Archive of Our Own

FLORENCE, ITALY

BREAKING NEWS:
UFFIZI GALLERY’S FIORENTINO PIECE FOUND TO BE A FORGERY

The Uffizi Gallery in Florence is home to some of Italy’s finest and oldest art. Among their pieces lies Rosso Fiorentino’s 1521 painting, Angel playing the lute. However, this Monday, an art appraiser found that the artwork was a dupe, a forgery that mirrors the original almost perfectly. This piece, if it were up for sale, would be worth thousands—if not, millions—of euros.
Authorities are unsure of when or how the painting was replaced with a fake. Camera footage shows no discrepancies throughout the past month, and the gallery’s staff say they never saw anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary. No suspicious activity has been recorded on the museum’s property. An investigation is currently underway.

If you would like to report suspicious activity related to this crime, alert your local authorities before calling the museum at xxx-xxx-xxxx.

We will provide updates on this story as more information is revealed.

Jaehyun exits out of the article and kicks back in his chair, propping his feet up on the rich mahogany of his desk. He doubts the authorities will find anything substantial—he was meticulous with this piece and its process. By now it’s too late, the original artwork hiding in some billionaire’s secret vault. He dials Johnny and smiles as the other man picks up.

“Another success, Seo. Bar at seven?”

It was supposed to be Doyoung’s day off. The weather in Italy was beautiful, a warm autumn day where the sun shone on cobblestone streets, fresh fruit ready to eat at vendors. He could’ve enjoyed a day outside with his friends—instead he’d chosen to go to an art museum on his only day off. It’s like he was asking to get more work.

Now he’s in the museum director’s office, waiting for the chubby Italian man to come back and question him some more. He curses his eye for detail and his loud mouth. Whoever the forger was did a good job of replicating and aging the painting, but Doyoung has been studying art for so long that he can tell a fake from an authentic artwork, no matter how well done.

But that means he’s the first suspect for a forger. Which is ridiculous, really, because why the hell would he forge a piece of art and then identify that it’s a fake? Please. Nobody’s that stupid.

Doyoung is pulled out of his thoughts at the entrance of the museum director. He shuffles in with a pile of papers in his hand and looks at Doyoung above his glasses. “Alright, I’m just gonna need you to go through these papers—”

Doyoung fights the urge to roll his eyes. He’s going to be here awhile.

Jaehyun slides into the seat next to Johnny and orders an old fashioned. The pub is moderately busy tonight, seats filled but not crowded. It’s usually a popular place, known for the good food and hard liquor. The leather booths and wooden architecture give a rustic feel to the whole place—like an American-style diner, except in the middle of Italy.

Johnny turns and gives him an obvious once-over. “Hey babe, you come here often?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jaehyun says as he rolls his eyes. Johnny just laughs and takes another swig of his drink.

“Is Taeil coming tonight?” Jaehyun asks as the bartender slides his drink to him.

Johnny nods. “Yeah he is, but he’s busy figuring out more about this appraiser that’s on our backs.”

Jaehyun hums. He’s the one who told Taeil to try and see who was able to identify the Fiorentino piece as a fake, but he didn’t mean for him to work overtime for it. He tells Johnny this much, and the other man fixes him with a look.

“Yeah, but you know Taeil. He’ll put everything on hold until he finds what he’s looking for.”

And like they’ve summoned the man himself, Taeil hops into the seat next to Jaehyun. “I told you guys to stop talking about me behind my back.”

“Taeil-ah, we were just talking about the relentless dedication you have for your job,” Johnny says, fake sweetness coating his words.

“Hmm, right,” Taeil responds, unbelieving. He relays his order to the bartender, before turning back to Jaehyun and Johnny.

Johnny rests his elbows on the bar counter and leans in Taeil’s direction, “Yo, Taeil. So what’d you find out?” he whispers.

Taeil subtly looks around him before turning to Johnny, “Are you out of your mind? I’ll tell you both later. Preferably when we’re not in a fucking bar,” he stresses.

“And? We’re leaving Italy soon, anyways. None of these people are going to Korea with us, I’m sure,” Johnny reasons. Jaehyun scans the bar, looking for any familiar faces or anyone who could have business in South Korea. No one looks familiar, and there’s only a few east-asian guys in a booth in the far corner, but they’re too far away to be a threat.

“Either way, I’ll tell you later. I came here to relax, not talk about work,” Taeil says.

“Shouldn’t have come with us, then,” Johnny mutters into his drink. Taeil reaches across a laughing Jaehyun to swat him on the arm.

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Taeyong nudges Doyoung’s arm and nods over to the three men sitting at the bar. Doyoung looks over, uninterested.

“I mean, I guess. Which one are you talking about?” he asks. “Tall, medium, or short?”

“Medium. With the dimples.” The medium guy is attractive—dark hair swept up, dimples on full display as he laughs at the shorter guy next to him.

“I didn’t know you were planning on getting laid tonight, Yong,” Doyoung says as he raises an eyebrow at his friend.

Taeyong throws him an annoyed look. “I wasn’t looking for myself,” he says, sipping at his drink. “He’s your type, not mine.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes, knowing where Taeyong is going with this. “I am not gonna fuck around in Italy, Taeyong.”

“Your loss,” he shrugs.

“What’s he losing?” Ten says as he slides into the booth, back from the bathroom.

Taeyong gestures to the bar. “That guy over there. I told him to go and flirt with him or something. It’s been forever since Doyoung’s had any… fun.”

Ten nods his head, agreeing. “When’s the last time you had a good time out, Doyoung?”

“I’m here with you guys right now, aren’t I?” Doyoung says, waving his arm around the bar.

“Only because we dragged you here! And if I’m remembering correctly, you didn’t want to come tonight,” Ten counters, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

“That’s because I just got back from being detained at a museum. Anyone would be tired after something like that,” Doyoung tries to defend himself.

“Boohoo,” Ten stretches the word out, “you haven’t hooked up in so long I bet your dick’s a hollow piece of wood at this point.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Ten. Just because I prefer monogamy and an emotional connection with someone over hooking-up doesn’t mean my dick’s fucking shrinking or something.”

Taeyong laughs and chokes on his drink, causing him to cough violently. Ten pats his blue hair in an effort to help him, but it doesn’t help. Doyoung considers calling a waiter over.

Eventually, Taeyong recovers enough to speak again. “You lot are trying to kill me, huh?” he says, shoving Ten back from coddling him. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Now Doyoung has to go have a conversation with Medium Dimples over there. Consider it repentance for almost killing me.”

Doyoung sighs. “Alright alright, I can hold a fucking conversation. Unlike what you guys think, I haven’t lost all my social skills.” He slides out of the booth, ignoring Ten and Taeyong’s grins.

He makes his way to the bar, thinking of what he should start a conversation about. He sidles up to where the three guys are sitting and orders a drink. They don’t notice him, but Doyoung is close enough to catch bits and pieces of their conversation.

“... on the news!” The shorter one with burgundy hair is saying.

“Well, it’s a high class piece.” Tall guy.

“Alright, shut up before someone catches on.” Medium Dimples redirects the conversation.

Doyoung’s mind reels. The bartender sets his drink down and Doyoung thanks them with an awkward smile.

… A high class piece, on the news? The only artwork to have made the news recently was the Fiorentino piece that Doyoung discovered.

Maybe he’s reading into their conversation too much. There’s no way the three of them are talking about art pieces… is there? Doyoung takes his drink and makes his way back to his coworkers, who look up at him in surprise.

“Done already? How’d it go? Do you like him?” Ten asks, questions spilling out of his mouth.

