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“Yoojin-ssi. If you wanted to take a midnight stroll, all you had to do was ask.”
Yoojin flinches at the amused drawl of Hyeonje's voice, his stealth mode gradually dissipating from him.
Goddammit.
Not that he actually thought he’d succeed in sneaking past the living room unnoticed, but still. He’s never the type to not try just because the odds are stacked against him—the odds, in this case, being Seong Hyeonje sitting in the plush armchair of the living room, still dressed to the nines and still typing away on his tablet at three in the morning.
For someone who has way too much free time on their hands, he does at least seem to be putting in an effort when the hour gets late.
Yoojin blurts out the next best thing coming to his mind, “I’m thirsty. Go back to your work and just continue ignoring me, thanks.”
He passes Hyeonje and enters the open kitchen area, briefly pausing to consider which of those giant fridges he has to open to find something to drink that isn't overly expensive or complicated.
“As if I could ever ignore you,” Hyeonje muses. “Water is in the second fridge to the left.”
“Whatever,” Yoojin says, opening the second fridge to the left.
He grabs a bottle for himself, ignoring Hyeonje's ever present eye smile sparkling at him from the other end of the room. Yoojin's far from thirsty—though it gives him an ample excuse to be here, at least. It’s infinitely better than tossing and turning himself to death in his bed. Too much to think about, so much to do with absolutely no possibility to pursue any of it in his current predicament. Is his brother doing well? Did Myeongwoo manage to at least squeeze in a few hours of sleep in between crafting his newest item? How about Yerim’s studies alongside her rapidly accumulating dungeon work?
Yoojin takes a few generous gulps from the bottle, pressing the cool surface to his neck afterwards.
Sometimes, he wishes he could do exactly what the others told him to. To not worry, to not think about everything for once. But he has always been like that, and he’s never been able to turn it off, either. It’s a part of him; a giant clockwork he’s been keeping well oiled ever since he ended up taking care of Yoohyun alone. There's always something that needs to be done, and with his knowledge of the future, sitting still isn’t really an option.
Even now there’s familiar restlessness pricking the tips of his fingers, urging him to pursue a task more meaningful than getting a water bottle. Not that he can do much with his sluggish body and Hyeonje's surveillance.
That old man has the nerve to comfortably sit in his chair, completely unbothered and looking ever so polished after having signed that stupid contract with Yoohyun.
Yoojin glares daggers at him. Maybe if he stares hard enough, he’ll eventually manage a dent into that perfect side profile. Who the hell wears suits when they’re alone at home, anyway? It's not like he didn't already see Hyeonje out of it, so did he come back from a meeting he didn’t know about? Why didn’t he bother changing, then? He could have least gotten rid of the vest, really, even if the creme colour does look nice on the crimson dress-shirt. And—
“Your staring isn’t exactly subtle,” Hyeonje comments, and Yoojin just barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him.
Yoojin rolls his eyes. “I have no intention of hiding my animosity towards you,” he quips back. Hyeonje laughs, a cadence that reverberates in the quiet space between the two of them. “I’m happy to receive any kind of attention as long as it’s yours.”
Yoojin ignores the light flutter in his chest in favour of stalking closer, rounding the table to peer over Hyeonje 's shoulder. Might as well get some information out of him while they’re both awake. But Yoojin only gets a glimpse of what seems like a massive database before Hyeonje turns off the tablet.
"Oi, trying to hide something from me?”
"On the contrary," Hyeonje lilts, tilting his head backwards to look at him, “I’d love nothing more than to share our progress on pinning MKC’s leader down, but that would cause you to get worked up, which would make you forgo the notion of sleep entirely.”
Yoojin’s nose scrunches at the confidence reflected in Hyeonje 's face—they both know he's right. More importantly, it’s always hard to ignore how effortlessly handsome Hyeonje is in seemingly every situation of life.
Even from this top down angle Yoojin currently has, Hyeonje still looks as perfect as ever, hair artfully draped across his forehead. Maybe it’s because when sitting, he’s still so damn tall and doesn’t need to tilt up his head nearly as much as Yoojin would have to if their positions were reversed.
Less obvious special treatment for pretty people, he sternly reminds himself.
