Chapter Text
1
Unfortunately, Yoo Mia's recent fascination with this virtual pop group had put Yoo Joonghyuk in dire straits.
Though Joonghyuk wouldn't call themselves penniless, they weren't living in luxury, either. In fact, Joonghyuk would like to call himself monetarily-conscious. Their parents' inheritance afforded them a comfortable two-bedroom in Gwanak-gu. From working the odd job or two, his modest earnings gave them their three meals a day, new clothes in the winter, and the yearly holiday trip. Any extra allowance was funnelled directly into Mia's university funds. He was single, had all of one friend, and thus had no need to spend money on gifts, drinks, or a lover.
For 21 years, Joonghyuk lived a perfectly content, stable, and financially-unburdened life.
Until half an hour ago. Although Joonghyuk had set aside a sum of money for what he called frivolous purchases , Mia's budding interest had put a record dent in his monthly expenditure. When a third Collector's Edition Boxset arrived — justified with a one-in-twelve chance of pulling a unique photocard — Joonghyuk was at a loss for words.
After dealing great financial damage, Mia sauntered up, tablet in hand, and delivered the finishing blow. There displayed a promotional poster for a world tour, with the VIP GOLD category circled, highlighted, and annotated. It cost a staggering ₩250,000 — taxes not included.
"Mia, did you accidentally circle the wrong category?" Joonghyuk asked, a whole minute later.
"No." She shook her head. And then, she began on a tangent, as though she had rehearsed it all day, "This is ConSTELLAtion's first stadium tour since their debut, and the first time us Stellas get to hear their music live. I want to see Uriel- unnie up close. Only those in the VIP categories can get floor seats. However, after comparing all the prices, there is only a ₩20,000 difference between VIP SILVER and VIP GOLD . Besides, with GOLD , you can get a signed frame..."
Only? Had Joonghyuk raised her too spoiled?
"...alongside the standard VIP boxset. They will only be in Seoul for 3 nights, before flying to their next stop. I believe this is a good investment." She nodded, resolute.
"That's absurd. Have concert ticket prices risen in the past year?"
"But this is different. It's ConSTELLAtion! You just don't get it."
"You're right, I don't." Joonghyuk closed the tablet, and tapped it on Mia's forehead. "And aren't they virtual? How would they even perform on stage?"
The tablet was swiped from his hand, under which was a ferocious glare. Joonghyuk had only ever seen such a look when he calmly — and repeatedly — turned down her requests for a puppy.
"Those are real people behind their avatars. The tour will employ a high-end projection system which can produce ultra-realistic holograms of the group capable of reacting to light and sound vibrations—"
"Alright. I've heard enough." A vein inevitably popped on Joonghyuk's temple, earning a rough massage.
Mia's eyes gradually widened. "Does that mean you're letting me go?"
"With whose money? I know I've always indulged you, but this is reaching new heights."
Mustering all her teenage rage, Mia crossed her arms, and retorted, "No. I want the tickets. Only the tickets."
Joonghyuk's heart sank. He flew past all the stages of grief right into bargaining. "Forget the tickets. Didn't you ask for a samoyed pup just a while ago? Let's go back to the shelter."
"No, I don't want to."
"Mia-yah, a concert is only one night of your life. Getting a dog is much more fulfilling."
"That's not what you said when you turned me down last month."
Then commenced the silence. Tension engulfed them both. Mia was the immovable object to Joonghyuk's unstoppable force. If this wasn't going to be resolved within the night, they would both turn into bed frustrated, leading to a terrible morning after.
Dropping her head, Mia brought her hands together, and affected a defeated tone, "Please, oppa ..."
Now that's unfair. Mia rarely ever called him by that honorific, and it was largely because of the immediate effect she knew it had on him. Oppa was what she used to call Joonghyuk when she was younger, smaller, and much more starry-eyed. Being the quick-witted teenager she was today, she'd occasionally remembered to weaponise it against him.
"I promise I'll do all the chores for half a year. I'll remember to keep the lights off by 10, and I won't intrude on you or your studies until you graduate." There was a moment of weighted pause. And then, she added for good measure, "Plus, I won't ask for anything ever again."
Joonghyuk remained silent. Her initial offering didn't do much to convince him; but the second half was intriguing. Dropping a huge chunk of money as a one-time payment to secure a trouble-free future? Many older siblings wished they had the chance.
"One last thing: I won't trouble you about getting a girlfriend anymore. You can choose to date whomever you want at your will, and I won't complain."
Despite the casual front, Joonghyuk couldn't help but let out a choked exhale.
Mia gave a smirk. It seemed she got through to him after all.
