Work Text:
The first card arrives on Monday, four days before Valentine’s Day.
“What’s this?” Seungcheol says curiously, plucking an unmarked envelope from his inbox, morning coffee in hand. He’s the only person in their department with a physical paper inbox on his desk. He’s traditional like that. Jeonghan doesn’t think he’s ever seen him receive something in it. But today there’s something.
Seungcheol sits down, disappearing from view over Jeonghan’s cubicle wall. There’s the sound of paper tearing. Then silence.
“Yah, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan says after a moment, because it’s 8:07am and he’s already bored with his job, and because he’s nosy. “What is it? A termination notice?”
Jeonghan isn’t expecting it to be anything. He just likes to bother Seungcheol. But then Seungcheol stands up and looks at him over the wall between them. There’s a weird expression on his face, one Jeonghan has never seen before.
Jeonghan frowns. “What was it?”
Seungcheol holds up a card. It’s white and has a big red heart on it. Inside the heart it says, in an awful font, Will You Be My Valentine?
For a split second, Jeonghan’s heart goes dark. Then he comes back to himself. “Who sent you that?”
“I don’t know,” Seungcheol says, but he still has that strange expression on his face. His eyes don’t stray from Jeonghan’s. “There’s no name on it.”
“How do they expect you to agree to be their Valentine if you don’t even know who they are?” Jeonghan says. How stupid. What a stupid person. Obviously, Seungcheol is not going to agree to be their Valentine.
“I don’t know,” Seungcheol says again, slower. He’s still looking at Jeonghan. His gaze is unblinking. “You didn’t see anyone come by?”
No. Jeonghan got here at 8am sharp because he is a perfect employee, and he has not seen anyone else come by because they’re all slackers and get here late. Junhui’s desk is still empty across the aisle. Joshua is here because his work bag is on his chair, but his computer is dark and Jeonghan could hear Seokmin’s voice all the way from the opposite side of the office, so they’re probably, like, making out in his cube instead of working, which still counts as late.
No, Jeonghan hasn’t seen anyone. He shakes his head.
“Well,” Seungcheol says. He lets the word hang for a moment. They look at each other. “Okay,” he says finally, then disappears from view again, and Jeonghan hears the creak of his desk chair before the clicking of his mouse starts.
Jeonghan turns back to his own computer. He stares at his email inbox on his screen, feeling like his ribcage is growing tiny thorns that are beginning to poke into his internal organs.
Jeonghan doesn’t know who sent that card, but he’s going to find out.
-
“Aw, Seungcheol has a secret admirer!”
Seokmin’s voice rings out loudly across the cafeteria as he brandishes Seungcheol’s Valentine for everyone to see. Other employees turn and look over at their table curiously while Seungcheol swats at arm.
“Give me that back!” Seungcheol demands, trying to snatch it. Seokmin holds it out of his reach.
“You should be showing it off,” Soonyoung says to Seungcheol around a large bite of food. He swallows. “Someone likes you. I’d show that off.”
“Of course you would,” says Chan.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Soonyoung says, face turning into a frown. “Maybe I get secret admirer notes all the time.”
“Then why aren’t you showing them off?”
“Hey, focus,” says Seungkwan, snapping his fingers in their faces. “Our task is to figure out who sent this to Seungcheol.” His eyes immediately fix on Jeonghan’s from the other end of the table like he’s a sniper target.
Jeonghan’s hand tightens around his spoon, but he says nothing. Everyone keeps sending him glances and it’s very annoying. He’s just trying to eat his lunch in peace. Unfortunately, this topic of conversation is going to make him lose his appetite.
Seungcheol’s face is pink, and as he tries to snatch the card back from Seokmin, Jeonghan can tell he’s enjoying this. Seungcheol is humble when it comes to his accomplishments, and he can get shy when he’s the center of attention, but he loves to feel special. He gets so whiny if he doesn’t receive all his birthday wishes by exactly 12:01am. Which, Jeonghan would like to point out, is a deadline he’s never missed.
“I’ll ask HR for a list of all employees so we can start narrowing it down,” says Mingyu. He looks excited at the prospect of a new spreadsheet.
“Good idea,” says Chan.
“What clues do we even have to go off of, though?” asks Wonwoo.
Beside him, Joshua starts ticking off his fingers. “This person likes romance, they like pretty cards, they’re playful and mysterious.” He looks at Seungcheol with sly eyes. “They’ve got great taste in men.”
Seungcheol whines, sinking down in his seat. He’s enjoying this so much.
Everyone laughs. Jeonghan tries not to grit his teeth. What does Joshua think he is, a detective? And can everyone stop glancing at Jeonghan?
As if on cue, Seungcheol’s eyes find his.
Jeonghan looks away, down at his unappetizing food. He makes a mental note to go to HR as soon as this lunch break is over and tell them not to send any information to Kim Mingyu. It’s got to be against some sort of policy.
He’d already decided he’d figure this out on his own, anyway. What’s all this spreadsheet nonsense about? The sender is likely one of the middle aged ladies in accounting. Jeonghan sees the way they look at Seungcheol in his button downs, especially on chest days at the gym. He’d hate for Seungcheol to get his hopes up.
Whatever. Jeonghan keeps eating his lunch, even though it’s grown a little tasteless in his mouth. None of this probably even matters.
-
There’s a second card the next day.
It’s cuter than the last one, covered in little hearts with smiley faces, like a troop of heart creatures. It’s insanely cute. It makes Jeonghan furious.
Joshua and Junhui are here this time, actually on time for work, and crowd either side of Seungcheol inside his cubicle so they can get a good look at it.
“It’s so cute,” says Joshua. “And look, they put a little space this time for you to respond.” He holds it up to show Jeonghan, who hovers on the other side of the cubical wall. Will you be my Valentine? Yes __ No__.
It’s nice of them to give Seungcheol the option to say no. They still haven’t even revealed their identity. Why would Seungcheol ever say yes?
“What if I say yes?” Seungcheol says. “Do you think they’d reveal themselves?” He glances at Jeonghan.
“That’s a good idea,” says Joshua, nodding. Jeonghan is going to stab him.
“But what if the sender is, like, a married employee? What if they’re keeping their identity a secret because they don’t want to get caught cheating?” says Junhui. Jeonghan is going to buy him lunch for having a beautiful mind.
Seungcheol looks around at him, eyes wide. “I wouldn’t date someone who’s married.”
“No one said you have to date this person,” says Joshua placatingly. Maybe Jeonghan won’t stab him.
Seungcheol frowns, like that doesn’t quite make sense to him. Jeonghan would give him a lecture on how easily he commits to things, except Seungcheol’s steadfast loyalty is one of his lovelier qualities.
Jeonghan’s thoughts halt when Seungcheol’s eyes look up and find his. “What would you do?” he asks.
What would he do? Jeonghan knows he’d mark yes, just to see what would happen. This doesn’t feel like advice he wants to impart to Seungcheol, however. He shrugs. “Do what you want.”
“But I’m asking what you would do,” Seungcheol says, frowning.
“What does it matter what I would do?” Jeonghan says.
“I’m just asking!”
“He’d mark yes,” Joshua says as Junhui nods. Traitors.
Seungcheol looks at Jeonghan for a long second. Then he grabs a pen and leans down over the card.
“Seungcheol has a Valentine!” Junhui says. He and Joshua do a little cheer.
“I’ll just…leave it here for them, I guess,” Seungcheol says, and puts his card back into his inbox. He looks back up at Jeonghan, like he expects him to say something.
“Congrats,” Jeonghan says through smiling teeth, because he really doesn’t have anything else to say about it.
-
“You know I don’t mind if you sit here all day,” says Seokmin, eyes on his screen as he types out an email, “but my manager keeps glancing over here.”
“Okay,” says Jeonghan. He’s not afraid of Seokmin’s manager. And he’s only been in Seokmin’s cubicle for like, forty five minutes, sitting back on the little couch next to his desk. No one else has a couch in their cube, but Seokmin is the person everyone goes to when they need to cry, so: couch. Jeonghan is not crying, and has in fact never shed a tear in this office, but it is a nice couch.
Seokmin presses send on his email and then turns away from his computer. He faces Jeonghan, giving him his full attention. He says gently, “You can let it out, hyung.”
“I don’t need to let out anything,” Jeonghan says, looking back at Seokmin. “I just like sitting on your couch. My desk chair makes my back hurt.” It really does. It’s fifteen years old and the arms don’t adjust correctly.