Irritated, Yoojin taps his bottle against Hyeonje 's head. “You telling me that is pretty counterproductive.”
“If I don’t give you something, you’re going to be even more restless and get ideas like sneaking out on your own. There's a fine line to be managed when it comes to feeding you information.”
“You make me sound like a high maintenance beast,” Yoojin grumbles, crossing his arms.
Hyeonje 's smile radiates innocence. “I wouldn't exactly dispute it. But luckily for everyone, I can handle you quite well, hm?”
With a flick of his wrist, Hyeonje steals the bottle from him. He’s taking more moderate sips than Yoojin did, looking very much like the model of a sports drink advertisement. The only thing stopping Yoojin from reaching down to squeeze the bottle is the knowledge that Hyeonje will somehow find a way to use the resulting mess to his advantage.
(The important thing is that Hyeonje would let him do it—just to have something up his sleeve, something Yoojin owes him for. And Hyeonje likes that—having more than just physical power over Yoojin, the leverage to gain something he wants, for a change.)
Sighing, Yoojin steps away from him. If anything, guild leaders are the ones requiring the most maintenance out of all.
“Don’t stay up too late,” he warns, dragging his feet toward the entrance. Maybe he should find some sleeping pills and turn off his poison resistance—right now, his body truly feels worthy of his F-rank title. “Someone like you needs sleep once in a while, too.”
“Taking care of everyone else but himself. You are very difficult to work with, Yoojin-ssi,” Hyeonje laments.
Yoojin gives him a deadpan stare over the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. What else is new?”
“Why not sit down with me?” Hyeonje tilts his head, eyes glinting with thinly veiled amusement. “We both know you’re just going to aimlessly walk around the guild until it’s a socially acceptable hour again.”
Yoojin clicks his tongue. Hyeonje's been able to read him a little too well these days, and be can't quite discern whether that's a good or bad thing. Probably the latter.
“No, thank you. There’s too much stuff to think about,” Yoojin taps his head, “and because you won't let me out, it’s all accumulating in here. So this is technically your fault.”
“... perhaps you're right. It would only be natural for me to take responsibility then, hm?” Hyeonje hums, and the ardent glow of his eyes have Yoojin feeling a little too scrutinised.
Is this how insects feel under a magnifying glass? Yoojin shivers despite himself. He promptly pulls up his stats window—everything in place, nothing turned off. He shakes his head, writing it off as one of the many unexplainable instances happening whenever Hyeonje is involved.
Hyeonje gestures toward the sofa, but Yoojin's eyes are stuck on the leather enveloping long, elegant fingers. “Keep me company while I work. My productivity is only bound to increase when my lucky charm is in my vicinity, and we both profit from it. If you behave well, I will share my findings with you tomorrow.”
Yoojin gnaws on his inner cheek. He did consider staying, just briefly. It’s not that Hyeonje is unpleasant company—far from it. Yoojin enjoys their banter, and judging by how many things Hyeonje lets him get away with, he's not the only one. It doesn’t change the fact that Hyeonje remains the equation Yoojin has barely figured out even one of many variables for.
He’s feeling… a little out of it, for the better lack of a word, with both agitation and exhaustion tugging him into different directions. He wants to become one with his bed and run for miles at the same time. A body at war with its own mind—adding Hyeonje to the mix feels like a dangerous thing to do.
Feeling Hyeonje's gaze practically piercing through him, Yoojin sighs. He rubs the back of his neck to get rid of the incoming flush.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “I'll entertain you, but only for a bit. And you have to tell me everything you know tomorrow, okay? No backing out.”
Hyeonje's whole expression lights up; a cat that got the cream. “Wonderful. Why don't you grab another bottle of water for us to celebrate the occasion?”
“Bossy,” Yoojin grumbles.
Strangely enough, though, he can't find it in him to complain beyond that as he moves to do as he was told. He supposes being given a task does help to distract his thoughts—or focus them, for that matter.
He plops down on the sofa, unceremoniously tossing two more bottles on the table. Hyeonje smiles like he didn't expect anything else, and Yoojin regrets that he didn't try chugging one directly at him.
“Very good,” Hyeonje says, voice damn near a purr, and before Yoojin can wrap his head around what the hell that's supposed to mean, Hyeonje has already averted his gaze back to his tablet. Typing and scrolling away, gloves on and all.
