhui wanted the moon, he’d move heaven and earth itself to give it to him.

In theory, a KBBQ place sounds great. They’re relatively private without only leaving the two of them in a room, Wonwoo can show off his great hunter-gathering skills by cooking some meat and it’s not so loud that Wonwoo has to shout.

In reality, Wonwoo manages to burn himself on the grill four times accidentally, Junhui is in tears of laughter and the first few pieces of beef that Wonwoo cooks ends up being overcooked, tough squares that would make Mingyu weep.

Wonwoo swears he’s better than this. Usually. Mingyu and Seungkwan can label him a certified hot mess all they want, but he’s not actually this bad. It’s just that... Junhui is a distraction. A wonderful distraction that he doesn’t mind being caught by over and over again.

Junhui pulls the linen towel away from his hand, checking on the reddened skin. It doesn’t sting much – the ice helps in that case – but Wonwoo thinks it feels better because Junhui is the one nursing him.

Wonwoo really likes Junhui. It’s not a problem at all.

Junhui laughs, covering his mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Maybe we should’ve gone somewhere that cooked the food before it reached the table.”

Wonwoo’s eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? This is the best date ever,” he blurts out.

Junhui blinks, then looks down at Wonwoo’s injured hand.

“Best dates usually don’t involve bodily harm,” Junhui says with a wry smile.

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Are you kidding? I’m on a date with you. That’s more than enough for me.”

Looking back on it, Wonwoo has to admit that it was pretty smooth of him to say that. Junhui must think that too, from the blush that invades his cheek and the prettiest shy smile ever playing on his lips.

“You’re such a smooth talker,” Junhui teases. “You’re lucky I like nerds.”

- Jeonghan isn’t like the other crazies he calls colleagues. There’s nothing wrong with his brain – not like Wonwoo or Jihoon or even Seokmin and Soonyoung. He wasn’t experimented on, wasn’t tortured, wasn’t just born with an unlucky hand. Jeonghan was once normal and he wanted normal things.

Then Orion Pharmaceutical fired him. That was fine, except he’d injected himself with an experimental drug that gave him his abilities. He could talk to plants and he could control them and he was angry. He was so fucking close to what he was working to and they fired him because he wasn’t fast enough. If synthesizing a cure for cancer so damn easy, they should’ve done it themselves!

But of course they wouldn’t. All they cared about was profit and the bottom line. Who cares about the greater good when they could be thinking about their greater wallets.

Jeonghan still grins when he remembers the pictures of the entire board of directors, strung up and hanging off the roof of his company building. It’s crass, compared to the other things he’s capable of, but it’s the one thing he’s proudest of.

- Jisoo came along not long after that. At the time, Jeonghan was still new on the scene and hung around Pleiades and Andromeda for lack of anything else to do. Jisoo had swept in with a cool gaze and sat at Jeonghan’s table while he was nursing a half-empty bottle of beer.

“I’ve seen your work,” Jisoo had said with a polite smile that hid sharp teeth.

Jeonghan had smiled back, unwilling to hide his fangs even if he wasn’t a career villain (yet). “Can’t say I’ve seen yours.”

Jisoo’s smile flattened as his voice sharpened. “Oh,” he said airily, “I’m sure you have.”

- Who hadn’t heard of The Gentleman? He’s a villain pretending to be a hero, excusing bloodshed for justice. As far as anyone can tell, the only real person Jisoo helps is himself. His code of “morals” is about as straight as the Han River.

Still... compared to the other assholes Jeonghan knows, Jisoo is the most normal. He actually has a concept of right and wrong. Sure, it’s twisted as fuck, but it’s still there.

Wonwoo does things however he wants and usually causes as much carnage as he wants. Chan has about six different faces and Jeonghan can’t tell which one he’s talking to until he’s too late. Jihoon is Jeonghan’s best friend, but he cares about doing what’s right about as much as Wonwoo does. Don’t even get him started on Seungcheol.

- It started with small gifts. Rare flowers, a cleared out park just for Jeonghan. Once, Jeonghan got caught by a detective and was handcuffed for two hours before giving them the slip. The next day, Jeonghan found the detective gutted and strung up with his own intestines on City Hall.

Jeonghan doesn’t know when he started finding that romantic. (He knows when; it was when he’d gotten desperate and injected himself with a drug he’d developed after too much Red Bull and too little sleep.)

Then they did the occasional heists together. Not that often – Jisoo is still too droll to work with, what with his morals and his rules – but often enough that they have inside jokes. Jeonghan puts in extra effort into what he wears on those days and Jisoo’s smiles look more genuine.

Then they started fucking.

That’s not a problem. Jeonghan loves fucking. He’d gladly sleep with anyone who gave him the time and date. He knows he’s hot. Of course Jisoo knows he’s hot. He’s a villain, not blind.

The problem is when they meet up outside of heists. Outside of causing trouble just because they can. Jisoo knows where Jeonghan lives and he drops by. Jeonghan slips in and out of Jisoo’s extravagant penthouse like he belongs there.

- Jeonghan thought he was special.

That’s another problem.

He was too used to one side of Jisoo. Too used to having Jisoo alone to himself.