Seokmin just looks at him with sympathetic eyes, like that was a soul baring thing to say. Before he can do something like offer Jeonghan advice on back pain or show him how to submit a furniture request, the person Jeonghan has been waiting for finally makes his appearance.
“Oh, hey, Jeonghan,” says Joshua, stopping at the entrance to Seokmin’s cube. He looks between them. “Are you guys in the middle of a session?”
“No,” says Jeonghan. “Can’t I just sit?”
“He’s upset about Seungcheol’s anonymous Valentine,” Seokmin says.
“Hey!” Jeonghan says, looking back at Seokmin. “I didn’t say that.”
Seokmin gives him another one of his sympathetic looks, eyes stupidly soft. Joshua raises his eyebrows.
Jeonghan fixes his eyes on Joshua. “This is all your fault, anyway.”
“My fault?” Joshua says. He walks into the cube and leans against Seokmin’s desk, folding his arms over his perfectly pressed tie. “How is it my fault?”
“You told him to check yes on that card,” says Jeonghan.
“You would have checked yes on that card,” Joshua shoots back.
“That would have been different,” Jeonghan says, and then regrets saying it when Joshua smirks.
Seokmin puts a gentle hand on Jeonghan’s knee. “It’s okay to acknowledge that you’re jealous.”
“I’m not-” Jeonghan starts, even though his chest has spent the entire morning burning in a sickly way. Whatever. He’ll cut to the chase. He fixes his eyes on Joshua again. “Look, I know you’re the one who sent these cards.”
Joshua bursts out in a laugh. “Me? Why would I send it? I’ve already got a Valentine.” He puts his hand on top of Seokmin’s head. Seokmin beams.
“To piss me off,” says Jeonghan. Joshua had looked far too happy this morning.
Joshua doesn’t look impressed at his reasoning. “So you’re saying someone is sending Seungcheol anonymous Valentines to make a point about you, and not the fact that they might just like Seungcheol.”
Joshua can play all the psychological games he wants, but Jeonghan isn’t swayed. He lowers his voice to a hiss. “Everyone in this office knows Seungcheol is mine.”
“Do they?” Joshua asks mildly.
“Yes!” The way everyone has been glancing at Jeonghan since the moment Seungcheol got his first anonymous card makes him want to crawl out of his skin.
“Does Seungcheol know that, though?” asks Seokmin.
Jeonghan looks between them. He narrows his eyes. “The two of you are in on this together.”
Joshua bursts out into another laugh, and this time Seokmin joins him.
“Believe what you want, if it makes you feel better about this,” says Joshua. He reaches forward and pats Jeonghan on the shoulder. “But you know how you could solve this? Ask Seungcheol to be your Valentine.”
Jeonghan grits his teeth. “He already said yes to the card.”
Joshua smiles and tilts his head. “What does it matter, if I was the one who sent it?”
“It’s the fact that Seungcheol said yes to someone else at all,” Seokmin says, sighing.
Jeonghan does not appreciate this. He had only wanted to come here, get the truth out of Joshua, and then go back to his desk and sadly inform Seungcheol that it’s all just a prank by his inconsiderate friends.
Instead, he frowns. “I thought you guys were on my side.”
Joshua’s expression softens. “We are on your side, Han-ah. I entirely expect to be the uncle of the children you have with Seungcheol one day.” Jeonghan feels slightly appeased. Joshua continues. “You just have to do something about it, preferably before anyone else does.”
“Like the person who sent the cards,” says Seokmin. “Which is not Joshua, or me.”
“Hmm,” Jeonghan says. If they say so. He stands up so Seokmin’s manager can stop glancing over here and so Joshua and Seokmin can have the couch to like, make out or whatever. “I’ll think about it.”
-
Jeonghan thinks about it. He’s always thinking about it, is the thing, even before Seungcheol started getting mysterious Valentine cards. Except now it’s getting dire. Joshua’s right. He needs to do something about it.
He sets his alarm and gets to work early the next morning. It’s good to get a head start on the work day. Maybe his boss will be impressed. The trains are a lot emptier at this hour, and the line at the coffee shop is short. Perhaps he should do this every day.
The office is a ghost town when he gets there, mostly empty except for a few overachievers like himself. The motion sensor overhead lights flicker on when he walks into his department’s little square of empty cubicles. There’s a new card in Seungcheol’s inbox.
Jeonghan stares at it. “What the hell.”
Whoever dropped this card off must have done it before they left work the night before. Jeonghan curls his hand into a fist.
Well- whatever. He’s here to be a good employee, first and foremost. If he wasn’t able to catch someone in the act and, possibly, tell them to never go near Seungcheol ever again- oh well. His boss usually gets here an hour late and is unlikely to realize how early Jeonghan got here, but maybe if Jeonghan sends enough emails right now he’ll notice the time stamps.
Jeonghan sits down in his chair. Lets his fist uncurl.
As he turns on his computer, it occurs to him that there’s a paper shredder in the copy room right down the hall. He opens his email and assesses his inbox. He can practically feel the card’s presence through the thin cubicle wall. He starts shooting off emails with his boss CC’d. Is it illegal to open mail from another person’s work inbox? He starts to respond to a coworker asking for a file. Whatever, it has to be Joshua-
“Jeonghan?”
Jeonghan jumps so hard he accidentally hits send on his email before he could add the attachment. Fuck. He looks up.
It’s Seungcheol. He stands in the little pathway outside his cubicle.
Jeonghan freezes.
“What are you doing here?” Seungcheol asks. Under his unzipped winter jacket, he’s wearing a dress shirt that hugs his chest perfectly, not too tight but definitely not too loose. It isn’t doing Jeonghan’s sleep-deprived brain any favors. His work bag is hanging off his shoulder and he’s got a coffee in his hand. He’s staring at Jeonghan.
Jeonghan’s mind quickly recalibrates. “I’m working.”
Seungcheol keeps staring. It’s that same weird look as yesterday. “This early?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie. He’s sending emails. He looks back at Seungcheol. “What are you doing here?”
A beat passes before Seungcheol answers. “Working.”
Okay. “This early?”
“Yes.”
They stare at each other. Jeonghan knows that Seungcheol can see the card in his inbox from there.
Seungcheol keeps looking at him as he walks to his own cubicle. He breaks eye contact when he looks down at his inbox. “I have another card,” he says.
He knows Seungcheol has a card. Seungcheol knows Jeonghan knows he has a card. Jeonghan knows they both know what this looks like.
And really, what’s stopping Jeonghan from saying he put it there? Aside from the fact that someone else’s name is possibly in there. Maybe Jeonghan can grab it from him really quick and rip it up. Seungcheol wouldn’t be expecting that.
Jeonghan doesn’t do either of these things. Though it would be a great utilization of the award he won for being the office’s best liar at the end of year office party two months ago.
“Congratulations,” is all he says. He resumes typing.
It’s quiet for a moment, and Jeonghan still doesn’t hear the sound of an envelope being torn open. Seungcheol still stands there, looking at him. “Jeonghan-ah,” he says. “You…are you really not going to…”
Jeonghan stops typing and looks up at him from his side of the cube wall. “You should just open it.” He’s aware that he’s not saying I didn’t put it there, but this is really the best he can do.
Seungcheol huffs, then he disappears from view as he sits down. Jeonghan hears paper tearing, then silence. It’s quiet for a long time. Jeonghan kind of can’t stand it.
Finally, just when Jeonghan doesn’t think he can stand it any longer, Seungcheol stands up. His eyebrows are downturned. “Jeonghan,” he says. His voice is a little demanding as he asks, point blank, “Did you put this here?”
Jeonghan looks back at him, ignoring the way that voice makes Jeonghan feel, especially when Seungcheol is in a fitted dress shirt. Jeonghan tilts his head, eyes only on Seungcheol’s face. “There’s no name in it?”
“No,” says Seungcheol. He’s frowning. “You really- you didn’t make this?”
Seungcheol holds out the card. On it, there’s a photo of Seungcheol and his dog, Kkuma. Jeonghan recognizes it as a photo Seungcheol posted on his instagram a few months ago.
The background of the park has been edited out and replaced with a pink gradient. Mini Kkumas float around their heads, along with hair bows and hearts and cupids and little angel wings. To be fair, it does look like something Jeonghan would have made. Annoyingly so.
Jeonghan locks his jaw. He shakes his head.
Seungcheol’s face turns annoyed. “Really, Jeonghan? You’re the only person here.”
Jeonghan looks back at his screen. His hands are unmoving over his keyboard. “That doesn’t mean I was giving out Valentine cards.”