What a weird guy. Yoojin exhales, forcing some of this unprecedented tension off him.
Hyeonje did say he was going to be productive and work, and he's not the type to flaunt his words without backing them up. Having nothing better to do, Yoojin flops onto his stomach to look at Hyeonje .
If Hyeonje's bothered by his unapologetic staring, he doesn’t show it. It's more like he's thriving under the attention, really, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards the longer Yoojin goes without blinking. Yoojin’s eyes narrow. It irks him that he doesn't know Hyeonje as well as the others. He could try checking his skills again, but he really doesn't want a repeat of last time.
“Why is it that you always need to do something?” Hyeonje's question snaps him out of his thoughts.
“I thought you wanted to work,” Yoojin dryly says.
“I am.” Hyeonje's voice surprisingly lacks its usual teasing edge. Golden eyes briefly flicker from the glowing screen to Yoojin’s own. After a moment of consideration, Hyeonje puts the tablet away for good. Not a good sign. “You are my work. So humour this poor S-rank of yours, won't you?”
Yoojin puts his head down with a groan. He’s had this issue with Yoohyun before—it's hard to say no to a face like that. He contemplates how to answer the question for a minute; how much is safe to reveal to someone who thrives on knowing people’s weaknesses.
“I guess it's because there’s not much I can actually do,” Yoojin starts. “I'm only an F-rank after all. So I want to do the things that I can do. Not doing anything feels strange, I'm not really used to that.”
“You consider other people a priority before yourself,” Hyeonje muses. It's a statement, not a conclusion or question. Yoojin can't help but feel like he's fishing for something.
He shrugs it off. “I guess so? I never really thought of it that way, you know. I'm just… happy when other people are happy. That’s all there is to it. No ulterior motive or anything.”
Except when it comes to money, maybe.
(And it’s true—Yoohyun's happiness has always been his own. What worth is Yoojin’s future if he couldn't secure one for his brother? He never second guessed himself in his early decisions regarding Yoohyun. If he had to choose between living a normal life and raising his brother like he did, he’d choose the latter within a heartbeat.)
“Yoojin-ssi,” Hyeonje gently inquires. “Is it that hard for you to rely on someone other than yourself?”
“Maybe? It's kind of how I grew up, so I never really questioned it. When our parents were still alive, they didn't really look after us, either.” Yoojin props his head up, thinking. “You could say I needed to become a specific type of person in order to raise Yoohyun-ah.”
“People typically exist for themselves, not for others,” Hyeonje says. “Most would call this type of thinking a twisted sense of self-conception.”
“And what would you call it?”
The smile tugging at the edge of Hyeonje's lips is sharper than Yoojin’s familiar with. “Where’d be fun in telling you all of my secrets? I must keep some in other for you to continue regarding me as interesting.”
Yoojin huffs, unable to deny that he isn't curious. “Well, you and everyone else can call it whatever you want. I’m weak enough as it is.”
He pauses for a moment, sinking further into the couch.
“I have some high level skills, sure, but I can’t really do anything on my own. By nature alone, I already need to rely on people like you, whether I want to or not. So you can’t expect me to be happy about sitting here and twirling my thumbs while everyone is doing their part.”
Hyeonje's eyebrows raise. He starts removing his gloves, the simple motion looking practiced and graceful.
Yoojin tears his eyes away—he’s been weirdly fixated on Hyeonje's hands lately.
“And how do you expect to take care of everyone when you can’t even take care of yourself first?” Hyeonje asks, casually propping his chin up against his now bare hand.
Yoojin opens his mouth to answer and closes it when nothing immediately comes to his mind. A little bashful, he averts his gaze, the lack of an answer stretching wide between them.
Hyeonje's eyes soften incrementally. He uncrosses his legs, making a vague gesture towards Yoojin.
“We want you to rest for a couple of days, not be out of commission for a month. This is temporary. Soon enough, you’ll be back to dive head first into the next dungeon, and I’ll only be a phone call away from getting you out of the messes you'll inevitably find a way to create.” Hyeonje flashes a disarming smile. “Would it be bold for me to assume you already saved me as your emergency contact with how frequently you’ve been asking for my help?”