Jeonghan wouldn’t let go of taking down Venus Industries. He couldn’t. He’d found their experiments. He’d known what they were doing to children. (Jeonghan hadn’t been a researcher for years at that point, but he’d held the very, very small hand of a child as they faded, chest rattling, and something in him seethed.) Jisoo couldn’t let go either. He’d found out they were the ones who’d been ferrying all kinds of drugs into the city. Jisoo didn’t care about druggies; he only cared that the druggies didn’t care that they were in Jisoo’s neighbourhood, too out of it to be respectful.

Jeonghan forgot.

He forgot that Jisoo didn’t like “civilian” kills. He didn’t even hesitate; the CEO was dead before he finished his shout, throat pierced through with rose thorns. Jeonghan made sure he died nice and slow (just like the little boy whose hand he held).

If only they’d been alone. Jeonghan had stupidly agreed to join Jisoo’s team because all he could see was the small hand in his and the rattling coughs of a dying child. He hadn’t seen Seokmin or Jihoon crashing into each other as they skidded into the room, didn’t see Soonyoung’s delighted grin or the widening of Seungcheol’s eyes.

All he knows is that one moment he was watching the light in the fat pig’s eyes go out and the next, he was thrown against the wall. There was nothing holding him up.

“What are you doing?” Jeonghan had spat, glaring at Jisoo.

Jisoo’s face was blank. “I told you we only needed to kill the researchers.”

Jeonghan struggled uselessly against Jisoo’s mental bonds. Jisoo had never used his powers on him before. The anger in his chest threatened to sputter out, but Jeonghan stubbornly fed it. He couldn’t let himself feel fear.

“And I told you,” Jeonghan gritted out, “that the problem was the pigs at the top.”

Jisoo’s lips thinned.

Jeonghan had never seen that expression on Jisoo’s face. He’s seen a host of other expressions – happiness, arousal, bliss, contentment – but not this one. Because this expression isn’t meant for Jeonghan.

Disappointment wasn’t meant for Jeonghan.

“You disobeyed me.” There was steel in Jisoo’s voice.

Jeonghan, the fool that he was, quirked an eyebrow. “So what?”

- Jeonghan didn’t feel the pain, at first. He’d been in shock at the nothingness on Jisoo’s voice.

No regret.

No pain.

No emotion.

Jeonghan thinks he didn’t feel his broken legs because he was too busy feeling his broken heart. It had hurt, more than the sharp pain of a broken bone, of seeing jagged white stick out of his flesh and through his jeans.

Nothing will ever hurt more than being thrown in a desert.

Discarded, like trash.

Left behind, like a regret.

- Jihoon came back. He’d come back just before Jeonghan was sure he was dying of blood loss. Jihoon, with his deceptively weak stature, carefully cradling Jeonghan against his chest as he looked for a way to get him to Chan.

Jeonghan was grateful – is still grateful – that Jihoon never said anything about the dirty tear tracks on his cheeks.

He’s still amazed, how quickly the flutterings of love can turn to hate. He sees in his mind’s eye, clear as day, Jisoo’s back as he just left. No I’m sorry, no I’ll come back when you’ve learnt your lesson. He’d just walked away like what they had didn’t mean anything. Like Jeonghan didn’t mean anything.

- These days, Jeonghan would sooner spit on Jisoo’s face than kiss it. He feeds his anger carefully, keeps it roaring so it can never go out. He’ll never let himself be brought down that low by anyone ever again.

He’ll never let Jisoo hurt him like that ever again.

(He still remembers the night before Venus Industries, when Jeonghan had stayed awake as Jisoo slept. He’d brushed Jisoo’s hair out of his face; Jisoo didn’t even stir. They’re both dangerous people, but Jisoo has no problem sleeping soundly with him.

- Jeon Wonwoo is a scrawny thing, at first. With large glasses and a larger sweater, he stumbles into Chan’s teashop. The friendly little bell jingles, the tourists who wandered into Chan’s shop turning and eyeing the newcomer disinterestedly before returning to their conversation.

Chan watches the stranger look around his humble tea emporium confusedly, nervously fiddling with his glasses. He’s not classically handsome, Chan thinks, although he supposes there’s something appealing about that sharp jawline and soft sweater.

He plasters on a smile and glides towards the lost mortal, his hanbok sleeves fluttering slightly in an absent wind. “Welcome to Lee’s Tea Emporium,” he chirps. “Table for one?”

The mortal blinks, lips pursing. “I… don’t know how I got here,” he says sheepishly. Too sharp eyes scrutinise Chan suspiciously from behind treated glass.

“That’s normal,” Chan lies smoothly, with another charming smile. “It’s the winding streets. Let me find you a seat with a view.”

This one will be fun to mess with, he thinks to himself, without knowing that he’s completely wrong. Well, Chan’s not really used to having the tables turned on him.

(He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it ever.)

- The mortal finds his way into Chan’s tea shop every day for the next month. He comes in at precisely twelve-eighteen in the afternoon without fail. Chan keeps an eye on the clock, the ticking of the minute hand always corresponding with the welcoming jingle of the bell.

Chan is not intrigued. His interest is barely piqued.

After all, there’s a new villain in town. A villain that’s painted in hues of insanity that call to Chan like a flame to a moth. He’s drawn to the jagged edges of the dumbass carved on the skin of the small-time criminal, the sheer lack of restraint in the way bones in the face were broken.