“No,” Doyoung shakes his head and sits down, across from the two of them. “No, fuck, I think they’re the ones who forged Angel playing the lute.”

Ten and Taeyong stare at him, unblinking, before Ten snorts. “If you didn’t want to talk to him, you could’ve just said so. You don’t have to make shit up,” he says, leaning back into his seat.

“No, I’m not making this up,” Doyoung stresses. He relays the conversation he overheard at the bar.

“Oh my god,” Ten says, shocked, “what should we do? If they actually did it?”

“Nothing. ‘Cause they’re not even here anymore,” Taeyong says, looking at the now empty seats of the three men.

Doyoung whips his head around and curses at the sight of three empty barstools. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Jaehyun’s phone alarm blares, startling him awake. He groans, headache splitting his head open. He immediately regrets bar hopping with Taeil and Johnny the night before. Rolling over to his back, he grabs his phone and silences it, before squinting through bleary eyes to see what messages he has waiting for him.

A message from Taeil catches his attention over everything else. He’s sent him the promised information on the art appraiser. Jaehyun sits up in his bed, more awake, and opens the file. A name and face pop up, and Jaehyun can’t fight the feeling that he’s seen both before.

Kim Doyoung.

TOKYO, JAPAN

“Jung Jaehyun. It’s nice to see you again,” Nakamoto Yuta grins at Jaehyun.

“Likewise,” Jaehyun greets him with a firm handshake. Despite only being two years older, Nakamoto Yuta is a popular name within the illegal art scene. Jaehyun first met him almost six years ago, when he was twenty-one, fresh-faced and lost in the world of forgery. He owes it to Yuta, for teaching him as much as he could when he was in Seoul. Now they’re on the same playing field, as business partners and art forgers rather than a mentor and his mentee.

“You here for the gallery?” Yuta asks him, leading him through the refurbished warehouse where he makes his art.

“What else?” Jaehyun replies. “Hoping to see the textures and aging of these paintings firsthand. Figured it would help.”

“Mhmm, of course. And is the American accompanying you?” Yuta asks.

“Who, Johnny?” Yuta nods. “No, he’s doing some of his own business while I attend.” Jaehyun knows Yuta and Johnny get along well from the few times they’ve interacted in the past. He’s often wondered if there’s something between the two of them.

Yuta brings him near the back of the warehouse, and Jaehyun realizes that the two of them aren’t alone. A boy paints at an easel while classical music pours out of a speaker next to him. Yuta calls his name, and the boy turns around, eyes widening at the sight of Jaehyun.

“Jaehyun, meet Osaki Shotaro,” Yuta says, slinging an arm around the boy’s shoulder. Shotaro grins, and his eyes curve into little upside-down smiles of their own.

Jaehyun smiles and gives him a handshake as Yuta continues speaking. “He’s fantastic, Jaehyun. Can replicate contemporary artists perfectly.”

Jaehyun raises his eyebrows in admiration, and the boy turns red from the praise. “Perfectly?” He questions.

“Damn near perfect. He’s fantastic at artists like Yoshimoto Nara and Aya Takano. Here, let me show you,” he gestures for Jaehyun to follow him to the far wall, where numerous paintings have been set to dry.

Jaehyun is impressed by what greets him. Painting after painting is a detailed creation of the art coming out of Japan today. Shotaro has accurately been able to copy the style of modern artists such as Nara and Takano. The Japanese art scene is one of the most successful art fields in the world, and Yuta has struck a gold mine with Shotaro. He tells Yuta this much, and Yuta grins, turning to translate the words for Shotaro. The boy thanks him, hesitantly.

“I hope Yuta’s a good teacher,” Jaehyun says in rusty Japanese.

“Of course,” Shotaro responds, smiling shyly at Yuta, “I’m learning from one of the best.”

Shotaro isn’t over exaggerating, Jaehyun admits. Yuta’s speciality is in duplicating older Japanese paintings. He breathes out Ukiyo-e era art like it’s no effort. Jaehyun always comes to him for any Japanese art dealings.

“I know that’s right!” Yuta says, pride thick in his words. Shotaro laughs.

Yuta puts a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder and says something in Japanese to Shotaro. He turns to Jaehyun. “Told him I was your teacher too, not just his.”

“He’s not wrong,” Jaehyun shrugs his shoulders at the boy. Shotaro looks a little surprised, mouth open in awe.

“I also told him that it’s probably time you get going,” Yuta says, glancing at his watch. Jaehyun glances at his own and realizes he’s actually running a little late. The sun is already setting, pink and orange filtering in through the windows of the warehouse.

“Oh, shoot. Yeah, I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Shotaro.” The boy waves at him with a smile and a farewell of his own.

Jaehyun starts for the door, Yuta accompanying him. Before he leaves, however, he remembers something.

“Hey, is there any way I could come in here to work on some stuff later? There’s a couple paintings I need to do, and maybe Shotaro can help.”

Yuta nods. “Yeah, sure. Pretty sure he’ll be here. He can let you in, and if he leaves before you, just text me for the access code to get you out since the door locks automatically.”

They exchange goodbyes, Jaehyun promising to visit Yuta again before his flight tomorrow.

Then Jaehyun gets in his rental car and backs out of the parking lot, on his way to the gallery.

Doyoung sighs as he parks into the dimly-lit underground car park. There aren’t many other cars, since the gallery requested him to arrive six hours before the actual event to appraise the pieces. Six hours is an incredibly short time, but with the amount of money the gallery is offering Doyoung, he’d be a fool to turn this opportunity down.

Going to Tokyo was a surprise for him, a trip thrown together last-minute by his boss. The original appraiser that was to attend the gallery landed in the hospital, and emergency situations meant Doyoung was thrown around the globe, known for his clean record and accurate estimations. Besides, he was high in demand after identifying a forgery before the Uffizi could.

He grabs his wallet and phone and exits his car, rubbing his hands together for warmth. It’s the time of year between fall and winter, where the air is chilly but not bitingly cold. Doyoung looks around the garage as his breath crystallizes in the air. The wealth is ostentatious in this gallery—Doyoung notices gold details decorating the pillars of the garage, paintings held in glass display cases and embedded into the walls. All this and he hasn’t even set foot in the actual gallery itself.

Once he gets inside, he’s immediately greeted by staff and whisked away to the main ballroom that’s been redecorated to hold artwork, faint purple and yellow lights decorating the room to look mystic.

“There’s about fifteen pieces tonight, and the gallery starts at seven in the evening,” a tall man with thin-framed glasses says to Doyoung. “Will that be enough time, sir?”

Doyoung doesn’t agree to anything unless he’s fully capable of it. He looks around at the spotlights trained on each painting before turning back to him, nodding. “It should be. Let’s get to it.”

Several hours of calculations later, Doyoung looks up from his seat at one of the small tables scattered throughout the room as buyers start to trickle in. Nighttime has settled over Tokyo, an air of joviality filling the room at the prospect of a relaxed night of buying rich art and showing off one’s wealth. Investors arrive in designer clothes, immaculate women on their arms in jewels worth Doyoung’s yearly salary. Doyoung quickly realizes that he and the gallery staff are at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder tonight.

He sighs, resigning himself to another night as a puppet of the rich, here to only answer questions about the art on display. He pockets his phone and moves to stand up when he glances at the entrance and sees a familiar face walk in.

Doyoung’s eyes widen and he moves quickly to blend into the crowd. He turns his back to the entrance and stares intensely at a painting he had just authenticated two hours ago. His mind races.