“Don’t flatter yourself too much,” Yoojin grunts. He flips back to lay on his stomach and levels him with a warning glare. “It’s your fault for being reliable, you know. Maybe if you didn’t come for once, I’d call you less and you’d have a little more peace.”
“But how could I not come when my precious item calls for me? Especially if I get to hear how reliable and strong and handsome I am in comparison to the others. I’m sure not many people are privy to this treatment.”
“You made up half of that stuff,” Yoojin says, unimpressed.
Hyeonje puts his fingers beneath his chin, contemplative. “Hm, did I?”
Yoojin grabs the nearest pillow to throw to help him with his thinking. He’s only mildly disappointed to see Hyeonje dodge it gracefully.
“Aish, seriously. You’re more high maintenance than I could ever be,” Yoojin says, shaking his head. He recollects the lost feeling of his limbs, slowly pushing himself up—he wobbles embarrassingly for a hot second before he catches his balance.
Yoojin clears his throat. He must be more exhausted than he thought if he already has trouble getting up from the couch.
“Anyway, this was fun and all, but I think I’d rather just walk around. Being coped up in this room isn't gonna help me much.”
“Yoojin-ssi."
The quiet but candid tone of Hyeonje's voice makes him pause. He looks at Hyeonje , whose expression is caught in between the dark shadows of the room.
“You don't actually want to leave right now, do you?”
Yoojin bites his lips. What he's managed to push away since wandering around is coming back to him, clawing at him for scraps of attention.
He doesn’t. He wants to stay here and sink back into the couch he knows is somehow more comfortable than his bed. He wants to enjoy the lazy warmth of a blanket curling around him, he wants to just think about nothing for once. Forget about his responsibilities and future bearing down on him with the weight of a thousand suns.
(Admitting it isn't hard. Yoojin’s honest to himself like that. He's not afraid to talk about his own shortcomings, but the consequences of failure are something else entirely. He's already seen them once—and look where it got him, five years into the past with a dead brother waiting for him to catch up.)
As much as Yoojin wants to, he can’t. Pushing forward is the only thing he knows how to do. The world where his clockwork isn’t constantly running died with Yoohyun.
“I should go.” Yoojin’s voice comes out thinner than he'd like. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Hyeonje's already adjusted his posture even before Yoojin finished speaking. He’s gone back to leaning against the armchair, legs crossed and hands folded in front of his stomach. The aloof aura around Hyeonje has grown cold—authority befitting of an S-rank is engraved into every line in his body, effortlessly commanding attention.
Yoojin blinks, suddenly finding it hard to move.
His eyes slowly rake across Hyeonje's form. He's not being blocked physically—there’s more than enough space between the armchair and the table to get through, and he didn't turn off his fear resistance at any point in time during their exchange either, so why is his body refusing to listen?
“Yoojin-ah.”
Yoojin's breath hitches. Hyeonje's voice is different, too—warm, liquid gold trickling down his throat and settling low in his belly. A different cadence; deliberate intonation spun from a silver tongue.
“Stay,” Hyeonje commands.
Yoojin swallows a small sound in the back of his throat. He doesn't think he could move even if he wanted to—his heart is racing, staccato thrums against his ribcage as the command echoes in his head over and over again.
Seeing him rooted to the spot, Hyeonje gets up in a single, fluid motion. The urge to lower his head and hide suddenly flares up as Hyeonje slowly approaches, but—it isn't because of fear.
It can't be out of fear.
“Very good,” Hyeonje purrs, coming to a halt before him. His presence is even more encroaching up close; Yoojin's tongue uselessly drag’s against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to voice his confusion.
“W-what, you—” Yoojin breaks off, unable to form a proper sentence.
Is there something wrong with him? He knows this pressure Hyeonje's exerting over him isn't dangerous—but the way he regards Yoojin with such intensity has him feeling more vulnerable than any dungeon ever did.
He tries again. “Hyeonje, I—”
"Shh."
Fingers grasp his chin, inviting him to meet Hyeonje's eyes. Yoojin blinks at the golden storm inside of them. Dangerous, but also promising shelter from everything else.
“Focus on my voice, darling. Can you do that for me?”
Yoojin swallows. It’s like he’s on autopilot, his head nodding meekly without his permission.