It’s not love, but it’s something close.

- Seungkwan says this Wonwoo guy is bad news. It’s funny, because Chan has been telling Seungkwan that Hansol is way out of his league, but he never listens either.

Chan isn’t stupid. He doesn’t want to end up with a broken face and shattered pride. He’ll play this strategically.

He hangs out along the edge of Wonwoo’s territory, causing havoc and having fun, trying to draw out the elusive madman. He fucks with the police station a block away, then casts illusions in a park right outside of the new villain’s territory.

It doesn’t take very long.

He’s in the middle of perusing a jewellery store who decided not to fuck with him (or his wolf familiar, Dino) when he feels a menacing presence at the door. Chan doesn’t stop scrutinising a pair of diamond earrings, although he does tilt his body so the newcomer knows he’s been acknowledged.

“You’re in my territory,” a deep voice rumbles. There’s no menace in his voice, but a shiver runs down Chan’s spine anyway.

“Am I?” Chan asks with faux-confusion. He turns towards the stranger fully, eyes trailing over the neat shoes, tailored suit and polished cane. His gaze lingers on the almost-familiar face, jolting when he realises it’s his newest regular.

“So it’s you,” the mortal, Wonwoo, says. There’s not timidity in his gaze, no hesitation as he saunters into the store. “You’re the warlock shop owner.”

“You’re the mousy writer,” Chan retorts, standing his ground. Something in him quivers as Wonwoo strides forward like he belongs here. It’s titillating. It makes him yearn for something that he shouldn’t want.

Wonwoo’s gaze is sharp as he stops a hair’s breadth away from Chan. “That’s not me.”

“No?” Chan raises an eyebrow. “A mask is still a facet of you, even if you don’t realise.”

“Maybe I’m not hiding.”

“Everyone’s always hiding.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow coolly. He plucks the earring out of Chan’s hand casually. Their fingers brush. “And what are you hiding, little warlock?”

The question genuinely stuns Chan.

He doesn’t even notice that Dino has her head bowed, tail between her legs because she’s faced with a predator with sharper teeth and an insatiable thirst for blood – a predator that doesn’t need teeth and claws to tear a man apart.

Chan isn’t scared by that. He’s a man that can command the four elements whenever he can, that regularly plays with the simple minds of mortals any time he pleases.

What can a mortal like Jeon Wonwoo – who has no powers, no way to battle against Chan in a duel and win – do to him?

- Chan is obsessed.

He finds himself scrolling the news for a glimpse of the villainous madman, his gaze following Wonwoo’s civilian persona with an intensity that would scare a regular mortal.

Chan plays with feelings at the drop of a potion, can craft poisons and antidotes from the top of his head. With a wave of his hand, he can bend physics. At the touch of his lips, men and women crumble at his feet.

And yet…

And yet.

His mind is twisted around. Maybe Wonwoo has powers after all.

- It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon. The morning has been unproductive; all Chan can do is stare at the clock, impatiently waiting for twelve-eighteen. Energy thrums under his skin, sparks trailing across his fingers with every task he finishes unsuccessfully.

The moment the jingle sounds, Chan is greeting Wonwoo at the door. He hates with a passion – from Wonwoo’s soft grey cardigan to his round wire-framed glasses, all the way to his soft hair that Chan wants to bury his handsin and ruin.

He grabs the writer by the collar, dragging him into the kitchen and tossing him unceremoniously against the marble counter.

“What have you done to me?” Chan hisses. His hair whips angrily, eyes flashing silver as his frustration culminates in energy that fills the air and makes the air thick.

Wonwoo sheds this false persona he’s sunk deep into, back straightening and eyes darkening.

“I haven’t done anything,” the psychopath says, but he’s lying.

“You did,” Chan snarls, crossing the space between them. He lifts Wonwoo effortlessly, but he’s unfazed. He gazes at Chan like he’s the one in control. Chan wants to break him. “What curse did you put on me?”

The smirk that curls Wonwoo’s lips knows much more than Chan can ever know. “We’re all cursed. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Maybe it’s the world that’s crazy.”

And somehow that makes sense. The world has tilted and turned insane right in front of Chan’s eyes.

“You’ve done something to me,” Chan says.

Wonwoo smile, slow and wicked. “Maybe I have.”

- Chan doesn’t know what love is. He doesn’t.

But he imagines the way Wonwoo’s eyes scorch his skin as they watch him is as close to love as he can get. The desperate way Chan hangs off Wonwoo’s every word, goes from calling him Wonwoo-ssi to Wonwoo hyung to just hyung.

Wonwoo learns the ways Chan plays with mortals, then learns how to play Chan’s body like the well-loved piano in his shitty apartment out in Itaewon. He takes Chan’s hand then breaks him sweet and slow – almost tender enough to make Chan believe there’s something more between them.

Wonwoo fills his every thought, so he doesn’t even hesitate when Wonwoo asks him for a single spell that causes devastation.

Well, not even Jihoon could have predicted that big dog bowling him over honestly.

When he says big dog, he means big. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought it was actually a small horse that pounced on him and slobbered all over his new shirt. (It’s not like he bought the shirt just to impress Seungcheol or whatever – don’t be ridiculous. Lee Jihoon does not have the hots for his boss.)