"You've grown smarter, Yoo Mia. You even know how to negotiate a deal." He cleared his throat. "Fine. I will consider it."
The slightly-widened eyes watered with fake tears. "Really?"
At this time, the popped vein that Joonghyuk painstakingly massaged away reintroduced itself. "Yes, Mia-yah. I will need to sleep on it, and you should too."
"Thank you!" She lunged into his arms, snuggling close. "I'm so glad you're my brother, Joonghyuk-oppa."
With a laugh, Joonghyuk wrapped his arms around Mia. Comfort was rare, and he savoured every bit of warmth that came by. I suppose it isn't so bad , he thought, if I get to make her happy . If there was anything rarer than Mia's affection, it would be good days like these.
A while later, Joonghyuk said, "If I agree, promise me you'll do everything you said. Alright?"
"I promise!"
Joonghyuk felt the grin against his chest. A roiling warmth crawled up his lungs, suffocating.
And then, she added, "You won't take long, will you? Presale starts in a week."
2
Hence, the predicament.
Joonghyuk called up his previous workplace the following morning. In not the nicest terms, he was promptly turned down. After exchanging a few choice words, and several more threats besides, Joonghyuk could consider landing a service job futile.
The earth spun and days passed. Joonghyuk spent every evening after class job-searching, and although he was not yet at the verge of failure, he had stooped so low as to consult his friend. After an incredulous look, he was given a link to a shady website that almost immediately installed a virus onto his computer. Once all the ads had been banished, he landed on an endless page full of miscellaneous job listings.
He tried to ignore the sinking feeling. Perhaps he'd been led to a site where unfortunate students like him could score a sugar daddy. Or mommy. Or both; at least, judging by the tone with which some of the requests were written. There were also the rather suggestive photos attached to each listing, which he couldn’t quite ignore.
Is this where my dignity dies?
But, in this inopportune moment, Mia's watery face flashed before his eyes. This spurred him to scroll even further. It took him several pages to finally land on a seemingly innocuous offer, posted by a Mr. Kim, age 33, and living in Yongsan-gu:
Looking for a private chef to help with my daughter and I's meals. No dietary restrictions, but preferences can be discussed. Allowance provided for groceries, all equipment available in-house. Please call the number for further inquiries...
This wasn't what caught Joonghyuk's interest. What did was the salary: a hefty ₩75,000 daily, excluding allowance, once every other day. By his rough calculation, he'd easily earn ₩225,000 within the first week. In two weeks, he'd earn enough to cover Mia's concert ticket and travel expenses — and within a month, he'd even be able to recoup the losses of her previous purchases.
As luck would have it, Joonghyuk happened to be a brilliant culinary student. Would he say his skills were worthy of the ridiculous pay? That remained to be seen. Still, if Mr. Kim was so desperate as to post on that site, he mustn’t be spoilt for choice. Whatever the reason, Joonghyuk was confident that his services would be at the very least satisfactory. A job well done. He only needed to work for a month.
Such an opportunity practically fell into Joonghyuk's lap. In pure disbelief, he stood up, rubbed his eyes and walked a full circle around the room before sitting back down to verify the details. He even sent a screenshot to his friend, who merely responded with a thumbs up and a smirk.
Joonghyuk scoffed. Is this why he's been able to upgrade his phone every year?
With all else pointing to the listing being very real and very in demand, Joonghyuk quickly took down the phone number, and gave it a ring. It went straight to voicemail. Then came the second, third and fourth calls; before propriety deemed it harassment if he rang any more.
It was such a good offer that Joonghyuk wasn't going to lose it. Mr. Kim's address was right there — a 40-minute train ride away. Joonghyuk would be suffering a loss if he stopped here.
Dropping his phone, Joonghyuk got up, put on a pressed shirt, and tidied up his hair. He was out the door in less than 10.
As expected, Mr. Kim lived in one of the most ostentatious high-rises in Hannam-dong — the one that housed A-list actors and producers. How Joonghyuk knew this? Mia had given him a crash course on celebrity housing once; and for some unfathomable reason, the name stuck with him.
After getting past security, Joonghyuk was led to the lobby. From his intense scanning of Mr. Kim's address in the subway, he accurately surmised that he lived in one of the luxury penthouses up top, which would require explicit permission from the homeowner to be given access. He hadn't given this aspect much thought; but like all things in life, he had no doubts he'd be able to stumble his way through it.
The receptionist had neatly parted hair and a sharp, commercial nose. She eyed him from top to bottom, noticeably pausing at his shoes, before sweeping back up to grace him with a warm smile.
"Welcome! How may I help you?"
Joonghyuk flashed the job listing on his phone. "I'm here for an appointment with Mr. Kim in Villa No. 9158."