It’s the man from Italy, the one who Doyoung is now certain is responsible for replacing Angel playing the lute. Medium Dimples. He owes it to Taeyong for noticing the guy in the first place, he supposes.

But now what? Doyoung’s an art appraiser, not some special agent. He’s too far out of his depth, no Taeyong or Ten to help him out.

He’s got three options: alert the authorities, try to catch the man by himself, or look the other way and pretend he doesn’t know a thing.

Oh, who is he kidding? He already knows what he’s going to do—try to solve this on his own. Without concrete evidence, he can’t alert the authorities, and he’s never been one to turn away from his own curiosity.

He glances around, looking for the man who’s no longer at the entrance. Before he can get a good look, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to greet a buyer with questions about a piece in the gallery. Doyoung answers everything that he can, words about the piece flowing out on autopilot as his eyes flit from person to person, trying to catch a glimpse of the forger.

Eventually, the first buyer leaves, satisfied with Doyoung’s answer. Doyoung finally finds the man he’s looking for on the other side of the room, engaged in conversation with an investor. He curses his luck, however, as a woman approaches him and asks for his reasoning behind the pricing of another painting before he can get to the other man.

By the time he finishes his explanation about the effort and quality of the artwork and his criteria for appraising art, Doyoung is tired and disgruntled. Out of his peripheral vision, however, the forger grabs his attention once more. Doyoung watches as he walks away from the main crowd of buyers. The man doesn’t seem to notice Doyoung’s gaze as he makes his way out of the hall and discreetly enters into a room off to the side.

Doyoung has no choice but to follow. He smiles and bows politely to all the investors as he walks through, greeting them while his eyes shift from room to room, trying to spot the doors that the man went into. Thankfully, no one else interrupts him.

The area he eventually wanders into is dim, barely any people around and even fewer lights. He twists the knob of the very last door and pushes in.

“What are you doing here?” Doyoung asks bluntly as the door shuts behind him. He figures it’s best to be straightforward and confrontational in a situation like this. The room he’s in is a small library, warmly lit with bookshelves lining the walls and a wooden desk near the center of it all. In front of him, the man turns, mid-phone call.

If he’s surprised, he hides it behind a smirk. “I have to go,” he says into the phone as he ends the call. He then slides his hands into his pockets. With his dark hair pushed out of his face and his absurdly good looks and posture, he paints a picture of power and strength. If Doyoung were any other man, he would be cowering in his presence.

But last time he checked, he wasn’t just any other man. So he lifts his head a bit higher, straightens his shoulders out. Mirrors the thief in front of him.

“Kim Doyoung,” the man states, like he was expecting him. Doyoung crosses his arms, already on the defensive. “I’ll have to admit, I didn’t think you would be here.”

“Who are you?” Doyoung interrogates, ignoring his words.

“Jung Jaehyun, at your service,” the man says as he opens his arms and bows slightly. Doyoung rolls his eyes.

“Alright, Jung Jaehyun, why are you here? What are you looking to forge this time?”

“Who says I’m here to forge? Can’t a guy just enjoy some high-profile artwork?” he asks playfully. It isn’t amusing. Doyoung walks closer to Jaehyun, until there’s only a few feet between them. He stares the other man down, despite Jaehyun being the slightest bit taller than him.

“Mr. Jung, I’m not here to play some kind of game. I could go out there right now,” he points to the door, “and tell everyone that I’ve found the forger who took the Fiorentino piece in Italy. Security would be on you in an instant.”

He waits for a reaction, a tell, but all Jaehyun does is smirk. Doyoung’s blood boils.

“Except you won’t, Kim Doyoung. Because I’ll be gone before you can even say my name. Different city, different name, different art.” With each ‘different’ that comes out of his mouth, Jaehyun comes closer and closer into Doyoung’s space. Doyoung steps back instinctively.

And for a moment, Doyoung’s curiosity replaces his anger and fight. “Why? Why go through so much trouble when you could just live a normal life as a genuine artist?” he asks.

Jaehyun looks away, and Doyoung is entranced by his profile for a moment, busy tracing the other man’s strong jawline with his eyes. “Life is unpredictable. Not everyone can be a ‘genuine artist’,” he says darkly, and Doyoung’s eyes snap back to his.

“If I, some nobody from Korea, can replicate high-end artwork almost perfectly, then why worship these artists like they’re heroes when they did nothing significant but live and die in the past?” Jaehyun scowls out and takes another step forward, forcing Doyoung to step back again. He realizes he’s been backed up against the wooden desk and grips the wood behind him for balance.

“But you’re just a fake. A forger. No wonder you don’t appreciate true art, it’s because you don’t make any,” Doyoung hisses out, eyes locked onto his. The distance between them shrinks.

Something dark and angry flashes in Jaehyun’s eyes before it’s gone, and he lets out a small laugh. “Oh, but Doyoung,” he says, and his voice drops as he leans over him, “I love art enough that I'm willing to… commit crimes for it,” he whispers, breath tickling Doyoung’s ear. Doyoung grits his teeth to hide the shiver that runs through him.

Then Jaehyun steps back and Doyoung stares at him, gaze unfocused. “And you, Kim Doyoung, love art enough to stay silent about this.”

With that, Jaehyun slips out of the room. Doyoung exhales.

What the fuck was that.

Jaehyun walks out of the room, already pulling his phone out to tell Taeil to dig into Kim Doyoung’s profile even further. He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated that he didn’t know the other man would be at this event. Now his plans to scout the artwork are canceled as he tries to leave the building as soon as possible without Doyoung on his tail.

Kim Doyoung was easy to read, a man wholly dedicated to his work and his art. A small part of Jaehyun was jealous of the other man, because that used to be him. Someone who was pure at heart—not an illegal bone in his body. Jaehyun used to love and cherish every piece he made like it was his own child. He took pride in his authenticity, his artistic vision, his drive for success.

But that was before reality woke him up. Now Jaehyun knows you have to play dirty if you want to stay successful. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that. Jaehyun may have been thrown into the world of illegal art out of necessity, but he’s chosen to stay. There’s no going back now.

He unlocks his car and gets in quickly, knowing he’s tight on time right now. He sends Johnny his location before backing out of the underground car park.

Jaehyun presses on the gas pedal to Yuta’s art warehouse, mind racing with the possibility of getting caught because of some nosy art appraiser. His jaw tightens in irritation. Fucking Kim Doyoung.

Shotaro opens the backdoor of the warehouse with his bright eye smile, letting Jaehyun come inside. The boy’s smile presses down on the frustration filling inside Jaehyun, replacing it with a bit of tranquility. He’s here, and Kim Doyoung isn’t. Jaehyun considers that a win.

“Hey, Shotaro,” he says, relieved. “I wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour or so, but there was… a change of plans.” He looks at the boy, hoping his Japanese was intelligible enough.

“Oh, it’s no problem. How come you’re so early?” Shotaro responds.

Jaehyun sighs. “Oh, Let me tell you.”

Doyoung’s legs are cramping, stuck behind this stupid desk. It’s a tight fit, squished between the wall and the wood of the desk.

If he wasn’t so uncomfortable, Doyoung would’ve started napping by now—he’s so exhausted. Instead, he’s crouching, calves squished against his thighs, bottom on the cold floor. Furthermore, he’s still in the suit he wore to the gallery—expensive fabric that’s tight around his shoulders and thighs. He leans his head against the wall.