“Oh my god – I’m so sorry!” the dog owner cries out. Running behind the wolf-dog is a guy that looks like he’s barely out of high school.

He’s half a head shorter than Jihoon, which is why he isn’t surprised she lost control of the beast. At this rate, he’s convinced it’s mostly wolf. His dog’s leash is dangling from his hand, the end of it frayed from where it had given under the veritable strength of the wolf-dog currently sitting on Jihoon’s ribcage.

“It’s fine,” he wants to say.

Instead, all he manages to come up with is a warbled, confused, “Eh?” He sounds vaguely like a beached whale.

“Holy shit,” someone laughs, somewhere above Jihoon’s head. He thinks it might be Jeonghan. Jeonghan, who’s laughing at him a little. Honestly, fuck Jeonghan.

“Dino, down!” the kid cries, physically lifting the wolf-dog off Jihoon’s chest. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, damn.

Finally, Jihoon feels like he can breathe normally, although his head feels fuzzy. The weight lifted off his chest is a relief, but it only brings all his aches and bruises in sharp relief.

“That’s a hell of a dog,” Jihoon croaks, sitting up gingerly.

The kid literally holding the wolfhound from slobbering all over Jihoon grins sheepishly. “She’s usually better behaved, but it’s been a week since I got to walk her…” The kid blinks, holding out a hand to help Jihoon up, because he’s still lying on the pavement like a dumbass. “I’m Chan.”

“Jihoon.” He bites back an amused smile. It’s not every day you meet a guy by having his dog run you over. “After-school walk, huh?”

“School?” Chan lets out a surprised laugh. “I’m thirty-two. I’m way over school.”

Jihoon flushes, trying his best not to sputter as he does a double take. In the loose jeans and hoodie, Chan looks like a regular college student. Maybe Jihoon spends way too much time around kids if he can’t even tell the difference between a teenager and someone who’s only five years younger than him.

He accepts the proffered hand. “You look a lot young – ack!”

Jihoon stumbles forward, almost bodily slamming into Chan as his ankle buckles under him. He’s lucky Chan is a lot stronger than he looks, or he’d be flat on the ground again.

“Are you okay?” Chan asks, lips pursed in worry as he steadies Jihoon.

“I’m…” Jihoon trails off as he gingerly applies weight on his right ankle. He lets out a hiss as pain travels up his leg. “Ah, fuck.”

Dino is an exceptionally good wolf-dog, because she doesn’t go around trying to tackle other unsuspecting characters. She does, however, sniff Jihoon’s ankle and proceed to cover her snout in shame. She even lets out a little whine. Cute little bastard.

“Puppy!” Hansol exclaims.

Jihoon turns and sure enough, there Hansol is, tugging on his dad’s hand impatiently.

And, of course, there Seungcheol is, looking stupidly handsome and – and concerned, in his denim shorts that show off muscled calves and a black t-shirt that clings to Seungcheol’s broad shoulders.

Jihoon definitely does not have a thing for his boss.

“That’s not a puppy. It’s bigger than you,” Mingyu sighs, all sassy and long-suffering at the age of sixteen. He eyes Jihoon critically, melted ice cream making sticky rivulets along his fingers as he holds out his ice cream.

Wonwoo meanders behind, his eyes covered by his expensive sunglasses so Jihoon can’t figure out what he’s thinking.

“Getting friendly with the dog walkers, hyung?” Wonwoo calls out, pulling his shades down low so Jihoon can see the disapproving look he’s shooting him.

“Don’t be rude, brat,” Jihoon retorts, but he feels a telltale heat creeping up his neck. He is inappropriately close to Chan – a literal stranger – but he really doesn’t want to faceplant on the pavement. (Especially not with Seungcheol watching…)

Jihoon turns to Jeonghan, but he has the brim of his cap over his eyes, arms crossed. He looks like he’s napping, which is pretty much the only time he’s not causing trouble. Jihoon could’ve sworn the butler was awake a minute ago, though…

“Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, eyes flickering between Chan and Jihoon.

He has a hand on Jihoon’s elbow, almost possessively. It’s a strange feeling; Jihoon standing in the middle of Hangang Park with a strange man’s arm around his waist and his boss’ possessive hand on his elbow. Maybe he knocked his head on the way down.

“I’m fine,” Jihoon says. Unfortunately, he voids his statement by wincing when he attempts to put weight on his injured ankle.

“I think Jihoon-ssi might have hurt his ankle,” Chan pipes up. “I’d love to bring him to a clinic, but I have an, uh, an appointment to get to.” He shoots Jihoon a warm smile. “I’m really sorry about Dino. She usually only bowls over cute guys.”

Jihoon sputters at that, ears absolutely burning red as Chan winks at him before grabbing Dino by the collar and muscling the giant dog away. Jihoon’s just about to take a step towards that brat and shake his fist at him, but his ankle twitches and all he can manage to say is, “Oh, shit – ”

Before he can eat concrete, there’s a strong arm around his waist and his face is mashed into a broad chest. He swallows down a squeak, hands spread out in front of him so they’re resting on Seungcheol’s stomach.