“You never get here this early.”
Honestly, it would be more embarrassing to say he’d gotten here early because he was hoping to catch the Valentine culprit. So he says nothing.
Seungcheol stares at him with irritated, narrowed eyes until Jeonghan’s silence lasts so long they begin to melt back to their normal shape. They flicker between Jeonghan’s eyes. “You really didn’t?”
The thing about Seungcheol’s face is that it really doesn’t have any ability to hide what he’s feeling. And Jeonghan feels a ping of- something, guilt, or maybe hope, because he thinks Seungcheol’s face looks disappointed.
Jeonghan moves his hands away from his keyboard. He probably shouldn’t say what he wants to say next, but he can’t help it. He asks his question carefully, leveling his gaze with Seungcheol’s. “Do you want me to have put it there?”
Seungcheol’s face immediately flushes. “That’s not- I didn’t- I just want to know if you did!” He tosses the card down on his desk. “It looks like a prank, anyway.”
Jeonghan latches on to that. It does look like a prank. He said as much to Joshua and Seokmin yesterday. And if it is, then no one is going after Seungcheol for real. “It does.”
He doesn’t expect the way Seungcheol’s face falls.
“Whatever, Jeonghan,” he mutters and sits down, disappearing from view. It’s too late that Jeonghan realizes that it’s insulting to call someone’s Valentine cards a prank. But what else was he supposed to say? That card is ridiculous.
They work in silence for the rest of the morning.
-
Wonwoo is always wearing these big gaming headphones in the office, even though he swears he never plays games here. To be fair, every time Jeonghan has snuck up on him he’s never actually seen him playing one, so maybe Wonwoo really is telling the truth.
Today he’s working on something in Photoshop, designing a banner for their company website or some such thing, which is what Jeonghan is here to talk about, anyway. Photoshop, not the website banner.
“Wonwoo-yahhh,” he says, even though Wonwoo can’t hear him with his giant headphones. He drapes himself over Wonwoo’s keyboard. That does the trick.
The way Wonwoo startles is a bit like a cat. He jumps quietly, then freezes once he realizes Jeonghan is so close.
Jeonghan reaches up and lifts one side of Wonwoo's headphones off of his ear. “I need information.”
Wonwoo pushes him off of his keyboard, then saves the file he was working on. He looks back at Jeonghan and moves his headphones to hang around his neck. “What information?”
Wonwoo probably would have been great at, like, being in the mob, or in a secret intelligence agency. He definitely could weaponize his handsome face. It’s a shame he settled for graphic design. His artistic soul won out.
Jeonghan leans against his desk. “I’m sure you heard Seungcheol got another Valentine card today.”
Wonwoo nods. “I think the entire office knows.”
Word spread fast once Seungcheol showed Joshua and Junhui his new card this morning, covered in all the Kkumas. There was no reason Joshua had to say, “Wow, another Valentine card, Seungcheol?” loudly enough to carry to the opposite end of the floor, but he did. After three days of this, people are becoming invested. It’s annoying and stupid.
Jeonghan nods. Then he sighs. “Wonwoo-yah,” he says again. “Who told you to make that card?”
Wonwoo blinks. A hint of confusion. “I didn’t make that card.”
Jeonghan isn’t fooled. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me.”
Wonwoo frowns. “I didn’t make it, though?”
Jeonghan pulls his hand back and crosses his arms. “You’re a graphic designer. You know Photoshop and you got that photo from Seungcheol’s instagram.”
“That was definitely something that could be made on Microsoft Paint.”
“Fine. You know Microsoft Paint and you got that photo from Seungcheol’s Instagram. You know how much he loves Kkuma.” Jeonghan points at him. “All signs point to you, Wonungi.”
Wonwoo bats his finger away. “Anyone can find Seungcheol’s Instagram. And he’s always talking about Kkuma and showing people pictures of her. Everyone knows how much he loves her.”
That’s true. Jeonghan has met her a few times, and she’s a spoiled brat. In a way, he can understand why Seungcheol’s doting personality would be enamored with a creature like that. But that’s not the point here.
“That’s a lot of work for a stranger,” Jeonghan says.
“That’s a lot of work for me,” says Wonwoo. He sits back in his chair. “Are you sure you didn’t make that card?”
“I don’t know how to use Microsoft Paint.” That’s a lie.
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Well, why would I send a Valentine to Seungcheol?”
Jeonghan tilts his head. “Are you implying you’re more likely to be found making Valentines for Chan?”
Finally, a crack in Wonwoo’s facade. His cheeks reveal the barest hint of pink under his glasses. “What? That’s not what I said at all. I’m not making Valentines for anyone!”
“Hmm,” Jeonghan says. He saw the fancy birthday card Wonwoo gave Chan yesterday when they’d surprised him with cake, but he decides not to comment on that. Instead, he shrugs. “Well, I didn’t say the card was from you. I asked who told you to make it.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes a second time. “I’m not making cards at all. As a favor or as a gift. I have a job, you know, that I get paid for? And it’s busy.”
Jeonghan looks at him for a long moment. “I know you play games in here when no one’s looking.”
Wonwoo’s face returns back to neutral far too quickly. Maybe he wouldn’t be a good choice for secret intelligence after all.
Jeonghan pushes himself up from the desk, then ruffles Wonwoo’s hair. “I’ll let you get back to your busy job, then, Wonwoo-yah. I’m sure your benefactor paid you well to keep your mouth shut.”
“What?” says Wonwoo as Jeonghan starts walking away. “I didn’t get paid at all!”
-
Newly irritated, Jeonghan is settling back at his desk when he sees an email notification come in on his computer screen. Mingyu has invited him to a meeting. Jeonghan never has meetings with Mingyu. Their departments don’t overlap. He doesn’t bother looking at the subject of the meeting before declining the invitation.
Not even a minute later another invitation comes in. This time, in capital letters that are too obnoxious to miss: MEETING TO DISCUSS NEW EVIDENCE IN SEUNGCHEOL’S VALENTINE CASE.
What is this, a police precinct? Jeonghan declines the invitation again.
His desk phone starts ringing.
“Hyung,” Mingyu’s voice comes from the other side, whiny. “Accept my meeting.”
“I don’t do meetings,” Jeonghan says. He doesn’t, they’re a waste of time. Seungcheol always ends up sending him the minutes.
“This is important,” Mingyu says. Jeonghan can hear him pouting.
“I don’t see what it has to do with me,” says Jeonghan, sniffing a little as he clicks around his screen.
“You’re smart, hyung,” says Mingyu. “You’re good at figuring things out.” He’s buttering Jeonghan up. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything. A long silence stretches between them. A full minute has nearly passed when finally Mingyu cracks, whining full force. “And I spent a lot of time on this presentation and need people to show it to!”
Jeonghan sighs. “Your talents are so wasted, Mingyu-yah.” He hangs up and finds the email to re-accept the meeting.
An hour later, he walks into the meeting twelve minutes late. Mingyu welcomes him with a scathing frown, but Jeonghan can’t help it if he has a busy job.
And maybe Jeonghan kind of really doesn’t want to be here. He realizes exactly how much he doesn’t want to be here when he sees the only open chair left is next to Seungcheol, because of course it is. Seungcheol hasn’t spoken to him all morning, not since Jeonghan agreed that his Valentine cards could be a prank. Which he still stands by. So he doesn’t really feel like sitting here and entertaining other possibilities, because they’re going to be stupid and useless. But Jeonghan has to, or else Mingyu will pout at him for the rest of his life, and that also sounds exhausting.
“Now that we’re all here,” Mingyu says, standing next to the screen at the head of the room, “I think we can get started.” Seungkwan stands next to him with a clicker. He clicks it, and a slide with a graph appears.
“We have narrowed down the people in this company to those who have access to Seungcheol’s instagram,” Seungkwan says, pointing to the tallest bar on the graph. “And to those with Photoshop skills.” He points to another, smaller bar. “And finally, to the people who have both.” He points to the third, smallest bar.
Junhui immediately raises his hand. “How did you gather these approximate numbers?”
“Good question,” Mingyu smiles. “Well, Seungkwan knows everyone in the company personally.”
Jeonghan is well aware that Seungkwan does know every single person in this company personally, well enough that he’d know each of their Instagram habits and what kind of art skills they have. Mingyu, too, is a social butterfly, and both of them together have likely amassed extremely accurate information.
All useless, of course. Jeonghan can feel a headache forming behind his temple from waking up so early today.
