Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sion is fucked. Figuratively, of course, which is his least favorite kind.

He’s slumped in front of his laptop, staring in existential horror at his YouTube analytics. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. He refreshes the page, hoping the number will somehow magically revert. But no. His subscriber count has officially dipped below six figures.

99,999.

When he started this channel in his first year of psychology grad school, it was supposed to be easy money. He had student loans looming over him, and people kept telling him, You’re attractive, you should just become an influencer. So he did. A no-brainer, really.

Except it turns out you can’t just be hot on the internet and expect long-term success. You need a thing, a niche.

Sion has no thing.

He’s bad with his hands, so no DIYs. Too self-conscious for those chaotic videos like “I pretended to be the Prince of England for two days” or “Third-Wheeling Random Couples”. Not naturally funny enough to pull off satirical commentary videos. No hilarious but safe-for-work best friend to bounce his ideas off of like Rhett and Link (he tried featuring Jaemin on his video once as a guest, and it did not go well).

So he defaulted to the one thing he had: his psych degree.

It worked at first. He reviewed movies, dissected characters’ red flags, talked about the psychology of love and attraction. He made videos like “Why We Fall for the Wrong People” and “Are You Actually in Love or Just Codependent?” People ate it up for a while, at least.

But now he’s officially lost traction.

His last video, “Detecting Red Flags: Signs of Narcissistic Personality Disorder,” barely scraped 5,000 views. The comment section is mostly bots and the same three subscribers who comment on everything he posts. One of them wrote “lol dude yu fell off”.

Which. Rude.

He scrolls through his old content, searching for what worked. One video, months ago, actually did numbers: “The Science of Love Bombing: Why We Fall for The Wrong People.” He remembers because some trash dating podcast clipped a part of it and twisted his words into something borderline misogynistic, which got him a brief wave of hate comments before people lost interest again.

He clicks on the analytics tab.

Dips. Dips. Dips. A small spike. Then more dips.

If he doesn’t go viral soon, he’s going to have to take on another internship besides working at the rat lab of his University. He would go insane.

Sion’s a psych PhD student, for fuck’s sake. He knows how people think, how relationships form, how attraction works. There has to be a way to use that. Otherwise he’ll really have to resort to eating leftovers from his roommates’ takeout.  

Speak of the devil.

“Sion-ah!” A voice yells from outside. “Pizza’s here.”

 He unplugs his laptop and drags himself out of the room. Haechan’s on the couch, patting the empty spot besides him. Jaemin’s inspecting the pizza, grumbling something about the delivery boy stealing a pepperoni slice for himself, while Yangyang is sitting cross-legged on the floor looking over the Netflix directory.

“Guys.” Sion announces gravely, cradling his laptop like it’s his dying child. “I’m falling off.”

Nobody says anything.

“Should we watch a movie or a TV show?” Yangyang asks.

He drops onto the couch, pulling a slice of pizza straight from the box. It’s already lukewarm, but free food is free food.

“I’m serious,” he says, chewing aggressively. “My subscribers are leaving me. The algorithm has forsaken me. The industry is ruthless.”

“Sounds rough,” Jaemin says, picking off a mushroom from his slice. “You want a funeral or something?”

“I want views,” Sion whines, slumping back against the cushions. Haechan immediately starts petting his hair like he’s an emotional support animal. “How am I going to land paid sponsorships like this? I need an original idea.”

“Speaking of original ideas,” Yangyang says from the floor, “why is every movie either a sequel or a remake?”

Sion glances at the screen. Reboots, adaptations, modernized versions of the same five stories that Hollywood refuses to let die.

“It’s all nostalgia bait,” Jaemin says through a mouthful of pizza. “They don’t make new stuff anymore, just repurpose old ideas and pretend it’s innovative.”

Yangyang, being an aspiring film producer (his film school project called "Three Men, Two Parakeets and One Boat" was actually a lot better than the title made it out to be), starts going on about the dwindling film industry as he scrolls through the different genres. Thrillers. Sci-fi. Romantic Comedies.

Romantic Comedies.

Sion pauses mid-chew. He quickly wipes pizza grease on a napkin, goes to his YouTube search bar and types relationship experiment:

I Dated My Best Friend for a Week and Here’s What Happened.
Can You Fall in Love with Someone in 7 Days?
I Let My Friends Pick My Boyfriend for a Month.

“What if…” He swallows, sitting up straighter. “What if I borrow an idea too?”

Jaemin gives him a side-eye. “Borrow?”

“Plagiarize,” Haechan corrects.

“Re-imagine,” Sion insists, waving a hand. “Listen. ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’—classic romcom, right? What if I do that? A relationship experiment sorta thing. What if I try to get someone to break up with me in, like, two weeks?”