Seungcheol, damn him, is grinning down at Jihoon with eyes that are honest-to-god sparkling. “Can’t have you falling for me now,” he jokes.

“I would never,” Jihoon sputters indignantly. His fingers curl into the soft fabric of Seungcheol’s shirt. He breathes in deeply (the scent of honey and expensive cologne teases his nose) and lets out a frustrated noise. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“You should kiss him better,” Jeonghan hollers.

Jihoon turns to shoot his friend a dark glare. Jeonghan clearly wasn’t napping; he just wanted to watch Jihoon make a complete and utter fool of himself.

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol says sharply. There’s a pink blush spreading across his cheekbones and he can’t seem to look Jihoon in the eye.

It’s okay, Jihoon tells himself. He shouldn’t want Seungcheol to find him attractive anyway. He definitely does not want Seungcheol to find him attractive. Not even a little bit. (Maybe a little bit – just a smidge!)

“It’s okay,” Jihoon protests, pushing Seungcheol back even thought it’s actually really nice being in his arms. “I can just... hobble over to the first aid centre?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seungcheol sighs, a fond smile playing on his pink lips. “I can walk you there.”

“I’m fine,” Jihoon insists stubbornly. He tries – stupidly – to walk on his bad ankle again and nearly goes down. It’s only Seungcheol’s proximity and Jihoon’s reflexes that saves him from a broken nose.

“Choose. Piggyback or princess carry.”

“Seungcheol-ssi!” Jihoon says hotly. His ears are definitely red. “I’m – that’s not – ”

“Princess carry it is, then.”

Jihoon doesn’t even have the time to kick up a proper protest before he’s swept off his feet. He lets out a yell, throwing his arms around Seungcheol’s neck just so he doesn’t go flying.

Their faces are unbearably close. Jihoon can make out every single individual hair on Seungcheol’s lashes. He’s probably breathing a little heavily onto Seungcheol’s face, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Seungcheol actually has the gall to smirk. Jihoon’s tempted to throw himself into the river just to get away from his infuriatingly handsome boss.

“Well, if I’d known carrying you would make you a lot more agreeable, I’d have done it sooner.”

“If you try this again, I’ll chop you in the neck.”

Seungcheol chuckles, even though Jihoon is a hundred percent serious. As Seungcheol makes his way over to the first aid centre, Jihoon has to admit that the princess carry is a lot more comfortable than the piggyback.

“You’re a lot lighter than you imagined,” Seungcheol comments.

Jihoon shoots him a mulish look. “Are you telling me you think I’m fat?”

“I’m just wondering where you keep all that food you put away,” Seungcheol replies hastily, stumbling over his words a little.

“You’ll never know,” Jihoon sniffs. He definitely doesn’t try and burrow closer. (Savour it while it lasts, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Soonyoung whispers in his mind. It’s still not a crush, though. Nope, definitely not.)

“Dammit!” Jeonghan says five minutes later, covering Hansol’s ears. “I should’ve snapped a picture!”

Wonwoo sighs heavily. “Hyung,” he says gravely, “you’re a dumbass.”

“What did you do this time?” Seungkwan, the home economics teacher, sighs.

Despite Seungkwan being a humanities teacher and Wonwoo being a science teacher, they get along remarkably well. That and the fact that they’re cubicle mates, so it’s much easier if they get along rather than being at each other’s throats. (One such example is Mingyu, the algebra teacher, and Minghao, the Chinese language teacher, who are constantly bickering over the very low cubicle walls.)

“I didn’t do anything,” Wonwoo answers defensively. Being facedown on his desk does lessen the impact of his words somewhat, but that’s just how it is sometimes.

“Is this school-related or love-related?”

“It’s not school-related.”

“Oh.” There’s the sound of a pen scratching against paper for a brief moment. “Yeah, I can’t help you there, hyung.”

Wonwoo moans into the wooden grain of his desk pathetically.

There’s the distant sound of a chair being wheeled over towards him, the wheels squeaking while shoes scuffle against the concrete floors. A finger pokes Wonwoo’s spine, but the physics teacher is too busy throwing himself a self-pity party to see who it is.

“It’s about Junhui hyung again, isn’t it?” Mingyu says knowingly, with a tinge of pity in his voice.

Wonwoo just lets out a plaintive whine.

“Aw, hyung. You poor, unfortunate sap.” A pause, and then: “I have no idea what he sees in you.”

Wonwoo toys with the idea of punching Mingyu in the dick. That would be satisfying. Then again, he doesn’t know what Junhui sees in him either. Is it the glasses? It might be the glasses. Maybe he has a thing for guys in glasses.

Wonwoo sighs, rubbing his forehead absently. “Am I dating Junhui?” he asks aloud.

Seungkwan and Mingyu share a look that speaks volumes. They make faces at each other, having a silent conversation Wonwoo has no hope of ever deciphering.

“Have you kissed?” Seungkwan asks.

Wonwoo shakes his head. He feels a cold sweat starting up at the idea of Junhui’s soft, soft lips on his.

“Have you held hands?” Mingyu adds dubiously.

Wonwoo hesitates, then shakes his head. Sometimes Junhui drags him around by the wrist when he walks too slow, but that’s not really holding hands. His palms are starting to sweat just thinking about twining his fingers with Junhui’s.