“And there’s one last category,” Seungkwan continues. He clicks. “People who want to date Choi Seungcheol.” A fourth bar appears, and it’s suddenly taller than the rest, breaking the pattern in a way that makes Jeonghan’s headache worse.
“Ah,” Soonyoung nods, like this all makes sense. “Everyone.”
Seungcheol makes a small noise in his throat like he’s embarrassed, but also, perhaps, like he’s pleased. Because of course he’d be pleased that everyone likes him. Seungcheol is like that, he likes being adored. It helps that he is very easy to adore. The thorns in Jeonghan’s chest begin to emerge again, poking through tender flesh.
Everyone, though? Please. They don’t know anything. No one in this company knows what it’s really like to want to date Seungcheol.
They don’t know what it’s like to sit in a cubicle next to him day and day out. They don’t have to hear him talk in his commanding, professional voice on the phone. They don’t see him help anyone who asks. They don’t know what it’s like to have to endure how every haircut looks stupidly good on him, and how his biceps seem to never stop growing underneath his office shirts. They don’t appreciate the wide concern of his eyes on bad work days. They don’t hear the way Seungcheol laughs at the things Jeonghan says to him over their wall, the sound of it.
No, absolutely not. Everyone doesn’t know what it's like to really want to date Seungcheol, not the way Jeonghan does.
“Jeonghan?”
Seungkwan’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He’s raising an eyebrow at Jeonghan. “You look like you have something to say.”
Jeonghan flattens his expression, sweeping his thoughts away. Whatever. Meetings are a waste of his time. His temple throbs. He shakes his head.
“Are you sure?” says Seungkwan.
Jeonghan nods. Seungcheol is very still beside him.
Seungkwan walks along the front of the room. “We’ll keep moving, then. From this information, Mingyu and I deduced that some of us might fall into all four of these categories.” He turns around and clicks at the screen. A new slide appears, showing all of their faces. Seungcheol makes another noise, perhaps a little less pleased.
“Wait!” says Seokmin. He holds his right hand up into the air. It’s firmly grasping Joshua’s. Seokmin has gotten very good at doing things left-handed. “I already have a Valentine.”
“Same,” says Joshua.
“We thought so,” says Mingyu. Seungkwan clicks again and their two faces disappear.
Soonyoung raises his hand. “I don’t have access to Seungcheol’s instagram.” He turns around in his chair and gives Seungcheol sad eyes. “Please will you unblock me? I’ll stop sending you reels.”
“Yeah, he sends them all to me now,” says Jihoon.
“Why don’t you block him too, then?” asks Chan.
“Jihoon likes my reels!”
“I’m not unblocking you,” says Seungcheol.
Seungkwan nods, and clicks, and Soonyoung’s face disappears as well.
Denials fly around the room, reasons why none of them could possibly be sending Seungcheol Valentine cards. Faces disappear off the screen, and Jeonghan keeps his expression cool, neutral, even as he realizes where this is heading.
“It wasn’t me,” says Wonwoo, providing no further evidence despite being the company’s head graphic designer. Seungkwan clicks his face off the screen, and then there is one picture left.
“Well,” says Mingyu, as he and Seungkwan simultaneously cross their arms. “I see we’ve come to a conclusion.”
Jeonghan doesn’t need extensive analytic training to know that this synthesis of information has more than one major flaw, especially the fact that they immediately narrowed their company-wide chart down to the twelve of them in this room. Of course Chan doesn’t know Photoshop.
Now, somehow, exactly one face remains on the screen.
Seungcheol shifts awkwardly beside him. He glances around at the room. “Um, did you guys rehearse this?”
“We didn’t, actually.” Mingyu looks at Seungkwan, like he's even surprised. “Seungkwan really just knows you guys that well.”
Unfortunately, Jeonghan does believe that Seungkwan knows them all well enough that he could predict how that would play out, down to the order of their denials. For a short moment, Jeonghan considers going along with it. Maybe, in a way, he should be touched that his friends are rooting for him. Maybe he should be touched that they’re giving him a helping hand. He did tell Joshua and Seokmin just yesterday that everyone in the office knows Seungcheol is his. He was right.
There is, unfortunately, the small matter that all of this was orchestrated entirely outside of Jeonghan’s own control, and that does leave his skin itching in an unbearable way, inside and out. He was right, everyone in this office does know Seungcheol is his, but they didn’t have his permission to take it into their own hands.
And so, head pulsing, Jeonghan raises his hand. He doesn’t wait for Mingyu to call on him. “I already told Seungcheol it wasn’t me.”
Seungkwan’s face falls. Something he didn’t predict. “No, you didn’t.”
Soonyoung turns around in his chair again. “You won the award for being the office’s best liar!”
Yeah, because he’s good at haggling with clients and making excuses to get out of meetings. Not because he wants to mess around with Seungcheol. Well, not like this. Jeonghan crosses his arms. “Being a good liar means you have to tell the truth sometimes,” he says. Soonyoung huffs.
“Jeonghan doesn’t matter,” Seungcheol says dismissively. He’s not looking at Jeonghan, and Jeonghan isn’t looking at Seungcheol, but the words do find their way through the thorny ribcage in Jeonghan’s chest and hit him a little squarely in the heart.
The mood of the whole meeting is effectively dampened. Well, so much for achieving anything. Maybe they should consider any of the other five hundred employees, because Jeonghan doesn't matter. And he shouldn’t, because he didn’t send those cards.
Jeonghan’s ears go a little staticky the rest of the meeting, so he comprehends nothing of what they try to discuss next, but it doesn’t last long anyway. When Mingyu dismisses them all, Jeonghan slips out of the room first.
The rest of the day passes in a slow haze. He got up way too early this morning, and now he’s all foggy and unfocused. His headache only gets progressively worse, and he doesn’t think about how Seungcheol might normally notice how quiet he’s being and dig up some painkillers to pass over the wall between them. Jeonghan knows he always goes to Minghao for them, because Minghao is prepared for any minor ailment that could take place in an office. Jeonghan could easily go to Minghao himself. He doesn’t.
By the time the end of the day rolls around, Jeonghan’s headache is so sharp he feels vaguely nauseous. He thinks he’s allowed to leave ten minutes early, considering he was here so early this morning. And despite everything, he did manage to get a lot done today. More than normal! He should get a raise!
Seungcheol looks up at him from his computer as Jeonghan quietly slips out of his cubicle.
The thing is, Jeonghan didn’t do anything. He really, truly didn’t do anything. And yet Seungcheol’s got those disappointed eyes on his face, stupidly big. Jeonghan kind of can’t bear it.
“Night, Seungcheollie,” he says, because despite everything, he really doesn’t like things feeling so badly between them.
“Goodnight, Jeonghan-ah,” Seungcheol responds softly, voice gentle in a way that doesn’t hurt Jeonghan’s throbbing head.
-
Jeonghan feels much better the next morning, head cleared from all aches after sleeping for eleven hours straight. It’s a stark reminder that he is, in fact, dangling from a cliff’s edge over his thirties. He lets his aging body stay in bed as long as he possibly can without missing the latest train he can catch without being disastrously late for work. If he happens to miss Seungcheol discovering another card in his inbox, so be it. At least then Seungcheol will know it really wasn’t him leaving them there.
The thought, unfortunately, does not comfort him, and instead leaves his stomach feeling sour the entire way to work. Maybe he isn’t as cleared of all ailments as he thought he was. Waking up early really is terrible for you. He doesn’t have time to stop and grab a coffee, but he does anyway. It doesn’t help his stomach at all, but whatever. He walks into the office forty five minutes later than he would normally. No one seems to care, which is eye-opening about work hour constructs, to say the least.
Joshua, of course, does comment on it. “Decide to sleep in today?” he says as Jeonghan arrives at his cubicle.
“Yes,” Jeonghan says, ever truthful. He doesn’t even glance in the vicinity of Seungcheol’s inbox or his entire desk area before he sits down in his own chair and turns on his computer.
No one says anything about any Valentines, which is good. All Jeonghan wants is to work in peace, anyway. His stomach feels kind of worse now, but that probably has to do with his habit of only drinking coffee and skipping breakfast. Some mornings Seungcheol will bring him an extra muffin or a protein bar if he thinks Jeonghan’s looking pale. Jeonghan doesn’t expect that today. And no, he really doesn’t need to know what Seungcheol received in his inbox today.
He’s nearly cleared his email — why do so many emails come in overnight? Can’t people learn to relax? — when Seungcheol stands up from his chair. Jeonghan glances up without moving his head, but Seungcheol doesn’t look at him as he leaves his cube and starts heading in the direction of the bathrooms.