Haechan smacks his tongue. “I don’t know, Sionie. That sounds like an excuse to be an asshole for content.”

“That’s the point!” Sion says, already excited. He can feel his pores shrinking. “It’s perfect for my channel. It’s psychology, it’s relationships, it’s social experimentation.”

“Sure,” Yangyang says, not even turning around. “Or you’re just making someone suffer for views.”

Sion puffs out one cheek. He does have a point. But it’s not like Sion would make them do anything dangerous or immoral. “It’s not just for views. It’s an intellectual challenge. I mean, some trolls say my videos are useless because dating nowadays is all about looks, right? So I can prove them wrong.”

Jaemin squints at him. “So let me get this straight. You want to prove that attraction is more than just looks by being the worst possible boyfriend?”

“Exactly,” Sion says, pointing at him. “If I can make someone dump me then that proves love isn’t just surface-level attraction.”

“That is horrible logic, and what happens if they don’t dump you?”

Sion ignores the first part of Haechan’s comment. “That’s impossible. I’m gonna pretend to have hemorrhoids. Or like, really bad feet fungus. Or I have nails that—”

Then Jaemin tackles him.

He yells, limbs flailing as he tries to escape. “What the hell—”

“First of all, do not talk about hemorrhoids when I’m eating. Second of all, you’re going to end up famous on Reddit that way, you know?” Jaemin says, grinning like a feral cat.

“I can see it already. ‘My boyfriend confessed to having toenails that grow inward and now I can’t unsee it,’” Yangyang muses.

“Or, ‘AITA for wanting to break up with my boyfriend because he won’t stop talking about his chronic hemorrhoids?’” Haechan giggles.

Sion gives up under Jaemin’s weight. “You guys are useless.”

“Our little Sionie is tired, right?” Haechan coos, ruffling his hair with zero regard for the dignity he’s clinging to.

“Delusional,” Yangyang corrects, throwing himself onto their pile of tangled limbs. “Too much academic stress. He needs to sleep it off.”

Sion pretends to protest but doesn’t move at all.  

When they finally let him go and a true crime documentary is playing on the television, Sion realizes maybe they’re right. Maybe he’s thinking too hard about this.

He sets the idea to the back of his mind.

One week, 500 lost subscribers, and two nights of ramen in a row later, Sion finds himself sprawled out in the living room of their apartment.

“I’m washed out,” he despairs. “Do you think I would do well on Feet Finder? Do you think my feet are beautiful enough?”

In lieu of an answer, Yangyang just tosses a popcorn kernel at him. It bounces off Sion’s forehead.

“I need a viral idea,” Sion continues like a broken record. It’s all he’s been saying these days. “Something big. Something groundbreaking.”

“You need to stop being a loser,” Haechan says. “That’s what you need.”

Sion frowns. “I'm not a loser. I…I'm cool.”

Haechan bends down and looks at Sion with pure pity.  

Jaemin, who has been scrolling on his phone this entire time, asks, “Yangyang, didn’t you say that new club downtown just opened?”

“Yeah, I heard they have good drinks.”

“Well then, it’s settled,” Haechan declares to Sion. “Because you’re coming.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yes-uh.”

Jaemin cracks his spine as he stands up. “Look, if we don’t drag you out of this apartment, you’re going to spiral and end up making a video about how the psychology of attraction is just a capitalist scam, or some other depressing shit that’s going to lose you even more subscribers.”

Sion scowls, because, unfortunately, they’re probably right.

“Fine. But I’m not drinking.”

“Cool,” Haechan says, already shoving him towards his room. “That means you can be our designated idiot-wrangler. Now go get changed, I think those sweatpants haven’t been washed since Obama was president.”

By the time they get to the club, Sion is already regretting every decision that led to this moment.

The EDM music is obnoxiously loud, it’s way too dark to see anything, and it smells like weed-flavored vape. But again, maybe that’s just how clubs smell.

“See?” Haechan says. “Fun, right?”

Sion stares blankly at a guy humping the DJ booth. “Totally.”

“You can be such an old man. Live a little,” Jaemin urges, guiding them toward the bar. “First round’s on me.”

“I told you I’m not drinking. I have a paper that’s due in two days.”

Jaemin waves a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, but you can still nurse a coke while we destroy our livers.”

Sion sighs. He trails after them toward the bar, dodging a group of people taking blurry selfies and a couple that looks like they’re about five seconds away from being arrested for public indecency. The bass thrums in his chest, and he wonders how long he has to endure this before he can claim exhaustion and head home.

Jaemin and Yangyang immediately start haggling with the bartender over shots, while Haechan leans back against the counter, scanning the crowd. Sion orders a ginger ale just to have something in his hands.

He’s considering how long he has to wait before pretending to feel sick when someone slides up beside him, close enough that he catches the faint scent of citrus and something warm.