"Your name, please."
"Yoo Joonghyuk."
The receptionist tapped on the keyboard. "Ah, it seems Mr. Kim hadn't called forward about a…Yoo Joonghyuk. Have you given him a call?"
"I have. He didn't pick up." Joonghyuk sighed, and leaned down. Tipping his head, he gave a nervous smile; and caught the exact moment hesitation sparked in the woman's eyes. "Could you ring him for me, please?"
"A—Alright. Hold, please." Her hands inevitably fumbled with the phone, punching in the number with haste.
It's the face, Mia explained once, when he would return from the market with extra cabbage from the kind ahjumma. You look like a celebrity yourself.
Regardless, the call went through. Joonghyuk's eyes began to wander, not intending to listen in. The lobby had minimal decoration besides the inexplicable water feature that occupied its centre, topped with a crystal chandelier. Men and women walked past the turnstiles, the cologne heavy on their coats. Every second person was accompanied by an assistant, and all were in the midst of a heated phone call.
Inwardly, Joonghyuk lamented the measures he had to take to ensure Mia's happiness.
"Mr. Yoo, kindly stand in front of the camera, please.” The receptionist gestured to a small camera mounted on the desk. "Mr. Kim would like to verify your identity."
Well, shit. He hadn't considered this.
Steeling his face, Joonghyuk stepped in front of the camera. He heard an Oh! from the receiver, and the receptionist nodded at him cryptically.
Finally, the call ended. She handed him a keycard, and said, "Mr. Kim has registered your face for facial identification. You will find the elevator to the top floor as the fourth on the right. Just stand in front of the camera and it will promptly scan your likeness for verification."
That easy? Joonghyuk had to give it to The Face, after all.
"Apologies for the inconvenience." She gave a sheepish smile. "It's in Mr. Kim's best interest to verify all visitors. He hasn't had a day of peace all year long."
"I see." Joonghyuk wondered why that information was necessary, but filed it for later anyway. "Thank you."
Still, he wasn't one to complain. Joonghyuk bowed lightly, before scrambling away. Once he tapped himself in, he waited by the right elevator with growing nerves. Was what he was doing considered a scam? Showing up to an employer's home unannounced and offering his services sounded more like an escort job, really.
But I've made it this far. Joonghyuk was nothing if not adamant. Legality be damned.
And damned it was. The elevator doors opened to an entryway, furbished as mind-numbingly minimal as the lobby, with not a soul to greet him. Cautiously, Joonghyuk made himself known with a Hello, followed by an apology for intruding.
But there was no response.
Not immediately, at least. Joonghyuk walked past the lounge straight to what he assumed was the kitchen. The door was slightly ajar, the sounds of a clamour emanating faintly from within. He stepped closer, pressing his ear against the woodgrain.
"Shhh, Biyoo. Let mommy do his work, okay?"
It was a man's voice, undoubtedly the elusive Mr. Kim. Alongside him was a baby's coos, weak and raspy, as though she had been crying all morning. It sounded as though the mother had grown exasperated, hands full.
Before Joonghyuk could give the door a knock, it slid open abruptly, revealing an older man with soft hair, round eyes, and a baby swaddled in his arms. Joonghyuk couldn't help but let his eyes trail down, zeroing in on the baby's mouth which latched onto his breast, suckling on his milk.
It took him an eternity to retrieve his gaze; and when their eyes connected for the first time, Joonghyuk instantly felt hot, which promptly devolved into shame.
"I know, I'm sorry! I hadn't realised you'd called until the receptionist informed me, and I wasn't prepared to welcome a guest," he began. "You see, Biyoo has been acting up all morning, and I haven't had the time to check my phone."
His voice, Joonghyuk swore to himself, is sickeningly sweet. Mr. Kim had this red flush on his cheeks, matching the rogue of his lips, recklessly bitten. The pale skin hidden beneath his half-buttoned shirt bloomed around the teat, his nipple pink and glistening.
"The thing is, she's usually well-behaved, but ever since the move, she's been restless. Maybe it's the new environment..."
Joonghyuk earnestly let the other man's ramblings in one ear and out the other. He found it very difficult to keep his eyes on his face, and not further down. Swallowing the pre-written introduction he'd meant to dispense onto Mr. Kim, he instead managed a suffocated, "It's alright. She sounds...difficult."
Mr. Kim beamed. "Oh, she is. Biyoo's my difficult little bundle of joy!" He casually yanked on his shirt once Biyoo was done, ridding Joonghyuk of the view all at once. He brushed past Joonghyuk and headed towards the living room. "Excuse me, I've forgotten to introduce myself. I'm Kim Dokja. You must be Yoo Joonghyuk, the private chef?"