There's so much and nothing going on at the same time, a thousand different thoughts crossing his mind at dizzying speed. Hyeonje's voice cuts through everything with fearsome clarity.
“I need a verbal confirmation, sweet thing. Either yes or no—I know that's a big task already, but I'm certain you can do it for me.”
Hyeonje tips his head a little higher; expectant, but not unkind.
“... Yes,” Yoojin quietly rasps.
Hyeonje's eyes crinkle into familiar half moon shapes. His thumb swipes across his bottom lip once before pressing into the corner of his mouth. “Very good, Yoojin-ah.” He takes another step closer, and, oh—the fluttering press of lips against the crown of his head has Yoojin's knees buckling.
Hyeonje steadies him easily. The hand now splayed across his hip has unfamiliar heat rushing to Yoojin’s face, but also brings wisps of clarity with it.
It's… getting increasingly harder to grasp a coherent thought. He desperately wants to ask what's going on, but the question simply doesn't get past the hazy fog in his mind.
Hyeonje guides Yoojin back to the centre of the couch. “I wanted to just have you sit with me initially, Yoojin-ah, but I think you require a little bit more than that today.”
When he sits down, he pulls Yoojin along with him—all of his movements are telegraphed, making his intentions clear so that Yoojin can pull away if he wants to, but Yoojin knows it's only an illusion of choice.
(He's falling, melting; he is water following the path Hyeonje's carving out for him. It should scare him how easy it is—to trust the man he knows the least about. Mankind has always feared the unknown—what does it say about him, that he seeks and embraces it so willingly? That he looks death into the eye and presents his neck so freely?)
It's easy to sink into Hyeonje's lap. Yoojin isn't exactly a small person, but even he pales in comparison to Hyeonje's tall and broad frame—unbridled, raw power woven into layers of meticulously crafted elegance.
Hyeonje must know how boneless he feels because he's the one adjusting Yoojin's awkward positioning, rearranging his legs so that they're properly bracketing strong thighs and securing his arms safely between them. They're impossibly close like this, Yoojin's face privy to the gentle rise and fall of Hyeonje's chest, the rest of his body safely tucked away.
It's instinct; the way his eyelids flutter close and he just feels. The mellow warmth seeping past his clothes into his skin, the distant crackling of thunder around him that comes with being in the centre of Hyeonje's power.
Everything's more... quiet.
Hyeonje hums, deep and drawn-out. “You're doing very well, precious. Allow me.” Long fingers drags up his spine, tracing every little dip and knob they come across. They eventually settle around his neck in a loose but firm hold—Yoojin shivers with his whole body when Hyeonje squeezes ever so lightly.
He feels... good.
And somewhere between that realisation and the depth of Hyeonje's voice next to his ear and the weight on his neck deliberately pressing down, something clicks into place. Yoojin sags against Hyeonje, all strings cut from his body. He's rewarded with a firm pressure on his neck that silences the last cries of doubt.
“Good boy,” Hyeonje purrs, voice wrapped in velvet. “That's right—there's nothing else you need to do but to lean on me. I'm the only thing that's important right now.”
Hyeonje 's free arm wraps around his waist, securing their position. “My precious item. So defenceless, so trusting.” He presses another kiss to the top of Yoojin's head—impossibly reverent like he's something to be coveted; to be tucked away from prying, undeserving eyes. Yoojin keens weakly, nuzzling into the space Hyeonje made for him.
It smells nice here. Familiar, comforting. The faint whiffs of expensive cologne still cling onto Hyeonje , but through it, the warm rain of summer breaks through.
“Really,” Hyeonje says with a quiet sigh. “What a sweet, little thing you are. Always so fierce and strong in front of everyone. It's long overdue you allow someone to hold you, wouldn't you agree?”
Time stretches endlessly like this. Hyeonje continues murmuring sweet nothings into his ear until Yoojin's slowly drifting off into promising darkness. Hyeonje chuckles, the vibrations of it going right straight through him, lulling Yoojin further into this comforting abyss he's sunk into.
“Go to sleep, precious,” Hyeonje coos, his thumb rubbing small circles into Yoojin's neck. “I will be there when you wake up.”