“Uh—Could I have—whiskey? Neat?” the guy says, incredibly stilted.

Sion tilts his head.

The bartender sets the drink down in front of him. The guy thanks the bartender, picks it up, and takes a carefully measured sip.

He immediately stiffens, his nose and his eyes puckering together.

Sion hides his smile behind the rim of his own glass. “First time?"

The guy visibly startles, blinking wide eyes at him like he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to. Up close, he looks young, maybe a couple of years younger than Sion. Though he’s probably an inch or two taller, with round, expressive features that make it easy to read exactly what he’s feeling.

Which, at the moment, is panic.

“N—no,” the guy insists, adjusting his grip on the glass. “I just—sometimes it catches you off guard, you know?”

Sion watches as he forces himself to take another sip.

“Sure,” Sion says, amusement curling at the edge of his voice.

The guy makes a deeply distressed noise (cute) and sets the glass down. “Okay, fine, I usually drink beer.”

Sion lets out a small laugh. The guy glances at him again, and Sion can tell he’s a little flustered, eyes darting away before he clears his throat. “I’m Daeyoung,” he finally offers. “Kim. Daeyoung. Deayoung Kim.”

Sion can’t help but laugh again. “Sion. Oh Sion.”

Daeyoung nods, a little too fast. “Uh—nice to meet you.”

“So,” Sion says, resting his forearm against the counter, “Kim Daeyoung. Are you here alone?”

“No, my friends are over there,” Daeyoung jabs his thumb across the club, where two unfairly gorgeous boys are looking their way right now. “Apparently, I don’t ‘get out enough,’” he says, using actual air quotes. “Which is kind of rude, because I definitely leave my apartment. Just not… for places like this.”

“My friends dragged me here too.” Sion glances over his shoulders, where they’re all expertly pretending not to eavesdrop on this conversation.

Daeyoung looks surprised at the confession, but not in a judgmental way.

Sion smiles. He likes him already. “So what, library guy? Cafe guy?”

Daeyoung shifts, lifting a shoulder. “I like both. Just not a big fan of scenes like this.”  

“That’s reasonable.”

“And you? If your friends weren’t dragging you here, where would you be?”

Sion considers that for a moment. He doesn’t go out much, not like this. If Haechan hadn’t practically shoved him out the door, he’d be at home, probably staring at his laptop and pulling his beautiful head of hair out.

“At home,” he admits.

“Yeah? What would you be doing?”

Sion hesitates, debating whether to say something interesting, but then decides to tell the truth. “Stuffing my face with chips. Thinking about my impending financial doom.”

Daeyoung chokes on his drink. He clears his throat, coughing once before looking at Sion with wide eyes, half-surprised, half-delighted. “That was—honest.”

“What, you wanted a cool answer?”

“No, no, it’s just—” Daeyoung shakes his head, laughing again. “I don’t know, you just look like someone who has their life together.”

If only. “I promise you, I do not.”

“What do you do, then?”

Sion hesitates. He could say he’s a PhD student, which is true. Or he could say he’s a YouTuber, which is also true, but currently kind of a depressing fact.

“I do psychology research,” he settles on. “What about you?”

“I work in law,” Daeyoung says.

Sion lifts an eyebrow. “You’re still in undergrad, aren’t you?”

Daeyoung huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “I graduated early. I’m already working.”

Sion studies him for a moment. That makes sense. Daeyoung doesn’t have that usual college-boy energy where their egos are too big to fit into their heads.

Still, he’s young. Younger than most people who step into the professional world, and Sion can imagine exactly what that means.

“Let me guess,” Sion says, “your colleagues think you’re too much of a kid to take seriously.”

Daeyoung huffs through his nose, a quiet laugh. “Something like that.”

“That sounds tough.”

“Yeah. Some industries expect you to prove yourself twice as hard if they think you don’t fit.”

Sion does know. Academia has its own version of that. The people who assume he’s too young to be taken seriously, or even worse, those who only see his online presence and dismiss his research outright even though he’s co-authored two tier-one journal publication.

“You said you do psychology research, right?” Daeyoung asks. “Like what, exactly?”

Sion debates how much to say, then just goes with the simplest answer. “Relationships. Attraction. Human behavior.”

 “So you study people?”

Sion nods.

“Does that mean you’re analyzing me right now?”

Sion tilts his head, watching the way Daeyoung fidgets just slightly with the sleeve of his sweater. “I don’t have to. You’re easy to read.”

Daeyoung’s eyes widen slightly. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

Daeyoung stares at him for a moment, then narrows his eyes. “You’re messing with me.”

Sion giggles. He fucking giggles. “Maybe.”

Daeyoung shakes his head, picking up his drink again. “That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t tease a lawyer.”

“Why, you gonna sue me?”