Even his name is pretty. Joonghyuk cleared his throat, trailed after the other like a dog to a bone, and prayed that he hadn't noticed that he'd been downright staring at his tits.
"Yes, I saw your listing on the site. I'm here to apply for the position."
Dokja had laid Biyoo down in the cot, intending to put her to sleep. However, she seemed full of life at the appearance of another human. Springing up to her belly, she peered at Joonghyuk through the wooden bars.
"Oh, the listing." Dokja took a seat at the leather settee; and Joonghyuk followed suit, sitting opposite him at what he deemed a respectable distance. He bent over to pour Joonghyuk a drink, the collar of his shirt dipping low, before sliding the glass over and straightening back up. "To be honest, I've forgotten all about it. I wasn't even sure anyone would see it," he raised his brows and scrunched them adorably, "so, thank you, Joonghyuk."
Joonghyuk was sure his brain had short-circuited. Belatedly, he answered, "No problem, sir. It just so happened that my friend recommended the site."
This had Dokja perking up on his seat, waving his hands in defeat. "Ah, there's no need for formalities! You can call me Dokja- hyung , if you'd like. I'm not that old!"
Incorrect. Dokja was 12 years older than him.
"Alright, Dokja-hyung," said Joonghyuk regardless.
There was a heart-wrenching smile. Joonghyuk realised he may be too far gone.
"Again, I'm sorry you had to come all the way here. Where did you travel from?"
"Gwanak-gu."
Dokja shot him a look. "Near SNU? You're still a student, then?"
Joonghyuk dropped his head. "Yes. In the culinary department."
"It's no wonder..." He stood up, and rounded the coffee table.
From her cot by the wall, Biyoo began babbling at the movement. Dokja rounded the coffee table, producing his wallet. And then, he took out a crisp ₩10,000 banknote, before adding another, and another. Gently, he offered it to Joonghyuk, his smile soft.
"I don't know how much the ride here costs, and I don't assume you've driven here either. Here, to cover your fare. Call yourself a taxi later."
Although Joonghyuk had chided himself for stealing a look or two, he wasn't so callous as to take his money too. Besides, the payment written in the contract was more than enough compensation. He felt that it was enough to do his part and go. No further conditions required.
"There's no need, hyung." He pushed the money away. "The fare was cheap."
Dokja clicked his tongue, reached over, and directly tucked the bills into his breast pocket. "Why are you being so honourable now? Consider this advance payment. You'll get the other half at the end of the day."
"Wait," Joonghyuk turned around, catching Dokja as he sauntered towards the kitchen, "you're hiring me?"
Dokja swung around to face him. He leaned against the doorway with this most amused look on his face. Pleased as can be, and delightfully fair. "Yes. Why not?"
Joonghyuk's extensive experience begged him otherwise, but he felt that the situation was enough of an anomaly not to speak out: "We haven't even gone through the interview—"
"We're done with the interview. I asked you where you live, and I confirmed that you're a student. What, would you like to tell me your birthday and place of birth, too?"
Joonghyuk stewed in his thoughts. This Kim Dokja...is something . He wasn't sure if he'd accidentally walked into some huge, televised social experiment, or had in fact died while crossing the street and was living in some sort of limbo — the kind of limbo with a foxy demon who stared at him with raised eyes, and a devilish smirk.
Joonghyuk hadn't prepared to discover something about himself today.
"Then, will you sample my cooking?"
"I will." Dokja lifted his head. "Come. I'll show you to the kitchen."
The kitchen, Joonghyuk soon realised, was meant to serve as an oversized pantry more so than a cooking space. It had the usual implements — a central island, the cabinets fully-furnished. But what was most appealing was the glass window lining the east wall, bathing the space in a golden glow. If this was where Joonghyuk was paid to cook, he had no complaints about his employer's peculiarity.
In the 1-minute circuit around the kitchen, Joonghyuk could roughly gather the kind of cook Dokja was. Or, rather wasn't . There was a light layer of dust on the countertop. The pots looked as if they hadn't been moved in a decade. Even the state of the pantry was pitiful.
"I trust you know how to figure out where all the things are," said Dokja. "These three cabinets up here are for the baby food, and these are for the utensils. The fridge is currently bare, but you can dig through it for anything you see fit. There should be vegetables, at least. I haven't gotten around to the groceries in a while."
When Dokja stopped before the fridge, Joonghyuk came face-to-face with a bewildering sight. Dokja cracked the door open, and slowly leaned down to rummage through the inside. This position scandalously presented his entire ass to Joonghyuk — round and plump, hugged nicely by his jeans.