When Yoojin regains consciousness, he feels more like a pile of flesh and bones haphazardly put together than anything human. He blinks slowly, eyes gradually adjusting to the lighting flooding in from ceiling windows.
It takes a while for Yoojin's brain to catch up with his body and realise he's still in Hyeonje's lap. Memories trickle like sand, and Yoojin makes an undefined sound, scrambling for something to hold onto that isn’t a particular S-rank guild leader.
Hyeonje is having none of it—he easily adjusts his hold on Yoojin to keep him in place, putting his phone down to greet him with a smile entirely too bright.
“Someone’s having a good morning,” he says.
Before Yoojin can think of a proper reply that addresses the absolutely massive elephant in the room, Hyeonje's phone rings.
He doesn't even hesitate picking it up, one arm lazily curled around Yoojin like the predicament they’re in—Yoojin on his lap, forcibly secured against his chest—is the most normal thing in the world.
Yoojin gapes at him. Hyeonje raises an eyebrow, but doesn't acknowledge him otherwise as he greets the caller in a foreign language Yoojin can't make out.
German, probably.
Inside of Yoojin, the embers of rage gradually fizzle out to make way for resigned acceptance. Okay. Fine, whatever. If Hyeonje isn’t freaking out, he's not gonna waste precious energy and freak out himself, either.
Especially when he just woke up from what was probably the best sleep since months.
When Hyeonje's phone call finally ends, he exhales quietly.
“... morning to you, too,” Yoojin grumbles, tucking his face away into Hyeonje's shoulder so he isn’t directly exposed to the irritatingly smug expression he can feel him wearing. “I don’t know what the hell you did, but you better do it again at some point in the future.”
Hyeonje laughs. “You're taking this in with more stride than I initially anticipated. I expected more resistance, really." Fingers card through his hair, and it’s unfair, really, the way they further reduce Yoojin into a pliant puddle of goo.
“I can give you plenty of resistance,” Yoojin slurs against his neck. He attempts to fist the fabric of Hyeonje's vest in his hands and fails.
“Just—give me, like, a minute or something. Or twenty.”
Hyeonje chuckles. "Take all the time you need. I quite enjoy seeing you this way. More importantly—how do you feel?”
Yoojin blinks to himself at the question. Isn’t it obvious? He still feels tired, but in a way where he wants to go right back to sleep because it was just that good. He feels fucking great, thank you very much, but there’s no way he’d tell Hyeonje and risk feeding his already inflated ego.
Because he does want to give a little credit where it’s due, he settles on somewhere in between, “I feel… better. Thank you.”
Hyeonje cups his cheeks to coax him out from the safe spot near his neck and yeah, Yoojin must still be tuckered the hell out if he’s allowing Hyeonje to touch him like that and why the fuck is he leaning into it?
They’re both allowing themselves a shit ton of things right now. But he will—yeah. He’ll think about that later. Thinking about how he’s sitting entirely too comfortable in Seseong guild leader’s lap with the context of last night and how Hyeonje acts like it's a thing they've always done would just short-circuit his brain.
Suddenly, resting and sleeping doesn’t sound like an entirely bad idea.
Hyeonje leans down to blow hot air into his ear. “What a lukewarm response. And here I thought I finally managed to tame you.”
“Shut up,” Yoojin groans, cuddling back into Hyeonje's stupidly broad chest. “The only thing I wanna from you right now are my options for breakfast when I'll get up in, like, an hour or so.”
“Demanding,” Hyeonje tuts, but even the tone of his voice doesn’t betray the shit-eating grin he’s wearing right now. “But what the princess wants, the princess gets.”
Yoojin groans, pinching Hyeonje's sides with what little strength he can muster. “You're not being a very good pillow right now, Hyeonje -ssi.”
A deep chuckle rumbles against his ear. The arm around him squeezes once, fingers leisurely curling in the dip of his waist. “My apologies. This lowly servant of yours will strive to become a better pillow suited to his majesty's ever increasing expectations after he has presented the currently available breakfast options.”
Yoojin closes his eyes while listening to the drawl of Hyeonje's voice, chasing after the lazy leftover warmth of sleep. Future-Yoojin can deal with the aftermath of whatever the fuck this current situation is—current-Yoojin will indulge himself, for once.