Jeonghan sends off another email.
“You know, I’m really impressed with your self control this morning,” comes Joshua’s voice.
“I’d be impressed with yours if you had waited more than two seconds to say that,” Jeonghan says back.
Joshua just hums. Jeonghan doesn’t feel like giving in and turning around — Joshua is right, his self control has been impressive this morning — but he can feel two pairs of eyes boring into his back. His skin prickles with annoyance. He was already not in the mood today, and his stomach still hurts.
Taking his time, he downs the last of his coffee and then finally swivels around in his chair.
“Can I help you?” Jeonghan asks Joshua and Junhui, neither of whom pretend they weren’t watching him from their cubicles.
Joshua shrugs. “Not really,” he says. Junhui smiles.
“Great,” says Jeonghan, and then swivels back around.
Seungcheol comes back from the bathroom, which is good because it makes Joshua and Junhui stop annoying him. It’s also bad, because Jeonghan’s body starts doing that thing it does sometimes, where it starts becoming hyper-aware of Seungcheol’s presence on the other side of the thin wall. Too much caffeine, probably.
A private message pops up on his computer in the work chat. It’s from Joshua.
He didn’t get any Valentines this morning, in case you were wondering.
;)
-
The day feels marginally brighter after that.
The only downside is that Seungcheol clearly feels down about not getting any cards, and he still won’t look at Jeonghan. For all that he said Jeonghan didn’t matter, his silence feels very pointed. And much like the day before, Jeonghan is aware of what this looks like. He left the office before Seungcheol last night, and then arrived after- and there’s no Valentine. Of course, this does only feed Mingyu and Seungkwan’s ‘investigation.’ But whatever. Maybe Jeonghan should make use of his prime suspect status.
Seungcheol wants a Valentine, that much is obvious. Jeonghan decides that it’s time to take back control.
“Where are you going?” Seungcheol asks at lunch time, apparently breaking the silent treatment he’s imposed on Jeonghan. They’re all standing up to head down to the cafeteria, and Jeonghan is putting his coat on to head outside.
“Nowhere,” Jeonghan says, then cuts his eyes away from him. “I mean, I have to grab some things from the store.”
Normally, Jeonghan doesn’t go out on his lunch breaks by himself. In fact, he’ll usually go down the line of his coworker and make one or several of them come with him. Most often, this line starts with Seungcheol.
But he can’t ask Seungcheol to come with him today. Just the fact that Seungcheol is acknowledging this right now is making his stomach feel like it’s suddenly full of little spiders, crawling along his nerves. Seungcheol frowns when Jeonghan doesn’t extend his usual invitation- Seungcheollieee, I don’t want cafeteria food, let’s go to the convenience store. But for Seungcheol to start acting like they know each other again so quickly was not part of his plan.
Jeonghan slips out alone.
The thing is, Jeonghan likes romance. He enjoys silly romantic dramas and sweet, lighthearted movies. He likes physical affection. He likes fancy dinners and lavish gifts. A part of Seungcheol’s appeal to Jeonghan as a person is that he has a good sense for romance. It’s obvious in his big, emotional eyes. He doesn't hide what he feels for people, and to be the object of that kind of affection from him? Jeonghan’s entire body tingles just considering it. It’s embarrassing.
And therein lies the problem with Jeonghan’s own sense for romance. He wants it, but to actually put his own feelings into words, into something tangible, for someone else to perceive? To acknowledge them in front of himself is difficult enough. To reveal them to Seungcheol? The spiders in his stomach morph into bees, knocking around the inside of his skin and buzzing in his ears.
And so he stands in the middle of a 7-Eleven holding one of those boxes of candy conversation hearts and wondering if a corn dog wrapped in a napkin will do. Twenty minutes pass. He buys both, and eats the corn dog on his way back to the office because he forgot that he also needed to eat lunch. He gets back to his desk and draws up a handwritten ticket for a ‘free billiards game’ to use for any occasion of Seungcheol’s choosing.
As if Jeonghan doesn’t already agree to play billiards whenever Seungcheol asks. He groans and puts his face in his hands. At this point, Jeonghan wouldn’t be surprised if Seungcheol did prefer whoever has been leaving Valentines in his inbox. It’s not Jeonghan’s fault, though. If he had more time-
“Something wrong, hyung?”
Jeonghan jumps, swiping his hard over the ticket and quickly making sure he left that box of candy hearts in his bag. He looks up to find Chan looking at him, concern in his eyes.
“Oh, hi, Channie,” Jeonghan says. He sits up straight in his chair. “No, nothing’s wrong. This is just how it is, working every day.”
“Ahh,” says Chan, nodding. Jeonghan likes how Chan always makes the things he says feel like wisdom. To him, it probably is, because even though he turned twenty six two days ago, he’s still just a baby. Jeonghan needs to warn him to get out while he still can.
“You should get out of here while you still can,” Jeonghan says, though as he says it he realizes he only half means it, because he does like having Chan around.
Chan laughs. “Okay, hyung.” He smiles. “Well, I should get back to my desk.”
“Okay, Channie,” Jeonghan says. “Don’t work too hard, it’s still your birthday!”
Chan laughs again. “I won’t, hyung.”
Jeonghan watches him disappear through the cube farm back to his own desk. His desk, that’s on the other side of the office floor. His desk that doesn’t require this out-of-the-way detour.
Before Jeonghan can do anything, there are more footsteps from behind him.
“Seungcheol,” says Junhui’s voice. “Look!”
Jeonghan’s hand curls into a fist and crumples his dumb billiards ticket.
-
It’s another card, because of course it is.
“Did you see anyone come through here, Jeonghan?” Joshua asks him as Seungcheol stares. Jeonghan decidedly avoids his gaze and stares at Joshua instead.
“Yes,” he says, because why lie? “Chan did.”
Seungcheol’s face turns horrified. “Chan? You think Chan put this here?”
“I just said I saw him come through,” Jeonghan says, shrugging, somewhat gratified at that reaction.
“Chan’s a kid!” says Seungcheol.
“He just turned twenty six,” says Junhui.
“You could open it and see what it says,” says Joshua.
Seungcheol does. Jeonghan waits, body still, but he doesn’t expect there to be a name in it anymore. And there isn’t, but there is a poem. A love poem.
“Oh,” says Seungcheol. “This is…”
His eyes flicker up, over the wall, at Jeonghan, like he expects Jeonghan to know what the poem says. He doesn’t. The poem could be awful. It could be a masterpiece. Jeonghan doesn’t know. Jeonghan doesn’t write poetry. He has candy hearts he hoped would speak for him hidden in his bag.
Junhui looks over Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Chan wrote this? Wow.”
So it’s a good poem, and Chan definitely did not write it. Seungcheol looks back down at the card, eyes making their way down the page. He reaches the bottom and freezes.
“Look, they want to meet tomorrow!” Junhui speaks before Seungcheol can.
“They're going to reveal themselves?” says Joshua.
“Looks like it,” Seungcheol says, slowly.
He looks back up at Jeonghan, and Jeonghan feels suddenly, inexplicably, annoyed. At all of this, and at the fact that Seungcheol keeps looking at him like he’s guilty of something when he said yesterday that Jeonghan doesn’t even matter.
“The love I feel is always growing / Reaching into the sky like a tree / Let’s meet tomorrow / at 3pm in Conference Room B,” Junhui reads out loud. He sighs. “How lovely.”
Jeonghan is going to retch.
“You’re going to meet them, right?” asks Joshua.
“I mean, yeah,” says Seungcheol. He finally looks away from Jeonghan. “Why not?”
-
The news of an identity reveal spreads through their friends like wildfire. Mingyu sets up another emergency meeting to analyze the poem. Jeonghan stays declined this time.
-
Jeonghan heads to the elevator that evening at exactly 5:03, more than ready to go home after another long day. He passes two women talking at the electric water dispenser near the bathrooms and catches, “Choi Seungcheol has a date with his admirer tomorrow, who do you think it is?” Jeonghan thinks he should probably congratulate Seungcheol on single handedly reviving gossip breaks at the water cooler. He doesn’t bother correcting them that it’s not a date.
He arrives at the elevator at the exact same time as one Lee Jihoon.
“Hey, Jeonghan,” says Jihoon. He’s in a nice suit jacket, hardly a hair out of place after nine hours in this place. “How are you?”
“Mm, you know,” Jeonghan says as the elevator dings and the doors open. He doesn’t expound on that as they both step inside. “What about you, Jihoon-ah? Stuck in the trenches of copywriting?”