It wasn't like Joonghyuk was looking , but it was right in front of him. It wasn’t really anything provocative, yet the cut of those jeans tapering down his waist was too alluring, he couldn’t help but admire. And the curve of his back — for one that was covered in a loose linen shirt, it was more enticing than any inch of skin exposed.
"Ah, there's some kimchi, at least. You can make do with this, can't you?"
Dokja peeked at Joonghyuk then, blinking at the short distance the latter had instantaneously crossed. He lifted the corner of his lip. Joonghyuk nearly sprang a boner right then and there.
"If you have rice, I can make some banchan," Joonghyuk offered, his mouth dry. "I'm quite good at that."
"Oh," Dokja sang. "If you didn't even know how to make banchan, I wouldn't have hired you."
"It would be a shame if I didn't."
The laugh of a fairy. "I knew you were the right fit."
Right, his voice echoed in Joonghyuk's head, fit. The right fit. His mind was in the absolute gutter.
Nodding askance, Dokja added, "There's rice in the pantry." And then, he stepped back. "The kitchen's all yours."
The primal urge to impress Dokja swiftly overtook him. All of a sudden, this lunch was something akin to life or death. If he didn't make a good impression, Dokja could toss him aside. Then, he’d look for another cook. And then , Joonghyuk would have to break the news to Mia.
"Oh, and I've made a list of allergies for Biyoo. It's plastered on the fridge."
Joonghyuk glanced at the paper. "What about you, hyung?"
"Oh, me? I don't have any allergies. Not that I'm aware of..." Dokja tipped his head, his eyes darting to the window, "...but I do have a preference. Avoid tomatoes if you can, please."
Joonghyuk nodded. Dokja's smile brightened. I was wrong, he chided himself. There was someone else whose smile Joonghyuk would like to be the cause of — And he's standing right in front of me.
Almost an hour later, the smell of cooked rice wafted through the air. Joonghyuk was serving the dishes when Dokja swung by, dropping Biyoo onto her high chair. On the dining table was a commendable array of banchan , with a plate of grilled bulgogi at the centre. It was miraculous that Dokja even had beef in the freezer, right when Joonghyuk was beginning to seriously consider his diet. Or the lack thereof.
After feeding Biyoo a spoonful of pumpkin, Dokja picked on some blanched beansprouts. When Joonghyuk glimpsed his slender wrist, he smoothly placed a stack of bulgogi on his plate.
"Understood, chef- nim ," Dokja teased. Grabbing a thin slice of meat, he placed it on his tongue. Upon the first bite, he let out an appreciative moan. " So good! You're an incredible cook, Joonghyuk- ah! "
Both Dokja's compliment and the sudden term of endearment soared right over Joonghyuk's head. He was still reeling from the moan.
"The flavours are something else! I can't believe something as good as this could come out of my kitchen!"
Joonghyuk preened under the praise. Hesitatingly, he said, "I can prep some more, if you'd like. So you can have more tomorrow."
" Ahhh ," Dokja intoned.
This Joonghyuk noticed — how Dokja was always so sprightly, loud, and verbal .
“But now I feel slightly guilty. How could I impose on you like that?"
Joonghyuk was quick to respond, "It's no problem. It's good practice for me." He watched Dokja sink in his seat, and continued, "And I only need to come in 3 times a week. I can make time in the evening."
"Are you sure? Don't you have plans, or assignments, or a girlfriend?" Dokja asked. "I don't really know what university students do nowadays...but I hardly believe spending time with a single mother and his daughter is well worth your time."
A single mother. Mother. Mother. Mother—
"I don't have a girlfriend."
Dokja stared, unmoving.
"What's the use of backing out now, hyung? You've already tasted my food. I doubt you'd find anyone better than me."
On Dokja's pretty, pretty face was a disbelieving smile. A split second later, he threw his head back to laugh. The sound of it ripped Joonghyuk's heart right out of his chest and spat it out onto the floor, leaving him barren and breathless.
"Of course I'm taking you in, Joonghyuk-ah. I was just pulling your leg. I've already decided ever since Biyoo stopped crying when she saw you."
In the end, as Dokja ushered him to the elevator with a slumbering Biyoo in his arms, four separate containers of pre-cooked beef stored in the fridge, and another ₩45,000 deposited in his bank account, Joonghyuk could only stand stiffly in place, unsure whether to leave or wait.
"Thank you, Joonghyuk- ah . I haven't had a filling meal in weeks." Dokja placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair.
"Mm. I'll come back on Wednesday with a set diet for you and Biyoo."
"I hope it's not too strict." Dokja smirked, and dipped his voice low, his lashes fluttering like the beating of wings: "You're such a good boy, Joonghyuk-ah."
Oh.
"I'll see you then, hyung."