Mingyu and Seungkwan share another look. That can’t be good.

Wonwoo makes his way over to Catstronomy after school, even though it’s not a Friday. He finds himself breaking his routines a lot, these days – and it’s all thanks to Junhui.

He doesn’t know when his life got so dull – every day just another shade of grey. Ever since Junhui came sashaying into his life with his black cat ears and easy smile, flirtatious words dripping from his lips effortlessly, there’s more colour in his life. Wonwoo doesn’t feel like he’s just drifting from day to day anymore; Junhui is a splash of colour and a breath of fresh air.

Just be confident, Wonwoo tells himself. He dries his damp palms on his jeans. Jihoon calls out a tired greeting that Wonwoo ignores, eyes set on the caramel-haired waiter that captured his heart from the very first day.

Junhui turns, eyes brightening as his grin widens. “Wonwoo!” he calls out, strides lengthening as he walks towards the physics teacher.

“We need to talk,” Wonwoo breathes out a rush. He holds his breath, biting his lip as Junhui’s steps falter.

“O-oh?” Junhui says. His eyes dart around the fairly empty cafe. “Just – let me get Jisoo hyung to cover the floor for me. I have to go feed the cats too, so head over to the cat pen?”

Wonwoo nods. He shoves his hands into his pockets and wanders over. The cat pen is where most of the cats hang out when they’re not out on the main floor, playing (or bothering) the customers. It’s where most of the cat trees and cat toys are, as well as their food bowls and water fountains. There’s a little door that leads to a small, ventilated room where the litter boxes are, as well as a small gate to keep the cats in during the night.

Wonwoo likes the pen. The cats are the most chill there, comfortable in their safe spot. When Junhui is held back at work before a date, Wonwoo will just hang out here with the cats, where they’re all content to hang out without actually interacting. Junhui jokes that Wonwoo himself has the soul of a cat sometimes.

Junhui looks uncharacteristically nervous as he brings over the large container of cat kibble. He doesn’t really look at Wonwoo, fiddling with the cover on the rectangular container.

“Junnie?” Wonwoo says gently.

Instead of making Junhui smile, the nickname has the waiter’s lips pressing into a thin line. Wonwoo is baffled; it usually never fails to elicit a smile from his kinda-maybe boyfriend.

Junhui clears his throat, frowning down at his feet. “Just – give me a sec. Could you wait outside?”

“Uh. Okay?”

Wonwoo officially has no idea what’s going on. Junhui is cagey, not really looking at him. He’s been acting weird since he walked off to go on his break. Nonetheless, Junhui looks really rattled, so he’ll give him some time to get his thoughts together.

He presses a hand against the gate, but rather than give under his hand, it holds steady. That – that’s not good. Wonwoo gulps, then presses against the gate again, but it refuses to budge. One more shove and he hears the gentle jingle of a lock against the metal.

“What the fuck?” Wonwoo whispers to himself, eyes widening. He turns back to Junhui, who has his shoulders hunched. “Junhui?”

“I told you to wait outside,” Junhui sighs, an uncharacteristic twinge of irritation in his voice.

Wonwoo licks his lips nervously, tamping down the hurt that immediately wells up. “It’s not my fault,” he says immediately, holding up his hands innocently. “The gate is locked!”

“The gate is – what?”

Junhui storms up to the gate, rattling the lock viciously. There’s a hint of desperation as his fingers curl into the metal grates.

“Lee Jihoon,” Junhui barks as the blonde walks past. “Open this damned gate now!”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow, twirling his keyring around his index finger. “No,” he says simply. Wonwoo winces as Junhui lets out an outraged sound. “Talk your shit out with him, Junhui.”

Without further explanation, Jihoon walks off. Wonwoo glances helplessly at the gate.

“Um?” Wonwoo says, for lack of anything to say.

Junhui lets out an irritated breath, throwing his hands up. “Just say it!”

“S-say what?”

There’s a suspicious shine in Junhui’s eyes as he glares at Wonwoo. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says. “That I’m not good enough for you and you’re breaking up with me.”

“I’m – why would I ever say that?”

The incredulity in Wonwoo’s voice takes the wind out of Junhui’s sails. Junhui’s forehead creases, lips pursing as he blinks rapidly.

Wonwoo barks out a short laugh. “Why would I break up with you? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Aw,” Junhui says quietly. He lets a sappy smile loose before scowling. He points an accusatory finger in Wonwoo’s face – Wonwoo actually goes cross-eyes keeping that finger in his sights. “You said we need to talk!”

“Yeah? It’s ‘cause we do.” Suddenly, it dawns on Wonwoo. “Oh. Oh shit. Okay, I can see how that sounds.”

“Damn straight! I thought you figured out you’re way out of my league.”

“I’m out of your league? You’re out of my league! You – you’re – you’re amazing.”

Junhui’s cheeks redden as he sputters. It’s rare that Wonwoo catches Junhui off-guard. “Shut up,” Junhui mutters, but his lips curl into a satisfied smile.

It causes something in Wonwoo’s chest to tighten and he realises just how much he likes Junhui. Just because he doesn’t know what Junhui sees in him doesn’t mean he won’t hold on while he’s still got him.