Jihoon shrugs. “I always am.”
“And what about your other writing?” Jeonghan asks him, watching the floor numbers change as the elevator starts to descend. “Your personal things. You only ever shared it with me that once! I told you it was so pretty, why won’t you share more?”
Jihoon looks taken aback. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”
Honestly, Jeonghan does take minor offense at that. Writing is important to Jihoon. Jeonghan cares. “You should show me more,” he says again. He means that. But also, “I read a poem today and it reminded me of you.”
Jihoon’s surprise neutralizes itself on his face.“Yeah?”
“Hm,” Jeonghan nods. “I’m sure you heard about it. The poem in Seungcheol’s Valentine.”
“I think everybody heard about it.”
He’s exactly the same as Wonwoo. There’s no getting through to these creative types. The elevator reaches the lobby floor and the doors ding open again. Jeonghan sighs. “You think I could forget your writing style? Jihoon-ah, I know you wrote it.”
“I mean, you can try to flatter me like that, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in this office that actually writes poetry,” says Jihoon.
“Hey! I really do remember your poetry,” Jeonghan says. He does! The process of elimination just didn’t hurt, either. They’re nearly to the doors so he cuts to the chase. “Now tell me who’s going to meet Seungcheol tomorrow.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes. They make it to the big glass doors leading outside. There’s still daylight, the sky fading into a cool, soft purple above the city buildings. Jihoon stops and fixes his eyes squarely on Jeonghan’s. “Don’t be dumb, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan opens his mouth, but he’s unprepared for the way the bluntness of Jihoon’s words land on him.
It’s softened by Jihoon reaching over and giving his shoulder a singular pat. Then he’s out the doors and into the evening. Jeonghan doesn't bother trying to get more out of him.
-
Valentine’s Day dawns particularly sunny and freezing
Jeonghan enters the building shivering and exhausted. He stayed up too late the night before turning this all over in his mind. Trying to put together a plan, wondering what would happen if he let this whole anonymous card plot just play out, considering going to the convenience store again to see what else he could find to give Seungcheol.
Don’t be dumb, Jeonghan.
He’s not dumb, is the thing.
The solution is obvious. It’s always been obvious, way before any of this anonymous card stuff ever happened. It’s been obvious since the day Seungcheol first laughed at an offhand comment Jeonghan made about Seungcheol being the luckiest new guy in the office to get a cube next to him, and Jeonghan felt a little zing of feeling enter his heart and not go away.
Jeonghan isn’t dumb.
It’s an annoyingly busy Friday. It shouldn’t be, because it’s Friday, and it’s a holiday and they should, like, have the day off because of love and whatever. But it’s busy and the morning is full of meetings because they had a sudden recall of one of their products. There are even more phone calls and emails than usual, and so now Jeonghan feels exhausted and stretched thin, and with each passing hour Seungcheol’s meeting looms ever-closer in the back of his mind.
Seungcheol disappears at lunch time and no one seems to know where he’s gone. Jeonghan grinds his teeth.
“Maybe he went to go get a box of chocolates to give to his secret admirer when they meet,” says Soonyoung, wagging his eyebrows. Honestly, Jeonghan wouldn’t put it past him. It fills him with a rancid bitterness, even if he is certain this is something put on by his friends. It should probably be a relief, but he thinks of Seokmin’s words from a few days ago- it’s the fact that Seungcheol said yes to anyone else at all.
Jeonghan hates how it claws at him.
Seungcheol is at his desk when Jeonghan gets back from lunch, much like Jeonghan had been the day before. Jeonghan doesn’t see anything, no bags or new items. He did hear that Hansol went with him, but he decides to save himself the interrogation. Hansol can be impossible to crack and Jeonghan doesn’t have the energy.
Luckily, the busyness starts slowing down as they edge closer to the weekend. Jeonghan watches the afternoon hours tick by, but instead of feeling the freedom of a Friday night, he grows more and more agitated. If he thinks about those conversation hearts that are still in his bag, his hands start sweating. It’s hard to work a computer mouse with sweaty hands.
“Ugh,” he says, pushing his chair back from his desk after hanging up from a phone call. “Everything is so stupid today. I’m going home early.”
Half of Seungcheol’s face appears over the top of their wall, eyes finding Jeonghan. “You are?”
“You can’t just leave early,” says Joshua.
“You’re not my boss,” Jeonghan says back airily.
Seungcheol’s eyes disappear. Jeonghan glances at the time on his computer screen. It’s a quarter till three. He rubs at his eyes. “It’s not like there’s anything else important happening today,” he says.
Seungcheol stands up, his entire face appearing over the wall this time. He looks at Jeonghan for a long moment. It’s a strange, measuring look that makes Jeonghan’s skin prickle. It’s not unlike the way Seungcheol looked at him the day he received his first anonymous card. Jeonghan looks back at him. Then Seungcheol walks out of his cubicle.
“What’s his problem?” Jeonghan says, even as his stomach starts to hurt. “Is he leaving early?”
“He’s going to meet his secret admirer,” says Junhui, not looking up from his computer. “Duh.”
“Don’t be dumb, Jeonghan,” says Joshua.
-
The thing about Conference Room B is that it’s out of the way. It’s down the hallways in the back of the floor, away from the work desks. It’s where the big important meetings are usually held, sealed off and soundproof. Whoever planned this really had anonymity in mind. What kind of stealth operation is this? This is starting to look like a set up for conference room sex.
Seungcheol wouldn’t let that happen. He’s too professional. Probably. Jeonghan doesn’t let his mind go there for a variety of reasons. No. Not right now.
It’s five minutes before three.
He stops just around the corner where he has a view of the open door. He can’t see if anyone is inside. It’s quiet. Jeonghan’s heart beats in his ears. If he waits a little longer, he might be able to see the person who went to all this effort. He’s just curious. He already confronted all the suspects, anyway. It’ll be satisfying to know he’s right.
But if he decides to be brave, he might be able to make himself go in there first.
Jeonghan’s feet feel glued to the ground. He’s never been very brave.
Don’t be dumb, Jeonghan.
A noise from the conference room. Seungcheol is in there. Jeonghan squeezes his eyes shut. It’s better to do the braver thing. Seungcheol hasn’t been looking at him with those big, staring eyes all week for no reason. Just go in there, he tries to tell himself. Don’t be dumb, Jeonghan. Just go.
Miraculously, he does go. He walks, heart in his throat and a half-crushed box of candy hearts in his pocket. He’d grabbed it from his bag at the last moment. It feels kind of stupid. He stops right outside the door, before Seungcheol can see him.
It seems that’s about as far as his resolve will take him.
Go, two more steps-
His internal command is obeyed again in the strangest way when he feels himself suddenly stumbling through the doorway, feet moving without his permission, out of his control, because there is a hand on his back and it is shoving him. He goes sailing through the doorway and into the room.
Seungcheol startles and turns around.
He stands near the window, had been looking out over the view of the city with his hands in his pockets. He tenses, eyes widening.
He stares as he comprehends that it’s Jeonghan who’s entered the room.
And then his shoulders go lax.
“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol breathes. It sounds like relief. “It’s you?”
His eyes are big, hopeful. Jeonghan swallows, opens his mouth, doesn’t know what to say. His heart races. He wasn’t prepared to be thrown in here like that.
At the same time, Seungcheol’s face brightens by degrees as he takes him in. The hope gives way to happiness as walks around the table and across the room toward Jeonghan.
“I knew it,” he says, starting to smile. “You were acting so weird. You always act weird when you’re up to something. You think you’re all smooth but I can tell, I know you.”
Jeonghan’s heart flutters, hammers. “I-” he starts. “I wasn’t-”
Seungcheol laughs. “You totally were.” Up close, his eyes are even brighter. He smiles. “I knew it was you.”
He sounds so happy. Seungcheol is happy. He’s glad that Jeonghan is the one that walked in here. Jeonghan’s chest swims. Yes, it was Jeonghan. Except it also wasn’t. Except it has been, since the day Seungcheol started here.
Except this isn’t how Jeonghan would have planned it.
“I- ” Jeonghan says. He squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed. “Wait, I- no.”
There’s a pause.
“No?” says Seungcheol, and Jeonghan opens his eyes again. There’s still a smile on Seungcheol’s face, except it’s taken on a slightly frozen quality.
Jeonghan shakes his head.
“I didn’t send those cards.” He shouldn’t be saying this, he hates saying it, especially as the light starts to fade from Seungcheol’s eyes.