O—Oh.
(Needless to say, when Joonghyuk arrived home later that night, he was thankful that Mia was still out. He took out ₩20,000 and tucked it under a book on her desk, before locking himself in his bathroom.
He had never taken a longer cold shower. Biting the inside of his cheek, forehead resting on the wall, he fisted his cock to the thought of Dokja's face, voice, and that moan , wondering how much sweeter he'd sound calling him Good boy, good boy, good boy —)
(White splattered on the bathroom tiles. Joonghyuk watched, in utter shame, as the it travelled down the drain. Distantly, he shelved the idea of Kim Dokja and everything related to him in Things Not to be Explored ; and scrubbed himself clean.)
3
The first time Joonghyuk received a call, it was on the Wednesday he was supposed to come in. Dokja’s instructions were terse, as though the matter of getting the groceries was one that hinged upon Joonghyuk's ability to differentiate between skimmed and unskimmed milk.
"Biyoo loves banana pudding. Make sure you get chia seeds, and medium-sized bananas."
Joonghyuk wanted to ask what medium-sized bananas meant, but he digressed. He had just gotten out of class, and had to make the 12-minute walk back to his flat in the sweltering summer heat.
It was to no surprise that Mia had her friend over. They were both poring over the menu of a nearby fried chicken place. After a brief greeting, Joonghyuk changed into a short-sleeved button-up that Mia claimed hung nicely from his shoulders. He stopped by the door just before leaving.
"What are you girls doing?"
"Using the pocket money you gave me," answered Mia, without looking up.
It was her friend who turned to him, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. "All dressed up, and reeking of cologne, too. Are you going out on a date?"
"What—?!" Mia observed him then, and rolled her eyes, "No, Jihye. He got a part-time job at some rich old man's house."
"Ah, that explains the treat." Jihye grinned knowingly.
"Don't spend it all on junk food," Joonghyuk chastised them, pointedly ignoring Mia's words. "You should know how to save."
In a similar vein, Mia ignored his.
Later, Joonghyuk found himself at a specialty store a block away from Dokja's apartment, stalking down the fruit aisle for said bananas. Dokja had called ahead and said that he would get off work late. In the meantime, he was told to get started on dinner. Joonghyuk met with the housekeeper that evening, who had just put Biyoo to sleep. The kind-faced elder nodded at him before she left, and instructed him to keep an ear out for Biyoo.
Thankfully, Biyoo was a heavy sleeper. An hour into cooking, Joonghyuk finally heard the elevator ding . It was as he was storing the banana pudding in the fridge when he smelled Dokja before seeing him — this deep, saturated scent, slightly spicy, and warm like vanilla.
"Smells good."
When Joonghyuk turned around, he hadn’t prepared for the sight that would greet him. It was inevitable for him to speculate on Dokja's occupation. To spend frivolously on food and Biyoo, he had to have either come from old money, or married rich.
To this day, he couldn’t quite tell. Under the overcoat was a slim dress shirt, paired with a downright sinful pencil skirt. His legs were wrapped in sheer tights adorned with a criss-cross pattern, and he had on a pair of red-soled stilettos. When Dokja shifted, leaning on one hip, the hem of the skirt rode dangerously high up his thighs.
His chest looked full beneath the silk. Briefly, an image flashed through Joonghyuk's mind — of the expensive material stained with wetness, forming two perfect circles marking the nipples — before being swallowed by his conscience.
"Did you make the pudding?" Dokja asked.
The last of Joonghyuk's neurons fired off a single answer: "Yes."
"Great. Can you go ahead and serve it? I'll check up on Biyoo and get changed." Dokja smiled, as though Joonghyuk had not just ascended upon laying eyes on him.
Rather absentmindedly, Joonghyuk served the dishes as instructed. An indiscriminate amount of time later, there was the click-clack of heels as they bounded down the steps, followed by a whiff of expensive perfume. Whipping his head around as if on command, Joonghyuk endured his second heart attack of the night.
A satin slip dress, with a cut so deep along the right leg. Around Dokja’s shoulders was a faux fur jacket. It was only when he stood before him that Joonghyuk realised that Biyoo, too, was dressed up — a matching pleated gown, the collar made of delicate lace, and decorated with black bows.
"I'm so sorry, Joonghyuk-ah, but could you put the food away first? The in-laws just called me over for dinner."
In-laws? Suddenly, Joonghyuk was into ice-cold water. The stark reminder that Dokja was 33, a single mother, and his employer. What was he thinking, fantasising about him and jerking off to his image?
Dokja fiddled with his earring, and sighed. "My ex still can't get over the arrangement, it seems. What was the use of the prenup, then?"