They must look like idiots, standing in front of a locked gate and grinning at each other. They should probably do something about being stuck, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind standing close enough to Junhui for their shoulders to touch. If Wonwoo moves his pinkie an inch to the right, he could touch Junhui’s pinkie.

“I like you too,” Junhui murmurs eventually. His cheeks are still pink; Wonwoo decides this is one of his favourite looks on Junhui, even as his stomach lurches at the confession.

Wonwoo is not good at relationship stuff. He hasn’t really ever been in a serious relationship – the casual dating he did in college doesn’t really count – but he really wants things with Junhui to work out.

Confidence.

Wonwoo takes a deep breath, then blurts out, “Are we dating?”

Junhui doesn’t even blink. “Yeah, we are,” he says easily, like Wonwoo hasn’t been agonising about this for the past two weeks.

Wonwoo stares. He’s pretty sure his brain just broke down for a moment.

Junhui blinks this time. “Is – are we – I mean, I thought that was obvious. We go on dates and we text all the time and I send you memes.”

“J-just like that?” It wasn’t this easy in Wonwoo’s mind.

“Just like that.” Junhui chuckles warmly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in mirth. “I figured someone as smart as you would’ve figured it out by now. This isn’t exactly rocket science.”

“Rocket science, I get. This – what? Are you telling me I could’ve been kissing you all this time? And – and holding your hand?”

Junhui’s cheeks redden even further. “Do you want to? Be kissing and holding hands and stuff?”

“Fuck yes.”

Wonwoo probably shouldn’t sound so eager, but he’s wanted Junhui’s lips on him since the first time he kissed him on the cheeks. He wants to kiss Junhui and hold his hands and take him out on a million more dates. He wants to be his Valentine and secret Santa and everything in between.

Apparently, that’s all the permission Junhui needs, because he’s leaning forward and pressing his perfect lips to Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo is convinced he’s died and gone to heaven, because he hasn’t screwed up whatever it is between him and Junhui and they’re kissing.

There are fireworks and choirs singing. His hands are in the back pockets of Junhui’s sinfully tight jeans, pulling him closer so they can keep kissing. Junhui’s hands are in Wonwoo’s hair, messing it up and he’s totally okay with that. He can do whatever he wants to Wonwoo’s hair as long as they keep kissing and dating and seeing each other.

“So, uh,” Junhui says, when they finally pull apart, “I guess you’re my boyfriend now.”

Wonwoo makes a happy, delighted sound that sounds like the mating call of a whale.

“Dammit!” a new voice mutters. “I should’ve snapped a picture!”

There’s the muted sound of skin on skin, followed by a pained yelp. Wonwoo and Junhui turn to find Seungcheol and Jihoon on the other side of the gate, sitting at the table closest to the pen. Wonwoo wants to crawl under a rock and die from mortification, but he has a hand in Junhui’s back pocket and Junhui’s arm slung around his shoulders, so maybe it’s not so bad.

Seungkwan has chrysanthemums growing in his lungs, all for Jihoon.

It’s Jihoon – it has to be. Seungkwan has been nursing a crush on Jihoon, since the first day the elder set eyes on him on the streets of Hongdae and said, “You have a voice I’d love to write songs for.”

(Honestly, who even says that to people? Sure, Jihoon has this unnerving ability to be stupidly blunt all the time and have absolutely no shame about the things he says.)

It starts with a crush – a little spark of a crush that started because Jihoon is a songwriter and accidentally says pretty words to unsuspecting men. It’s a spark that bursts into a flame because Jihoon writes pretty songs that match Seungkwan’s pretty voice and Jihoon says cutting words but soothes them with cake and hot chocolate after.

The flame blazes and burns, scorching Seungkwan from the inside out. With every touch and gentle word, with time in the studio where it’s just the two of them and rehearsals where Jihoon’s focus is solely on Seungkwan, he aches and he longs and he loves.

Seungkwan always knew that falling for Jihoon would end in pain. He just didn’t expect it to end in petals filling his lungs.

In a way, it’s poetic; it’s a death that fits the artistry that encompasses every bit of Jihoon’s life. Of course he’d kill Seungkwan with pretty flowers too.

It’s when the white petals join the chrysanthemums that Seungkwan knows he’s well and truly fucked.

It takes him a moment to understand why the white poppy petals (consolation) join the chrysanthemum he’s still coughing out. He’s watching Seungcheol and Jihoon flirt in their unique way – Seungcheol calls Jihoon short and Jihoon calls Seungcheol an idiot, then they exchange secret grins that belie just how much they care about each other.

Seungkwan watches Seungcheol and his heart aches just as another cough wracks his entire body. He coughs out a handful of petals – and the first couple white petals mixed amongst the yellow sends shivers down Seungkwan’s spine.

He spends too long staring at the handful of petals – still a handful, because it’s been three days since the first petal – and jumps when Seungcheol wanders over, concern in his eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” Seungcheol asks.

Seungkwan immediately shoves the petals into his pocket, plastering a smile onto his face. “I’m fine, just a tickle!” He coughs again, a light fake thing to throw him off the scent.

Seungkwan nearly jumps again when Seungcheol leans in close and presses a warm hand to Seungkwan’s forehead. “Hm,” the elder hums, “you don’t feel warm.”