Jeonghan is stupid. Even if he’d walked in here without being shoved- he knows what this looks like. He should have thought this through. None of this has given him time to properly think anything through.
Seungcheol’s eyes dart between Jeonghan’s. There’s still a remnant of a smile his on his lips, unsure but holding on. “Come on, Jeonghan-ah, you can stop now.” He leans forward, eyes deep, sincere. “You can tell me the truth.”
Jeonghan’s heart beats so hard it hurts. The truth. No, he didn’t send those cards. Yes, he’s in love with Seungcheol.
Instead of saying anything, Jeonghan darts to the doorway.
As expected, there’s a small line of men standing along the walls surrounding the door. Jeonghan’s hand darts out and grabs an arm as they all try to scatter.
“No!”
He drags a terrified Seokmin into the room.
Seungcheol’s mouth drops open. His eyes dart between him and Jeonghan. “Seokmin?”
“Look, I wasn’t, I don’t,” Seokmin stumbles over his words. His tie is askew.
“But you’re with Joshua,” says Seungcheol, looking horrified.
“I am!” says Seokmin.
On cue, Joshua walks into the room.
“Okay, I’m not letting you do it like this,” he says to Jeonghan, and snatches Seokmin back from him. Seokmin immediately curls against Joshua’s chest. Joshua narrows his eyes at Jeonghan over Seokmin’s head as he wraps his arms around him and pets his hair. Jeonghan has no sympathy.
“Fine,” Joshua sighs. “You want your grand reveal? Go for it.”
Jeonghan wastes no time. He looks at Seungcheol.
“It was Joshua’s master plan,” he says, pointing at Joshua. “He sent you the cards. He timed them to make it look like it was me.” Jeonghan crosses his arms. “He got Wonwoo to design the card with Kkuma on it. He paid Jihoon to write the one with the poem.”
“He paid you?” Wonwoo’s voice comes from outside the doorway.
“Mingyu and Seungkwan weren’t in on it at first, but Joshua encouraged them to use their people skills for evil,” Jeonghan says. “To mess with me.”
“Hey, we’re not corrupt!” says Mingyu, eyes peeking around the doorway.
“You were literally the most logical and obvious conclusion,” Seungkwan says, hands on his hips in full view behind the threshold.
Jeonghan ignores them. “Joshua had Chan deliver that card yesterday while I was there because he knew I wouldn’t immediately suspect him,” he says. “And Seokmin has been his cheerleader from the beginning.”
“Hell yeah,” says Seokmin, then hides his face against Joshua’s chest again when Jeonghan shoots him a look.
“And then, just now, one of them pushed me in here,” Jeonghan concludes. “Probably Shua did it himself.” Another look at Joshua’s face confirms it. He doesn’t look regretful.
Jeonghan looks back at Seungcheol. “So I wasn’t lying to you,” he says. “I didn’t send the cards.”
Jeonghan takes a deep breath, feeling satisfied, his mind much clearer. It was all very obvious, really. Joshua has no more control over him. None of them do.
Seungcheol looks stunned.
He closes his mouth slowly, eyes scanning the room, and swallows. His face is a little pale.
“So,” Seungcheol says, throat clicking a little. He clears it. “So, this really was all a prank?” His eyes dart to Joshua and Seokmin. To the guys in the doorway. “It was all to...mess with Jeonghan.”
“Yes!” says Jeonghan.
Seungcheol looks at him. His eyes, the windows of emotion that they are, share none of Jeonghan’s victory. In fact, Jeonghan realizes slowly, he’s starting to look increasingly devastated.
It’s like a wet towel over Jeonghan’s fire. His heart sinks.
“Wow,” Seungcheol says, voice flat, but Jeonghan hears the slight tremor. “Nice one, Josh. Everyone.”
“Hey, no,” Joshua says. He lets go of Seokmin and steps forward. “Seungcheol, that’s not what it was supposed to be.”
“Then what was it supposed to be?” Seungchol asks. His face is coloring, red crawling up his neck. “I mean, I could tell the cards were a joke. I’m not that much of an idiot. I just thought- ” He cuts himself off, glancing at Jeonghan.
Jeonghan’s heart feels cold.
Joshua and the others have been trying to force his hand, and Jeonghan has resented it. He doesn’t like things out of his control.
But Seungcheol had thought it was Jeonghan. To be fair, it was all so ridiculous that it’s not the worst conclusion. Joshua executed it well, and Jeonghan’s constant denials probably hurt more than helped. He was voted the office’s best liar, after all.
But it really wasn’t Jeonghan, and now Seungcheol heart is all over his face in the worst way.
Where has Jeonghan gotten, with all his emotions under such a tight lock and key? Jeonghan isn’t dumb. And he’s not lying right now, but he isn’t exactly being honest.
He shivers as the familiar feeling of spiders descend on him again, swarming his insides. He has the impulse to banish them by making an excuse, by brushing it off, by saying yeah, it was just a prank, haha. He knows underneath it all that Joshua was, in his twisted way, trying to help him.
Most of all- Seungcheol doesn’t deserve this.
He’d been happy when Jeonghan had entered the room. His eyes had been bright and relieved to see him. He’d wanted it to be Jeonghan.
Jeonghan got his victory, but at what cost?
Seungcheol’s shoulders wilt when Jeonghan doesn't respond. He takes a breath and turns away, pushing a hand through his hair. Then he straightens his shoulders again. “Well, if that’s it-”
“Wait,” Jeonghan says before he can think. “Wait, no, I’m not done.” His heart feels like it's suddenly beating through his skin. He looks at Joshua and Seokmin and all the guys hovering at the door. “Everyone go away.”
“But-” starts Mingyu.
“Hmm, no, let’s go,” says Joshua. He pulls Seokmin out of the room with him. There are a few whines of protest, but Joshua yanks the door closed on them like they’re animals trying to escape a cage. The door clicks and the room goes quiet.
Jeonghan looks at Seungcheol. He stands several feet away, regarding Jeonghan warily with wounded eyes.
“Seungcheol,” Jeonghan says. His heart beats so fast he’s starting to feel sick. But isn’t this what he really came here for? Isn’t this what he’s been trying to do? Isn’t this why he bought the half-crushed box of conversation hearts currently in his pocket?
“What?” Seungcheol says. He sounds cautious, like his patience is waning. Jeonghan’s hands are going clammy, numb. He makes himself resist his natural inclination to beat around the bush.
“Just because I wasn’t the one who sent you the cards doesn’t mean I don’t-” His voice cuts out on him. Nerves crawl up his vocal chords.
“Don’t what?” Seungcheol asks when it becomes clear that Jeonghan isn’t continuing. A flash of hurt crosses his face. “Jeonghan-ah, don’t play with me. Please.”
When Jeonghan plays with people, that generally means he’s having fun. And, perhaps contrary to popular belief, he does prefer that the other person is having fun too. This, here, is not any fun at all. “I’m not.”
Seungcheol doesn’t look like he believes him. His eyes are still upset, round and probably less guarded than he thinks they are. Jeonghan has always harbored a secret desire to kiss his eyelids. The desire strikes him now, powerfully.
He thinks that Seungcheol would let him. He thinks, actually, that it’s very clear, and the only thing standing between the two of them is himself. The barrier in front of those bright eyes is paper thin, and it’s exhausting how much strength Jeonghan has used to avoid breaking it. How much strength he needs to muster to break through it. He’s going to, though. Seungcheol wants him to. The thought quells some of the spidery nerves inside of him.
“Joshua did all this because he was trying to get me to own up to my feelings about you,” he says. His throat feels sticky, his face hot, but he continues. “I’m- not very good at this kind of thing.” He needs to be, though. He needs to try to be. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Ah, I like you a lot, Seungcheollie.”
Jeonghan’s ears ring in the silence of Seungcheol’s lack of immediate response. Panic strikes through him. He opens his eyes.
But Seungcheol is only staring at him. “You- really?”
Jeonghan’s panic is instantly accompanied by hot indignation. His heart pounds. “Yes, really.” Were all those words for nothing?
Seungcheol keeps staring. “And…you really had nothing to do with those cards?”
“No.” How many times does Jeonghan have to say it? “I mean this for real. Just me.” He digs into his pocket, feeling incensed. “I got you these.” He shoves his crushed box of conversation hearts and crumbled free billiards ticket into Seungcheol’s hand. “That’s the best I could do. I know they’re terrible. I’m sorry. I just-” His voice fails him again. He sucks in another breath. “I want to be your Valentine. I want to date you.” His heart beats so hard it hurts. “Okay? Can I? Will you let me?” Jeonghan’s face is so hot. He’s sweating. These are the most humiliating words he has ever uttered to anyone in his life. If Seungcheol says no he thinks he’ll die.