Against his better judgement, Joonghyuk blurted out, "Will you come back?"
This gave Dokja pause. He peered at Joonghyuk, and melted his heart with an endearing smile. "Of course, Joonghyuk-ah. I won't even touch the food at my in-laws. I'll take the pudding to go and come back to finish the rest."
His gaze dropped to the floor. Seemingly aware of his shift in moods, Biyoo produced an adorable coo. Chubby hands reached out to Joonghyuk, grasping in midair.
"Don't give me that look, Joonghyuk-ie," said Dokja, fondly. "Come, help me with my necklace. I don't have full use of both my hands, unfortunately."
A plain, obsidian necklace was dropped onto Joonghyuk's palm, and his fingers curled around it protectively. Turning so his back was towards him, Dokja craned his neck, baring the whole length of his clean, supple nape for Joonghyuk to touch, feel, smell.
Joonghyuk's hands began to shake. With a reverent whisper, the necklace was wrapped around the base of Dokja's neck. Any trace of vanilla, warmed by a quick shower, flitted in and out of his senses. His nose was so, so close, nearly touching, and he could practically taste the cloying fragrance on his tongue.
The first touch upon unmarred skin elicited a hitched breath. Dokja’s spine curled, pressing lightly against Joonghyuk's front, the bend of his waist skirting dangerously close to Joonghyuk's groin. Damp, hot breath fanned against the side of the neck, and Joonghyuk suppressed a groan.
"Joonghyuk—?"
Before Dokja could move, Joonghyuk had already pulled back. Dokja spun on his feet with a hand on the back of his neck, eyes roving all over. Rough breath, with a red-flushed face. Heat rose all the way up Joonghyuk’s ears, dusting the tips an attractive pink.
It was Biyoo who broke the silence. After having caught sight of the banana pudding, she began to squirm in Dokja's arms, nearly falling flat on the table.
"Ah, it seems she's raring to go. Could you be a dear and pack these for her, Joonghyuk-ah?"
Joonghyuk, in all his slowly-loosening cognisance, could only nod in response.
"You can take the rest home. Leave early tonight," instructed Dokja from the entrance. Biyoo was wrapped in his coat, occupied with a spoonful of pudding. Her eyes glistened like stars, blinking blearily between her mother and Joonghyuk.
Joonghyuk untied his apron dejectedly, feeling at a loss. For him to be this affected was bad news. Extremely bad news. He was acting like a dog in heat, lapping at what little reprieve Dokja would allow him. Was 21 years too long to live as a virgin?
"You still have extra from the allowance, right? Why don't you go out and treat your friends for a drink?"
"No thanks," answered Joonghyuk, curt. "I've already got plans."
Dokja inclined his head, and gave a smirk. "Oh, someone waiting at home?"
"My sister. I made extra pudding."
Something dawned on Dokja's face; but just as quickly as it appeared, it was swiftly dashed. "A sister, huh? She must be spoiled."
When Joonghyuk kept quiet, Dokja hummed, and stepped close. He reached out, cupping a hand over Joonghyuk's cheek. In a manner not dissimilar to how he would pacify his daughter, he spoke—
"I'm sorry, Joonghyuk-ah. If I'd known earlier, I wouldn't have asked you to come over. Rest assured, I will only be eating your food tonight."
"Hyung—"
Dokja stood on his tiptoes, planting a chaste kiss on his other cheek. And then, he drawled, " You're so cute when you're pouting, Joonghyuk- ie . And this shirt ," his eyes dropped to his chest, " it fits you so well. "
That may have stolen Joonghyuk's breath away; and even as Dokja spun away with a laugh, airy and light, Joonghyuk remained rooted in place. Heart caught in his throat. All semblance of rationality thrown out the window.
I'm doomed, he thought. He was so very doomed.
4
On Monday the following week, Joonghyuk returned to an empty home. Mia had left him a message saying that she would be at the internet cafe all day.
Figures. It was the first day of presale.
Over the past week, Joonghyuk had dutifully attended class, made dinner for Mia, and left for Hannam-dong before returning late at night. This earned him his first three paychecks, which were enough to cover the full price of a VIP GOLD ticket. After being reminded, twice over, to keep his notifications on for when Mia needed his credit card details, Joonghyuk tossed his phone aside, and stepped into the shower.
He could indulge in himself a little. With the little sum he'd saved for himself, Joonghyuk had bought a new shirt. True to Mia’s promise, she'd even taken the initiative to press it neatly and hung it in his closet on the days he went to work.
Such a day was today.
Arriving on time, Joonghyuk bowed at the housekeeper, and retreated to the kitchen. According to the pre-made meal plan, he was to prepare western dishes for the entirety of the week. There were no restrictions — only that it was allergen-free, rich in flavour, and Did not, under any circumstances, contain visible tomatoes.