“I’m fine,” Seungkwan croaks, the lie as bitter as the petals are sweet when they rest on his tongue, right before he spews them out.

Falling in love with Seungcheol is like sitting in a pot of cold water being heated over fire. At first, their relationship is strictly employer/employee. Then, Seungkwan stumbles his way into the cafe after a shitty blind date Seokmin forced him on and Seungcheol is there. He’s there, with his warm smile and even warmer hugs. He offers Seungkwan coffee and a listening ear and suddenly, they’re friends.

They’re friends and Seungcheol hangs out with Seungkwan. They text and they have inside jokes. The next thing Seungkwan knows, Seungcheol is always there, with a quick smile and even quicker skinship.

Seungkwan doesn’t notice the water is boiling until he’s in too deep and he’s daydreaming of caramel kisses and quiet I love yous in the back room.

The thing about Jihoon and Seungcheol is that they’re the love story. They’ve known each other since high school and stuck together through college. They even set up a cafe together – Sweet Notes – and anyone with eyes can tell they’re in love with each other (even if they’re both oblivious fools).

There’s no space for Seungkwan between them.

He doesn’t even pretend there is. Seungkwan can’t bring himself to be that delusional. It’ll hurt him more in the end.

Of course, he can get corrective surgery. All it’ll take is one little procedure and the flowers will be gone. He can breathe and he can stop the pain – but it’ll mean he’ll never feel romantic love again. He’ll never feel the flutter of his heartbeat when Jihoon and Seungcheol walk in, the warmth that spread through his body when Jihoon smiles at him and tells him a job well done, the silent joy when Seungcheol wraps an arm around his shoulders.

Seungkwan has a brochure lying on his bed. A little brain surgery and he’ll never have to worry about unrequited love again.

It takes him a week before he throws it into the trash can.

It progresses fast. Too fast.

The body isn’t meant to withstand so much heartache. Unrequited love from one person is already bad enough. Most people can last maybe three months with hanahaki disease.

Seungkwan’s doctor says it’s a miracle if he’ll see the end of the month.

The chrysanthemums and the poppies grow in his lungs, feeding off his misery. It scares him, but he supposes it’s not really all that different from knowing the two men you love will never love you back, all because they’re too wrapped up in each other. Seungkwan can’t even resent them for it, because he’s stupid and in love. At least when he’s gone, they won’t mourn him. They’ll have each other, after all.

Seungkwan leans against the toilet bowl. He reaches up with a shaky hand, flushing the yellow and white petals down. His head hurts, a headache building behind his eyelids. He hasn’t been able to sleep, the coughing keeping him up. He’s stopped cleaning up the petals, the yellow and white scattered amongst his bedsheets. The crushed flower petals lend a sickly, floral scent to his home. He leaves them as a reminder – of his sentimentality, of his stupidity.

He can’t go to rehearsal today. He just can’t.

It takes him twenty minutes to drag himself out of the bathroom. Seungkwan collapses into bed and types a bleary message to… well, he’s not sure who. Probably Seokmin, who’s been nagging him about taking care of himself. Seokmin doesn’t know – no one knows, and he’d like to keep it that way. He hasn’t even told Hansol, who’s his best friend in the whole world.

Maybe he should. The doctor said he might not see the end of the month. He’s already two weeks in. Seungkwan toys with the idea of sending in his resignation and spending the next two weeks getting his affairs in order. He doesn’t have a will written up, but… well. It’s about time he thought about it.

He lets his eyes flutter shut.

The pounding at the door doesn’t wake him. The sudden bout of coughing does. He coughs and coughs, the cloud of petals that emerges enough to almost choke him. He’s drowning in petals and the door opens.

Seungkwan looks up, trying to make out the figure through the film of tears. He tries to cover his mouth, but the petals slip through his fingers, fluttering innocently in front of him. Crimson stains the yellow and white.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan croaks, curling in on himself as Seungcheol watches in horror.

“What the hell is going on here?” Seungcheol demands. He takes a step into Seungkwan’s room – his room with the flowers and the blood and evidence of his own failure.

“Don’t! Don’t come near me!”

“Seungkwan – ”

“Please,” he croaks. Copper and chrysanthemum rests on his tongue. He lets out a rattling breath, curling into a ball. “Please. Don’t come near me. I can’t – ”

“Can – is there anything I can do?” Seungcheol asks, a hint of desperation in his voice. He’s still in the doorway, keeping a respectful distance.

All Seungkwan wants is to burrow himself into Seungcheol’s arms and cry and cry. He wants to let himself be comforted, but Seungcheol’s isn’t his to have and he can’t stop thinking about (wanting) Jihoon too.

“No,” Seungkwan answers, burying his face in his hands so Seungcheol can’t see him cry. “Just – go away.”

“Kwannie – ”

“Go away! I don’t want to see you or – or Jihoon hyung. Get out!”

Those are lies. They tear at his throat and he’s not sure if the pain is from the flowers slowly killing him or the words he’s spitting out. He wants to see them. He wants to tell them the truth – I’m so in love with both of you that it’s literally killing me – just so they can pretend to love him for a little while.

Seungcheol stands in the doorway for a good long while, watching Seungkwan curl into a ball on his petal-covered bed. Then, he walks away. The door shuts behind him quietly and Seungkwan cries and cries.