He wasn’t aware that spying would be so uneventful. After sneaking in behind Jaehyun, he’d taken refuge behind the furniture in the warehouse. Once in a while, he would peek out to see Jaehyun and another guy—the younger one who had let Jaehyun in—painting across from each other. Soft jazz music played from the speakers, and no words were spoken, aside from a few sentences in Japanese, which Doyoung couldn’t understand.

He’s stuck. And bored. At least the music is nice.

Then, Doyoung hears voices. Jaehyun and the other boy are speaking again. Doyoung slowly pokes his head out from behind the desk and sees the younger boy washing paint brushes and putting his coat on. He’s leaving.

The two of them exchange goodbyes (Doyoung understands at least that much Japanese), and the boy leaves through the back door in which Jaehyun entered, earlier. The door shuts with a loud click, the sound of an automatic lock falling into place.

At the sound, Doyoung sees Jaehyun look at the door, surprise written in his face. Doyoung’s eyes widen. He and Jaehyun are locked inside, aren’t they? What’s worse is that Jaehyun doesn’t know that Doyoung is hiding out in the same place, concealed behind this fucking desk. Doyoung sighs quietly and lets his head fall forward. He must have misjudged the distance between the side of the desk, however, as he hits his head against the wood, causing a loud thunk to be heard throughout the warehouse.

Oh no.

Doyoung ducks as quickly as he can as Jaehyun’s head whips around at the sound. Stupid desk! Stupid, stupid fucking desk.

“Who's there?” Jaehyun says, fear barely noticeable in his steady voice. “Come out, before I call the police.”

Doyoung wants to laugh.

“Yeah, right. This warehouse is stocked with illegal artwork, and you’re going to call the police?” Doyoung says as he stands from his hiding spot. His knees crack from being squished against the wall for so long and he fights the urge to groan in relief.

Jaehyun’s handsome features twist into disbelief. “How the fuck are you here?” he questions, pointing at Doyoung with the paintbrush in his hands.

“Followed you in,” Doyoung says casually, hands in his pockets.

“But how? I didn’t see anyone tail me at all.”

“I have my ways, I guess.” He shrugs his shoulders. Truthfully, it wasn’t easy. He had to stay several cars behind Jaehyun’s the whole drive, had to slip into the warehouse with perfect timing, and had to hide for hours in silence in said warehouse.

Jaehyun squints at him. “You sure you’re just an art appraiser?”

Doyoung narrows his eyes in response. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” Jaehyun shrugs, “seems like the whole art appraiser thing could be a cover for something else.”

Doyoung laughs out loud this time. “What, like a secret agent?”

“I mean, maybe. I can’t trust you. I bet the police are already on their way here.”

Doyoung’s laughter stops as he realizes he hasn’t done anything of the sort. He pulls his phone out and turns it on as Jaehyun’s eyes widen, realizing that he’s shoved his own foot in his mouth.

The other man steps forward to try and grab Doyoung’s phone, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. His phone wasn’t turning on, no matter how many times he pressed on the power button. Doyoung curses.

“It’s dead, calm down,” he says as he rolls his eyes at Jaehyun, who looks as if he’s about to jump out of the window in order to escape.

Jaehyun looks relieved, but Doyoung is feeling anything but relief. He takes a seat on top of a table nearby and groans into his hands..

“How are we supposed to get out of here? Did you not hear your friend lock us in? We’re trapped,” Doyoung stresses, looking up from his hands. Jaehyun shifts on his feet, awkward and uncomfortable, as if he can finally see the worry and insecurity that lies behind Doyoung’s facade of confidence.

“Hey,” he says, voice surprisingly gentle, “it’ll be okay. The owner of the place told me this would happen, and I texted him for the code to the lock. I had forgotten about the lock before, that’s all. We’ll be able to get out soon.”

“Who’s the owner?” Doyoung asks.

Jaehyun arches an eyebrow at him. “That’s not something I can disclose.”

Doyoung hums. “Then I suppose I’ve to be escorted out of this warehouse by you?”

Jaehyun walks over to a mini fridge farther down the warehouse and grabs two bottles of water. He throws one to Doyoung and opens the other for himself. “Unfortunately, yes.” He takes a sip before twisting the lid back on. “Listen, I don’t enjoy this anymore than you do. In fact, I’d prefer if I didn’t have to deal with you at all.”

Doyoung frowns. “Why, so you could commit crimes in peace?”

That seems to irritate Jaehyun, as his brows furrow. “There are worse crimes than replicating artwork. And not everything’s black and white in life, Kim Doyoung.”

There it is again. Jaehyun said a similar thing back at the gallery, almost like he didn’t choose this career. The words bounce around Doyoung’s brain, sowing seeds of doubt in his otherwise headstrong belief that Jaehyun is a criminal.

Doyoung sighs, giving up. “You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“I said, I’m sorry.” Doyoung looks anywhere but at Jaehyun’s figure in front of him. “Nothing in life is black and white, especially something as inequitable as the art industry. So I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. This isn’t my job, so I’ll stop sticking my nose in your business. I won’t turn you into the police or anything either.”

“Wow. That was sudden.” Jaehyun’s eyebrows remain raised in disbelief. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Doyoung leans back on his hands and looks over at him with a hint of a smile on his face. “Yeah, whatever.”

Jaehyun smiles back, and Doyoung can see his dimples poke through his cheeks. Oh, he’s attractive.

“I’m gonna get back to work, then,” Jaehyun says, pointing his thumb back at his easel, half-finished painting drying on it. Doyoung just nods and takes a drink from his water bottle.

It must’ve been thirty minutes since Jaehyun started painting again, but Doyoung is bored. He taps his fingers against the wooden table, restless and itchy in his suit. He sheds his blazer, leaving him in his dress shirt and pants. He glances over at Jaehyun, who has taken his dress shirt off, leaving him in a white, short-sleeved undershirt.

“Hey. Jaehyun.” The man turns away from his painting. “Any word from the owner yet?”

Jaehyun checks his phone and shakes his head. “Let me try calling him instead.” Doyoung watches as Jaehyun calls twice, both times resulting in a dial tone at the other end of the line.

“Oh god, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon, are we?” Doyoung rakes a hand through his hair.

“Worst-case scenario, we’re stuck here until morning, when the owner comes in,” Jaehyun tries to placate him.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s my fault I’m stuck in here, it’s just—it’s been a long day,” Doyoung sighs.

Jaehyun’s nice enough to not rub it in. “You don’t have to sit on that table the whole night. Feel free to take a nap or something,” the other man suggests, gesturing to the brown leather sofa pushed against the back wall of the warehouse.

“Why, so you can kill me in my sleep? Not likely. I’d rather stay awake the whole night.” The two of them might’ve come to a compromise of some sort, but that doesn’t mean Doyoung trusts him or anything.

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna kill you, Doyoung. I’m not some murderer, just an art forger.”

“‘Just an art forger’,” Doyoung puts his fingers up in air quotes, teasing. He’s nothing if not exasperating.

Jaehyun chuckles and turns back to his work. “Suit yourself.”

Doyoung gets off the table and instead goes over to the area where paintings have been set out to dry. He knew Jaehyun was a good forger, perhaps one of the best at replicating art, but a part of him forgot just how talented the man is.

He whistles in appreciation, catching Jaehyun’s attention once more. “These are… they look exactly like originals. What Yoshimoto piece is this? I haven’t seen it before.”

Jaehyun looks over and grins. “There’s no original for that one. The boy who was here with me, earlier. He made this one in Yoshimoto’s style.”

Doyoung stares in awe. “Amazing,” he breathes out, leaning over the painting to examine its details. He hates that he’s so fascinated. But it’s good art—so good that Doyoung can’t help but look closer and wonder how people can adopt another artist’s style perfectly like this. Captivated by the paintings, Doyoung takes a seat on the floor and continues to observe each one.