It wasn't the hardest set of rules. The first day over, Joonghyuk prepared prime cut tenderloin in a red wine marinade, roasted baby potatoes and asparagus, lightly sautéed. Dessert was a chilled no-bake cheesecake, topped with fresh cream and cut-up strawberries. This had Dokja practically salivating as soon as he came home, and he couldn't help but linger inside the kitchen.
That was also the first night he'd asked him, "Can you help me take off my necklace, Joonghyuk-ah?"
And Joonghyuk, after dropping everything and scrubbing his hands ten times over, would rush over to him. Each time the silver jewellery fell over his collarbones, curling over the dip, Joonghyuk found himself yearning for more.
On Wednesday, he made zucchini pasta with freshly tossed basil. That same night, Dokja had asked him to unfasten his earrings, one after the other. On Friday, Joonghyuk opted for seafood, and prepared crispy halibut in a lemon butter sauce. Without taking his coat off, Dokja had plopped onto the sofa, crossed his legs, and asked for Joonghyuk to unclasp his heels.
This was how Joonghyuk found himself. On one knee, wishing that his hands didn't shake. Today, Dokja wore a knit dress, those damning sheer tights, and an oversized, patterned blazer. The heels were a strappy pair, wrapped around his ankles so as to accentuate the bone.
Dokja was uncharacteristically quiet as he watched Joonghyuk struggle with the clasp. Once he was done, a full 5 minutes later, Joonghyuk looked up at Dokja, his chin nearly resting on his knee.
"My necklace. Have you forgotten?"
"I haven't," Joonghyuk croaked, and waited for the other to move.
Yet, Dokja stayed in place. He tipped his head, and kept his gaze trained on Joonghyuk's blank face.
"What are you waiting for, Joonghyuk-ah? Your fish is on the stove."
With bated breath, Joonghyuk rose to his full height. He placed a knee on the sofa, and leaned down. The moment Joonghyuk's fingers splayed across his nape, Dokja let out a gasp, bringing a hand to Joonghyuk's collar — the shirt he just bought, the one that Dokja liked.
His back arched at the intrusion, an immaculate curve. Joonghyuk held onto the metal, finding it inexplicably difficult to unhook. From where he was positioned, his nose brushed against the angle of Dokja's jaw. Slowly, the hand that rested on Joonghyuk's collar trailed up and wrapped around his neck, pulling in tight.
Joonghyuk was woefully unprepared. He held out his left hand to steady himself on the back of the sofa, his right hand instinctively falling onto Dokja's waist. The sudden motion lodged his knee right between his legs, pushing the dress further and further up his thighs. There was a breath drawn into his lungs, hoarse.
No words were exchanged. Dokja yanked him closer, parting his legs to accommodate him. At this new angle, Joonghyuk's knee pressed right into Dokja's groin. There . He felt the wetness before anything else. Dokja ground up against his leg, bringing a dull pleasure up the spine. His eyes, lined with tears and reddened at the corners, crowded his vision.
"H—Hyung," he managed between grit teeth, both hands coming to clutch at the other's waist. "What are you—?"
Dokja opened his lips, and let out a breath into Joonghyuk's mouth. "Shhh. Stay still."
Their breaths mingled with one another, neither daring to close the distance. Joonghyuk's hands moved on instinct, dragging Dokja by the hips up and down his leg, leaving a wet trail on the cheap linen, and positively throbbing each time he brushed against his—
Beep! Beep! Beep!
"Fuck—"
Smoke wafted from the kitchen, seeping into the living room. Joonghyuk shot up to his feet as if he'd been scalded. His crotch had grown painfully tight.
For a moment, they looked into each other's eyes; though beyond Dokja's overblown pupils, he couldn't quite parse his emotions. Joonghyuk, however, was like an open book. Shock flashed across his face in a flurry, and he darted his eyes all over the room, unable to withstand Dokja's heated gaze.
"Your fish," Dokja answered flatly. He glanced at the kitchen. "I think it's burned."
"I—I'll turn off the alarm," said Joonghyuk, the guilt gnawing.
Dokja narrowed his eyes, pulled down his dress and stared down the hall at Biyoo's room. "Then I'll go check on my daughter."
(Dinner that night was particularly strained. Dokja kept himself preoccupied with entertaining Biyoo, which gave them both the grace of not needing to interact with each other. By the time dessert was served, Joonghyuk was already halfway out the door.)
(Unwilling to face the aftermath, Joonghyuk hadn't even noticed the long, withering stare directed at his back as he disappeared past the doors. He hadn't even stayed for the usual farewell.)