Seungcheol looks down at the items in his hand. Stares at them for a long, agonizing moment. Then he wraps his fingers around them delicately. Like they’re actually something special.
Jeonghan is going to combust.
Then Seungcheol puts the gifts in his pocket, and Jeonghan doesn’t realize he’s been trembling until Seungcheol steps forward and gently reaches out to him. He takes Jeonghan’s hands between his. Seungcheol is a touchy guy, but he keeps a professional distance. He’s never held Jeonghan’s hands like this. Close, intimate. His hands are sturdy and warm, and they wrap easily around Jeonghan’s thin fingers, steadying them.
“You haven’t answered me,” Jeonghan says, hands calmed but heart still shaking. He makes himself meet Seungcheol’s eyes.
“Jeonghan-ah,” Seungcheol says, and his brown eyes are bright again. Like before. Maybe even brighter, warm and soft and looking at Jeonghan with blatant affection. “Yes. Of course. Yes. You’re my Valentine. You can date me. I want to date you, too. Yes.”
Jeonghan could melt with relief. He nearly does, right into Seungcheol’s arms. He thinks he’d let him. Instead he jokes, impulsively, because he can’t bear it, “Are you sure that’s a yes?”
Seungcheol huffs out a breath. “Jeonghan-ah.” His voice sounds a little thin, and he squeezes Jeonghan’s hands. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
Giddiness wells inside Jeonghan. Well, good. He’d accept nothing less. Oh god, he likes Seungcheol so much.
Seungcheol’s eyes dart to his lips.
Jeonghan’s ears start roaring again. His entire body tingles. Seungcheol in his form-fitting button down looking at Jeonghan’s mouth in their most private conference room. Jeonghan can finally unleash all his fantasies about this. Seungcheol is definitely not too professional for this. He is definitely-
“Oh, wait-” says Seungcheol, and suddenly he’s pulling away. Jeonghan only feels a little despair as he steps away, so sure that mouth was about to finally be on his. He watches in confusion as Seungcheol pulls out one of the conference table chairs and grabs something from the seat of it, hidden beneath the table.
Seungcheol turns around, holding out a perfect red rose.
“What.” Jeonghan stares. “Where did you get that?”
“I got it during lunch,” Seungcheol says. When Jeongahn doesn’t look satisfied he says, slightly confused, “At the florist down next to the 7-Eleven?”
The florist. Fuck! Jeonghan had forgotten that was there.
Seungcheol stands there holding the rose, clearly waiting for Jeonghan to take it. “For you,” he clarifies, like Jeonghan needed clarifying.
Jeonghan takes it. The stem is smooth and green in his fingers. His fingers start going clammy again.
He looks back up. “But you didn’t know it would be me.”
“I thought it was you,” Seungcheol says. “I wanted it to be you. I wanted to be prepared.”
Of course he did, because Seungcheol is romantic, and he got Jeonghan a rose even though he thought Jeonghan was dragging him along on some terrible anonymous Valentine prank. It makes Jeonghan overwhelmed again. Warmth crawls up his neck like little fire ants.
So he shoves Seungcheol in the chest with his free hand while clutching the rose against his own heart, whining, “This isn’t fair, your gift is so much more romantic than mine.”
Seungcheol rubs at the buttons of his shirt, even though Jeonghan knows it didn’t hurt him. His chest was so firm. Jeonghan’s hand tingles. It doesn’t help his situation.
“I did like yours!” Seungcheol says, and he’s being serious, Jeonghan can tell. “It’s very…you.”
For some reason, that makes Jeonghan hot all over.
“Take me on a date,” he blurts, heart pounding impossibly hard. “It’s Valentine’s Day. We have to go on a date. Right now.”
“Right now?” Seugcheol says, taken aback. “The work day isn’t over.”
“I don’t care. I want to kiss you, and I’m not doing it in this conference room.” Not their first kiss, anyway. He takes back his impulse from the moment before. Kisses after that are free game, however, and Jeonghan plans for there to be a lot of them. He will make his fantasies come true. “After everything Joshua put us through, he can cover for us. We’re going on a date right now.”
Seungcheol looks flustered. “But I’m in my work clothes.”
“And you better not rob me of the chance to take that shirt off of you,” Jeonghan says. “You torture me every day walking in here like that. You owe me.”
Seungcheol stares at him, face cherry red. Then his eyes stutter, darken. He reaches forward and grabs Jeonghan’s free hand and starts pulling him toward the door. “Okay. Date. Now.”
Jeonghan cackles, heart enormous and light as a balloon in his chest, and gladly lets Seungcheol drag him out of the room.
-
They do skip out of work early, with no mercy for Joshua’s workload.
Because it’s Valentine’s Day and every nice restaurant in the city is booked, they go to a cheap chicken place Jeonghan likes. Jeonghan sticks his new rose into his water glass and sets it between them, a poor man's attempt at romance that makes Seungcheol blush.
Afterwards, Seungcheol kisses him for the first time under a streetlamp, their breath coming in clouds and lips warm against the winter chill. Heart-quiveringly perfect.
Later, in his apartment, Jeonghan straddles Seungcheol’s hips as he makes his way down the buttons of Seungcheol’s dress shirt. Seungcheol’s bare skin sets Jeonghan’s fingers on fire, better than he could have imagined, and he hides the way his nerves quake by leaning in and kissing Seungcheol stupid.
“I’m not thanking Joshua for this,” Jeonghan says afterwards, once they’ve caught their breath and Jeonghan has his head resting on Seungcheol’s perfect chest.
“You’re not going to give him a ticket for a free gossip session in your cubicle?” Seungcheol says.
Jeonghan pushes himself up and smacks his bare pec. Seungcheol just laughs. “You liked my gift!” Jeonghan says.
Seungcheol reaches for the hand that just hit him and brings Jeonghan’s fingers to his lips. He kisses them while he looks into Jeonghan’s eyes, and he’s so romantic without even trying. Jeonghan wants to die.
“I did,” Seungcheol says.
They break open the box of conversation hearts the next morning when they’re too lazy to get out of bed and make a real breakfast. Seungcheol grabs them from the pocket of his crumpled pants next to Jeonghan’s bed. Jeonghan hates that his face betrays him with a blush when Seungcheol reads be mine, sweet pea off a green heart. Seungcheol laughs so hard Jeonghan tries to smother him with a pillow.
The hearts taste awful. They eat them all.
❤️ 1 year later ❤️
The Monday after Valentine’s day, Jeonghan rolls his sleeves up before getting to work clicking on his emails.
“You are so annoying,” Joshua says, watching him from his desk.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeonghan says, lifting his hand to push his hair behind his ear.
Seungcheol arrives right then, stopping at Jeonghan’s cubicle before his own. He places a coffee and a muffin down in front of Jeonghan and kisses him on the forehead. “Here you go, baby. You look pretty with your hair like that.”
Junhui fakes retching from his desk.
“I regret getting the two of you together,” says Joshua.
Jeonghan just smiles at him as Seungcheol walks to his own desk. Jeonghan has long stopped trying to keep Joshua from claiming credit for his and Seungcheol’s relationship. He’s found it’s more fun this way.
Jeonghan brings his hand on his chin, leaning on the back of his palm so his wrist is on display. “I’m sorry your life is so hard now.”
Joshua rolls his eyes. Then he gets up and walks over. “Okay then, let me see it. The photo you sent had terrible lighting.”
“The restaurant was really fancy,” Jeonghan says. It was one of those expensive, low-light ones. Seungcheol really went all out for their Valentine-slash-first anniversary date. Jeonghan loved every second of it. He lets Joshua grab his wrist so he can get a better look at the new bracelet he’s wearing.
“Damn,” Joshua says, looking at it in the brighter, fluorescent light of their office. It’s very shiny. “Cheol, how much did you pay for this? I’m surprised it isn’t a ring.”
“Shua,” Seungcheol whines from the other side of the wall.
Jeonghan laughs, the happy glow from their weekend still strong in his chest. It’s been there the entire past year, really. The happiest year of Jeonghan’s life. And Jeonghan might not be great at gifting fancy jewelry in return, but Seungcheol knows. Jeonghan works hard to make sure he knows. There are lots of free billiards games, among other things.
Jeonghan smiles. He’ll get that ring. Seungcheol knows he wants it.