He isn’t sure how long he stays like that, but he’s startled when Jaehyun takes a seat on the floor next to him, one leg stretched out.

“My phone’s dead now,” he says, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his t-shirt. “Now I know we’ll be here until morning.” Doyoung hums in acknowledgement.

They make light conversation after that. They talk about everything, from painting techniques that work best for portraits to the cultural colonialism done by old european artists.

“It’s fucked up, really. The west decides what’s deemed ‘high art’. ‘Classy art’. Why is the renaissance deemed the most influential art period in history while they subsequently choose to ignore the vast art forms of Africa and Asia that have existed far before Da Vinci and Donatello?” Jaehyun asks no one in particular, gesturing with his hands in the air.

Doyoung nods, agreeing. “I’ve seen it first-hand, the demand for western art is much higher than international art.”

“It’s idiotic,” Jaehyun says as he leans his head back against the wall. Doyoung finds himself gazing at Jaehyun’s profile stupidly. His hair is a bit mussed now, like he ran his hand through it a few times.

“You seem to… despise the art industry,” Doyoung says tentatively, “yet you still work in it—illegally. Why?”

Jaehyun sighs. “I know this career isn’t legal in the eyes of the justice system. I know that. And I didn’t choose to do this for a living, but I was thrown into it out of desperation and it’s stuck. I—”

Doyoung doesn’t know what comes over him, but he rests his hand on Jaehyun’s wrist. Jaehyun’s eyes snap to where their skin touches. His words come to a halt.

“You don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with,” Doyoung says, removing his hand gently. His skin burns where they touched.

Jaehyun looks at him for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s—it’s okay. I’m choosing to share this. For some reason, I trust you won’t tell anyone.” Doyoung nods. He swallows thickly, his heart beating a little faster at Jaehyun’s words. Oh god. Doyoung looks away before he does something stupid, like look at his lips.

“I started college as a fine arts major in America,” Jaehyun starts, “and you won’t believe how much of a law-abiding citizen I was back then,” he laughs, and Doyoung smiles.

“I poured everything I had into my art. In my freshman year, I had already had my art featured and sold in an exhibit. But in my second year, my mother was hospitalized. It’s hard to pay attention to your education when your mother needs open-heart surgery.”

Doyoung’s heart drops into his stomach.

“Thankfully, the surgery was successful, but the hospital bill was nearly impossible to pay. I had to make up thousands of dollars I didn’t have. So I had no choice but to drop out of school.

“I tried to sell all of the artwork I had, but buyers weren’t interested. That’s when I met someone who was intrigued in my skills and asked if… if I would like to replicate a few artworks for him. Desperate for money, I said yes.” Jaehyun exhales. “And that was that. I haven’t looked back since.”

“And your mother? How is she, now?” Doyoung asks. The corner of Jaehyun’s mouth tilts up, as if he’s amused by Doyoung’s question.

“She’s doing well. Lives in Korea now.”

Doyoung smiles. “That’s good.”

“And you? What’s the story behind Kim Doyoung?”

Doyoung huffs. “It’s pretty average.” He shifts, leaning onto his left hand on the floor and moving his legs into a more comfortable position. “Grew up in South Korea, went to school and university there too. I liked the analytical side of art. Figuring out why pieces were priced the way they were, what made them valuable, stuff like that, so I went into art appraisal. Nothing special, really,” he shrugged.

“Hmm, I think I’d have to disagree,” Jaehyun says, moving the slightest bit closer to Doyoung. His fingertips graze the back of Doyoung’s hand. “I don’t think someone average could identify a forged painting before an esteemed gallery could. And I certainly don’t think someone average could follow me into this warehouse without my knowledge.”

And Doyoung—Doyoung has the audacity to blush under the dim lights of said warehouse.

“Above all else, no average person would sit here and listen to the story of my life instead of turning me in. So why, Kim Doyoung? Why are you still here?” His voice has dropped into something low and quiet. The distance between them is almost nonexistent, and Doyoung can’t think.

Jaehyun looks into his eyes and seems to understand that Doyoung can’t put his answer into words. Doyoung’s brain is filled with white noise, the only coherent thought being Jaehyun’s name. His eyes dart down to his lips.

Jaehyun moves the hand that isn’t resting on top of Doyoung’s to cup his cheek, his skin cold on Doyoung’s warm face. Doyoung shuts his eyes and leans in, throwing all his previous doubt to the wind.

He feels Jaehyun’s warm breath on his lips, a centimeter away, when a loud noise is heard throughout the warehouse.

He and Jaehyun spring apart at the sound, staring at each other with wide eyes. Before either of them could say a word, the back door to the warehouse swings open, and a man with burnt orange hair bursts in.

“Jaehyun, I’m so sorry! I fell asleep,” he says, looking around the warehouse. “Wait, where are you?”

Doyoung watches as Jaehyun breathes a sigh of relief and gets up from the floor. “Hey, Yuta. Over here,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, there you are,” Yuta walks over, still oblivious of Doyoung sitting on the ground. “Man, I’m so sorry. I was exhausted and fell asleep early. If it weren’t for Johnny pounding on my door, I would’ve left you here all night.” On a closer look, Doyoung notices that the man is in pajama pants and has on a t-shirt under his coat.

“Johnny’s here?” Jaehyun asks.

“Of course I am. Who else can save your sorry ass?” Johnny walks in, a familiar face to Doyoung. Tall guy.

Doyoung chooses this moment to stand up, startling both Johnny and Yuta.

“Oh fuck, how did I not see you?” Yuta gasps out, hand on his heart. Johnny eyes Doyoung with caution, mistrust evident in the downward tilt of his mouth.

“This is Doyoung, a—a friend of mine,” Jaehyun introduces him, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Doyoung notices the tips of his ears turning pink. Cute. “He had the misfortune of getting trapped in here with me.”

Johnny’s eyes dart to Jaehyun, a conversation running between their eyes. Surely Johnny knows who Doyoung is, then.

He offers both Yuta and Johnny a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both, but I should go,” he says with finality. He nods in their direction before sweeping his discarded blazer off the table and heading towards the back door.

Before he shuts the door behind him, he turns and gives Jaehyun a small smile. The other man opens his mouth as if to say something, but Doyoung is gone before he can.

In his car, Doyoung leans back against the headrest of his seat and exhales. Jaehyun—black-market artist, reluctant criminal, undeniably attractive and surprisingly sweet Jaehyun—almost kissed him tonight. And the most concerning part of it all is that Doyoung wishes the ‘almost’ wasn’t there.

PARIS, FRANCE

Jaehyun is familiar with Paris, home to some of the most famous art pieces in the world. He’s traveled there far too many times to sell pieces, as Paris is rich with art—both legal and illegal. This time, however, he steps onto Parisian soil with foolish hope beating in his chest.

He’s here for business, of course—he’d finished several Étienne Terrus paintings for a private dealer—but he’s also been invited to an exclusive event at the Louvre, specifically for esteemed art professionals. And he’s hoping, praying, crossing his fingers that he’ll see Kim Doyoung there.

Jaehyun didn’t even get his number. All he knew were facts on paper—his name, his occupation, his birthdate and blood type. He had no way to call him or text him or ask him if he wanted to kiss Jaehyun as much as Jaehyun wanted to kiss him.

Because no matter how hard Jaehyun threw himself into his work, he would go to sleep and dream of Doyoung’s almond-shaped eyes, the feel of his skin under Jaehyun’s hand, and his plush lips so, so close to his own.

And everytime, he would wake up before their lips could touch.

Jaehyun dresses in a midnight-colored suit, crisp white button-down underneath. He styles his brown hair to be pushed off his face and sprays cologne before going down to his hotel lobby.

“Jaehyun. Pleasure to see you again,” Dong Sicheng greets him outside the entrance to his hotel in an all-black suit. He and Sicheng met several years ago at a high-level business event—him being a successful businessman with a taste for art and Jaehyun quickly climbing up the art forgery ladder. Sicheng is an unexpected customer-turned-friend, and he’s the one who got Jaehyun a place at this event at the Louvre tonight.

Jaehyun smiles and gives him a hug in lieu of a greeting before the two of them get in Sicheng’s Mercedes.

“I’ve never seen you so eager to get on a guest list before.” Sicheng’s eyes are fixed on the road, but Jaehyun can see the slight curl of his lips in the reflection of his window.

Jaehyun turns his head to the driver’s seat, away from the city lights of Paris glinting in the dark sky. “It’s a prestigious event—a good business opportunity. Need I say more?” He grins at Sicheng.

The other man arches an eyebrow at Jaehyun. “I thought we were good friends, Jaehyun. Far past the need to keep secrets from each other.”

So he knows, then. “Was it Johnny or Yuta?” Jaehyun asks. “Or maybe Taeil?”

“He told me because it happened on his property,” Sicheng smirks, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Jaehyun hums. Of course it was Yuta. He can’t keep his mouth shut.

“So, what? You’re serious about him, then. Why?” Sicheng’s voice is quiet, but somehow still commanding. Jaehyun doesn’t have an answer for him.

“I don’t know, honestly.” He fights the urge to run a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Maybe it’s the aspect of unattainability. He’s the last person I should want, yet the only one I’m desperate to see.”

“Be clear with him, Jaehyun. If he’s here tonight, and things go the way you want them to, both your careers are at risk. Be careful,” Sicheng advises as they pull up to the valet parking.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Jaehyun breathes out.

“And if everything goes well,” Sicheng looks at him, a small smile playing at his face, “then I won’t see you tonight.” His friend winks before walking ahead of him.

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his head, before following him into the Musée du Louvre.

This party is a bit underwhelming, in Doyoung’s opinion. He would rather sneak out to the gallery and catch a glimpse of the Mona Lisa one more time.

He can’t find Ten either, his friend lost in the crowd. Ten loves parties almost as much as he loves art—Doyoung couldn’t keep track of him the minute they stepped into the ballroom. He finishes his glass of champagne and gets up from the bar, heading outside for some air.

Paris winters are chilly, and Doyoung shivers lightly once he steps outside, his burgundy suit providing little warmth. His breath crystallizes in the air as he looks out at the city’s golden skyline. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see a message from Ten, saying that Doyoung shouldn’t wait up for him tonight. Doyoung huffs out a laugh before texting him back to stay safe.

Officially left on his own, he walks over to the Pyramide du Louvre and sits at the edge of one of it’s fountains, the stone cold to the touch. With no company by his side, his thoughts wander.

His traitorous mind thinks of Jaehyun, and his stomach flips. It’s so cliche, the butterflies that dance around in Doyoung’s stomach. He feels a bit childish—heart fluttering at the thought of Jaehyun—like he’s in high school again. It’s been a month or two since he’s seen the other man, but he hasn’t been able to escape Doyoung’s mind.

Doyoung is pulled out of his thoughts at the feeling of someone sitting next to him. He turns to look, and his breath hitches.

Fate, it plays with him, doesn’t it?

“Jung Jaehyun.”

He looks good—far too good—in his dark suit. Doyoung’s imagination could only do so much to remember Jaehyun, but nothing could replicate the sight of him in real life.

Jaehyun turns his head with a small smile. “Kim Doyoung. It’s been a while.”

Something has changed since Tokyo, an unspoken understanding built between them. Doyoung bites his lip to hide the smile threatening to slip out.

“Walk with me?” Jaehyun asks, standing up and holding a hand out for Doyoung. He takes it.

They walk towards the pillars of the museum, fingers connected between them.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” Doyoung looks at Jaehyun in confusion. Out of all the things he was expecting, he never anticipated an apology.

“For what?”

“For possibly reading the situation incorrectly. In Tokyo,” Jaehyun says, and Doyoung tenses, stopping in place.

He swallows thickly. “You—you didn’t.”

“I didn’t?” Jaehyun steps closer.

Doyoung shakes his head the slightest bit. “You didn’t,” he repeats quietly, his fingers teasing the sleeve of Jaehyun’s suit jacket. Feeling brave, he walks back, until his back hits a pillar. He pulls Jaehyun towards him by their linked hands, and he stumbles forward, catching himself with his other hand next to Doyoung’s waist.

The distance between them is almost nonexistent. Doyoung watches Jaehyun’s eyes flit down to his lips, deja vu from Tokyo. He absent-mindedly wonders if he can hear Doyoung’s heart pound within his chest.

Jaehyun lets go of his hand and reaches up to cup his cheek.

“Then, Kim Doyoung, would you let me kiss you?”

Doyoung’s heart rate spikes as he grabs Jaehyun by the lapel of his suit and tugs him in, a replacement of an answer. Jaehyun makes a small sound of surprise before returning the kiss, his lips finally slotting against Doyoung’s.

Jaehyun kisses him like he knows him. Like it hasn’t been months since they’d been this close to each other for a kiss that never became. They fit together easily, his lips sliding over Doyoung’s. Jaehyun moves his hand from the stone of the building to Doyoung’s waist and squeezes, drawing an embarrassing yelp from him.

Then Jaehyun’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip and a switch flips inside Doyoung. He feels a tug in his lower belly, lust starting to cloud his thoughts. The kiss turns into something hot, desperation seeping into the space between their lips. Every second they have to split apart to breathe is time wasted. Doyoung wraps his arms behind Jaehyun’s neck, the space between them disappearing as Jaehyun pulls him closer by the waist.

He presses kisses to Doyoung’s jaw, his mouth leaving a trail of warmth on the sensitive skin. Doyoung moans softly, knowing he’s done for.

“My hotel is close,” Doyoung says, breathing heavily as Jaehyun’s mouth travels down his neck.

“Yeah?” Jaehyun’s voice is rough. “Let’s go, then.” He moves back and Doyoung grabs his hand, tugging him towards the sidewalk.

Doyoung stops at the curb to hail a taxi, and Jaehyun wraps his arms around his waist from behind, pressing kisses to his nape.

“We’re in public,” he hisses, but Jaehyun just laughs, his smile tickling the side of Doyoung’s neck. He shivers.

They climb into the taxi with joined hands, ignoring the dirty look from the driver as they settle in the back.

The drive is unbearable, Jaehyun an arms length away from him, but unable to touch. The elevator in Doyoung’s hotel is worse, the urge to push Jaehyun against the chrome wall and take his lips incessant.

Then Doyoung shuts the door to his room and Jaehyun is on him in an instant. Their lips collide, Doyoung’s back hitting the door, and his breath is immediately stolen from him. Jaehyun grabs at his waist again as Doyoung threads a hand into his hair and tugs, earning a groan from the other man.

Jaehyun slots a leg between Doyoung’s and Doyoung curses at the feeling.

“Fuck, Jaehyun.” Doyoung scrambles to take Jaehyun’s blazer off, throwing it to the side. He palms at Jaehyun’s taut abdomen through his dress shirt. “Holy shit.” He’s full of eloquence this evening.

He reconnects their lips as Jaehyun tries to unbutton his shirt. Even before Jaehyun undoes the last few buttons, Doyoung runs his fingers down his abs, trying not to faint. “Oh, fuck me.”

Jaehyun chuckles, discarding his shirt. “That’s the plan tonight.”

Doyoung pushes off the door, and the two of them stumble to the bed. Doyoung lands on the bed first, breathing heavily as he slides up the headboard. He lifts his head and watches as Jaehyun crawls over to him, eyes dark.

From there on, it’s a blur of ecstasy.

Doyoung strips his clothing off, reaching for Jaehyun’s lips as each piece comes off. His eyes are hot on Doyoung’s skin, his touch searing.

Jaehyun preps Doyoung quickly, three fingers inside him as his moans bounce off the walls of the hotel.

“I’m ready,” Doyoung says desperately, pulling Jaehyun up by his shoulders and kissing him. But he’s wholly unprepared for the feeling of Jaehyun finally entering.

Jaehyun moves inside him slowly, praises whispered into his ear.

“You’re so beautiful, Doyoung. So fucking pretty.” Doyoung shuts his eyes and moans, the words igniting a desire deeper than he ever thought he could have.

“Drove me crazy, not being able to see you for months. You were so close, before you weren’t.” Jaehyun’s words are cut off when Doyoung pulls him down to meet his lips in a kiss soaked in lust.

Soon it’s all too much, hands on skin, lips pressed to every inch of his body, Jaehyun hitting the most sensitive of areas. He touches Doyoung, taking him in his hand.

Doyoung sees stars, moaning Jaehyun’s name unabashedly. He tugs on Jaehyun’s hair tightly, and the man groans before following him over the edge.

It’s later, when they’re showered and dressed, that Doyoung looks up from his phone and asks Jaehyun where he’s headed next.

The other man is stretched out on the bed, hands behind his head and feet wiggling on top of the hotel comforter.

“Hmm? New York, I think.” He smiles cheekily, dimples poking through. “Why? Interested in another rendezvous?”

“Maybe,” Doyoung admits. “This was nice, wasn’t it?” He hopes the lamplight hides the red coloring his face.

Jaehyun just smiles and reaches up to kiss him softly. “More than nice. I’ll look forward to seeing you there, then.”

NEW YORK CITY, UNITED STATES

Jaehyun knocks on the door to Doyoung’s hotel room, looking down at the bouquet of flowers clutched in his hands. He bought them on a whim as he passed by a flower shop in New York.

He’s been unusually happy today. Johnny had rolled his eyes, teasing, when he told him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know the reason behind it,” he had said as they had driven down the streets of New York.

“The weather’s nice, could be that.” Jaehyun smiled, as he looked out the car window and felt the light breeze of spring blow through his hair.

“Sure, if that’s what you call Doyoung these days,” Johnny had shot back.

Jaehyun laughed. He was too carefree to look too deeply into what those words meant.

The past few months have been incredible with Doyoung. He and Jaehyun spent time in Korea together whenever they could. Trips around Seoul, window shopping downtown; dinners at candlelit restaurants, Doyoung’s smile glowing; nights at Jaehyun’s apartment, tangled in the sheets together. Jaehyun knows he’s falling fast but he couldn’t care less. He’s happy, and so is Doyoung.

They’ve even come to a mutual understanding of each other’s careers, letting each other do their own thing. Doyoung turns a blind eye when Jaehyun’s apartment smells of aging products for his paintings, and Jaehyun listens when Doyoung tells him to stay precautious with every meeting he has with a client. The world’s fucked up and they’re two ordinary people in it—Jaehyun thinks they’ve accepted it.

Jaehyun is brought back to the present as Doyoung opens the door, face splitting into a smile at the sight of him.

“Hey,” Doyoung greets him with a kiss on his cheek before he notices the bouquet, his almond-shaped eyes brightening. “Is this for me?”

Jaehyun smiles. “My mother told me to never go to someone’s place empty-handed.”

Doyoung throws a playful look at him as he fills a mug with water for the flowers while Jaehyun lets himself in.

“Are you in New York for business?” He asks as Jaehyun takes a seat next to the window. The view is astounding, high up in the air, halfway between the ground and the endless blue sky.

“Johnny’s here on business,” he says, thoughts briefly wandering to his friend, who’s currently at an infamous auction house for fake artwork. Johnny thrives in the American art scene, charisma in every word he speaks, talent flowing in every Pollock and Warhol piece he replicates. No one’s better suited for business in America than Johnny, so Jaehyun feels nowhere near stressful about him on his own.

“I’m all yours, though,” he adds, distracted from his thoughts as his eyes trail the skin revealed by the open collar of Doyoung’s button-down.

The other man ignores him on purpose, instead scrolling through his phone. “There’s some really nice restaurants around here. Do you want to go out or stay in?”

“Stay in.” Jaehyun doesn’t hesitate.

“Wanna watch a movie then?” Doyoung suggests, grabbing the TV remote and moving over to sit on his bed. He pats the spot next to him, beckoning Jaehyun over.

He sits down on the bed, throwing an arm around Doyoung and leaning into the large pile of pillows behind him.

Doyoung shuffles through the channels before landing on some A24 film neither of them have seen. The movie starts, and Jaehyun rests his head in the crook of Doyoung’s neck, bored. He didn’t come to New York to watch a movie, but he supposes he can sit through one if Doyoung wants to watch it.

He falters at his own thoughts. God, he’s so fucked, isn’t he?

Doyoung’s hand rests on Jaehyun’s leg, rubbing soft circles into his thigh. Jaehyun looks at him, but his eyes are trained on the screen in front of them. He turns back to the television, thinking nothing of it.

He tries to focus on the film, but Doyoung’s fingers feel like matches grazing his skin, bursts of heat tempting him. And then Doyoung drags his hand higher up his leg and Jaehyun exhales slowly.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” he whispers breathily.

“Tell me, Jaehyun, do you know what’s going on in the film at all?” Doyoung asks him, and his hand presses down on Jaehyun’s crotch.

Jaehyun moans, eyes closed in pleasure. “You’re cruel, Doyoung. Absolutely evil.”

Doyoung’s eyes are sinful when Jaehyun looks into them. “And what are you going to do about it?” he says, and Jaehyun shuts him up with a deep kiss.

He knows exactly what to do about it.

Doyoung is ordering food from room service when Jaehyun gets a call from an unknown number. He steps out of the room to answer it so as to not disturb Doyoung’s call.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, unsure of who to expect.

“Jaehyun!” His eyes widen as Johnny’s voice comes through the tinny speakers of his cellphone.

“Johnny? Is everything alright?”

“The Knoedler Gallery has been discovered.” Jaehyun’s heart stops. That’s where Johnny’s auction was.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” He asks frantically.

“I was lucky enough to escape. I’m with Taeil right now, but the FBI have surrounded the building.”

“Oh my god,” Jaehyun breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “Who did this?”

“That’s the issue,” Johnny hesitates before continuing, “they’re saying it was a leak from our team. Yuta’s looking into right now, but we don’t know who could’ve tipped the feds.”

Suddenly, Jaehyun’s blood runs cold. No one else knew of their plans except… except Doyoung.

“I think I know who it was, Johnny.”

“No, Jaehyun, don’t do anything before—” Jaehyun cuts the call.

The one time Jaehyun let someone in, and they betrayed him. He feels like such a fool.

He enters the hotel room, and Doyoung turns to him with a smile. Jaehyun’s stomach twists. “Hey, what was—” he starts, but Jaehyun cuts him off.

“I can’t believe it, Doyoung. I didn’t think you would do this.” Jaehyun’s voice is steady.

The smile drops from Doyoung’s face. “What’s going on? I wouldn’t do what?”

“Johnny was almost arrested tonight, because someone tipped off the FBI,” Jaehyun says, getting more and more frustrated as he thinks about the situation. “No one else knew of our plans besides my team and you.” He points an accusatory finger at Doyoung.

Doyoung looks at him in shock, eyes sad and wide. “So you’re doubting me?” Jaehyun doesn’t provide an answer for him.

“I looked the other way when it came to your career. I have been far more understanding than anyone else would’ve been in my occupation,” Doyoung says calmly, standing up. “I did this all for you, and you don’t trust me?”

“Get off your high horse for once.” The words spill out, and Jaehyun doesn’t try stopping them. “I didn’t mean to become some art criminal, but I’m here now, and this is my job, whether you like it or not,” Jaehyun spits out, running a hand through his hair. His heart aches with anger and sadness, but under it all is the sinking feeling of losing something he thought he had.

“I trusted you, Doyoung,” he says, far more heartbroken than he wishes he was. “I realize now that that was my fault.”

“Jaehyun, if you would just listen to me—” Doyoung starts, taking a step forward, but Jaehyun just shakes his head.

“Goodbye, Doyoung. This was nice, wasn’t it?” He throws Doyoung’s words from Paris back at him and watches as his face shutters, closed off.

Then Jaehyun walks out of the room, door slamming shut behind him.

SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

Doyoung always thought the word ‘heartbreak’ was a bit dramatic. But when Jaehyun walked out of his room in New York, he finally understood why the feeling was likened to a heart splitting in two.

His thoughts and feelings were in a jumble these days, torn between knowing he wasn’t in the wrong and knowing why Jaehyun acted the way he did.

It’s not easy for Jaehyun to trust in a career like his—this, Doyoung understands. But perhaps it was foolish to believe that Jaehyun trusted him, knew him, enough to know that Doyoung wouldn’t sell out the very person he loved. Loved and lost. Doyoung never even got the chance to tell him how deeply he felt for Jaehyun.

And now he was gone, and Doyoung could only wish things had worked out differently.

Their relationship was fast, but passionate, and so, so easy. They could fall into each other with an ease Doyoung had never felt with anyone else before. He sometimes finds himself wondering if Jaehyun had felt the same way, before banishing those thoughts altogether. It’s too painful.

Doyoung looks at the exhibit in front of him, observing the paintings neatly hung on the wall. He’d come to a museum on his day off, an old habit he could never shake. The last time he had done the same was in Florence.

Florence was also the first time he had seen Jaehyun.

He shakes his head. Moving on is far more difficult than he thought.

Jaehyun walks into the gallery, his footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor of the museum. He’s been coming to museums more often than not, these days. They provide inspiration—and incentive—and they usually help Jaehyun come out of his art block.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of it all is that he knows why he’s in a slump, and refuses to address the issue.

Taeil and Yuta had worked together and found that the leak at Knoedler was an intern working under Taeil’s tech team. They broke the news to Jaehyun, and all he could feel was absolute and utter regret. He’d been a fool, acting in anger, mistrusting Doyoung.

He should’ve believed him. Should’ve let him speak. Should’ve listened. The only thing left to do was wish he had thought things through, because now he was left missing Doyoung.

The man had unknowingly implanted himself into every piece of Jaehyun’s life. He saw moments of their relationship in his apartment, in his dreams, and in his artwork.

Jaehyun would walk by the stores downtown and see a replica of the black turtleneck Doyoung would always wear. He would sit at his dining table, the faint memory of Doyoung laughing across from him. His sketchbook was filled with Doyoung’s dark, almond eyes.

If Jaehyun ever got the chance to see Doyoung again, it would be to apologize. To tell him how much he meant to Jaehyun. Because Doyoung was a part of his beating heart, and now he was gone.

He walks around the main hall of the museum before entering the featured artist’s gallery. There’s a large piece attached to the ceiling of the room, and Jaehyun looks up, intrigued. Not looking at where he was going, however, his shoulder rams into someone else.

“Oh, I’m so sorry—” Jaehyun starts reflexively, but stops when he sees who he’s speaking to.

Doyoung stares back at Jaehyun in shock before he clenches his jaw, trying to move past him.

Jaehyun comes to his senses and steps in front of him. “Wait, Doyoung. I need to talk to you. I need to apologize for—”

Doyoung holds a hand up, stopping Jaehyun’s words. “Not here.” His eyes flit to the people scattered around the gallery.

“Then where?”

“My apartment isn't too far from here. If you’re fine with it, come over. We can talk there,” he says, before walking past Jaehyun and out of the museum.

Jaehyun sits at Doyoung’s dining table, fiddling with his thumbs as Doyoung gets water for the two of them. He sets a glass down in front of him, but Jaehyun makes no move to drink it.

Doyoung takes a seat diagonal to him. “How have you been?” He starts, voice calm.

“I’ve—I’ve been better, Doyoung.” Jaehyun smiles, wry. Doyoung mirrors his expression with a weak smile of his own.

Jaehyun takes a deep breath and shifts closer. “Doyoung, I’m really sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to speak. Above all else, I’m sorry I… I left you.” He looks at Doyoung, and the other man swallows, looking at the floor. Jaehyun’s heart twists painfully.

“What I did was stupid,” he continues, “but I’m stupid. Really fucking stupid, because I hurt someone I love.”

Doyoung’s head snaps up.

“What did you say?” His voice is shaky.

“That I hurt someone I love.” Jaehyun sets his heart on the table. “And I’ll wait for them, for however long as they need. Or I’ll leave, if that’s what they want.”

“Because I’m done hurting you, Doyoung,” he says, and takes one hand in his.

“Well, Jaehyun, if you’re stupid, then I’m crazy,” Doyoung says, and Jaehyun’s heart speeds up. “For... for loving you too.”

Jaehyun’s eyes sting, but he smiles, wide and unabashed. “You mean that?”

Doyoung nods, his lips splitting into a beautiful smile of his own.

“Give me some time, Jaehyun. Let me come to you. When I’m ready.”

“Of course.” Jaehyun kisses the back of Doyoung’s hand, heart beating steadily. “As long as you need.”

The curtains are drawn, the late summer sun barely peeking through to Doyoung’s bedroom. He sits against the headboard, Jaehyun in between his legs, his back to Doyoung’s chest.

Doyoung’s still in a post-coital glow, despite the both of them freshly showered and in pajamas.

Jaehyun tilts his head up to press a kiss to his lips, and Doyoung sighs, body lax.

“What time is it?” Doyoung asks softly. “I’ve got a meeting with a client this evening.”

“Hmm, you’ve got time,” Jaehyun breathes out, leaning his head back on Doyoung’s shoulder.

“I don’t think so,” Doyoung says, but he makes no move to leave the bed, instead wrapping his arms around Jaehyun’s shoulders and leaving soft kisses on the side of his face.

“What, they’re a high-scale client?” He asks, and Doyoung nods.

Jaehyun smiles mischievously. “See if you can bring the pieces back, maybe I could make some money off of them.”

Doyoung pinches his side in response, and Jaehyun squirms in his hold, laughing. Doyoung smiles and kisses him again, his heart expanding in his chest.

Doyoung and Jaehyun are different in every way possible, two extremes on either side of life. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re stupidly in love with each other.