“No,” Daeyoung says, eyes glinting with something playful. “But I could run circles around you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Daeyoung grins, taking another sip of his drink. He still looks a little flustered, but there’s something steady about him now, like he’s settling into the conversation. Sion can tell he’s enjoying himself.

But then Deayoung's phone screen lights up on the bar countertop. He quickly glances at it.

“I should go find my friends,” he says, looking back up at Sion. “I kind of abandoned them when I went to get this drink.”

“You should. Wouldn’t want them to think you got kidnapped.”

Daeyoung huffs out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m the prime target for abduction in a crowded club.”

Sion watches as Daeyoung steps back, hesitating for half a second like he’s debating saying something else. But then he leaves with a little wave, and he can’t help but feel the empty space Daeyoung left behind.

Daeyoung pushes his way through the crowd, still vaguely shell-shocked. Yushi and Riku pounce on him, vibrating with barely contained excitement.

“Oh my god,” Riku hisses. “Oh my god.”

Yushi nods sagely. “You have to bag him.”

Daeyoung groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “No, I don’t.”

Riku grabs his shoulders. “Daeyoung. Listen to me. That man is the hottest person I’ve ever seen in my life.” Yushi makes a wounded noise.

“Second hottest.” Riku amends.

“And you were talking to him for, like, fifteen minutes.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Daeyoung insists, still flustered.

Yushi squints at him. “Then what was it like?”

Daeyoung opens his mouth. Then closes it.

Riku crosses his arms. “Exactly. You don’t even know.”

“I can’t deal with you guys.”

Yushi ignores him completely. “You need a date for the wedding, right?”

Daeyoung immediately regrets telling them about that. “Yes, but—”

Yushi grabs his arm. “Bag. Him.”

Riku nods. “If you don’t, I will.”

“You’re dating each other.”

“You don’t know what we get up to in our spare time.”

“Okay, ew, ew, bad images.”  

“Come on. It’s perfect, Daeyoung. Didn’t you say that your family is expecting you to bring a date because you haven’t had the guts to tell them you broke up three months ago?”

“That is true..”

“You have to do it,” Riku presses. “It’s a win-win. You get them off your back, and you get to date someone stupidly attractive.”

“But he’s out of my league.”

Yushi levels him with a dead glare. “Nobody’s out of your league. He’s interested.”

 “You don’t know that.”

Riku and Yushi stare at him.

Yushi says flatly. “He was flirting so hard, I felt like I was being hit on.”

“Hey, Einstein. Basic math.” Riku snaps his fingers, “Gorgeous dude is right there. You already like gorgeous dude. Just get him to like you enough that you can take him to the wedding.”

Daeyoung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah. You might have to get him to fall in love with you to be willing to suffer through something like that.”

 “Love?”

“Oh, my bad.” Yushi waves a hand. “You might have to get him to delusionally think he’s in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Riku agrees.

“You’re insane for not going for it.” Riku grabs both his shoulders. “Look, do you really want to show up alone? Get grilled all night by your family?”

Daeyoung stares at the dance floor, stomach twisting.

And the idea of Sion, incredibly charming and handsome and beautiful with his head of blond hair, at his side, deflecting questions, playing along, making it bearable—

Daeyoung looks at Riku and Yushi again. They remind him of those two hyenas from the Lion King movie. He finally surrenders, throwing up both his hands, and makes his way back to the bar where he gives Sion his number.

(And just a little secret between us two, if he didn’t go, Sion would’ve hunted him down anyway.)

So that’s how it starts, really. The universe presents a perfect opportunity in the form of Kim Daeyoung.

His friends spend the entire ride home trying to convince Sion it’s not a good idea to go through with his video idea after all, but they’re drunk, so their opinions are objectively invalid.

Sion has good judgment. And it’s not like he’s going to accidentally fall in love with Daeyoung in ten days. When he makes it big, when this video goes viral, he’ll buy Daeyoung something as a thank-you. Or an apology. Or both.

Like a…pen?

Lawyers like pens, right?

A fountain pen from Mont Blanc, too, because mama didn’t raise no cheapskate.

The next morning, he goes on twitter and posts:

New video coming in two weeks, stay tuned ;) btw: have any of you ever seen how to lose a guy in 10 days?

It gets 357 likes (that’s a lot for Sion, which should show you how dire his situation is).

Then he opens a blank Word document and starts planning.

Me 8:09 AM

Yoohoo! Hi there!! ﾍ(･ω├┬┴┬┴
✌.ʕʘ‿ʘʔ.✌

Puppy 8:23AM

I’m sorry. Who is this?

Me 8:23 AM

凸ಠ益ಠ)凸

(ಥ﹏ಥ)

do u not rmmember me?

Puppy 8:24 AM

Sion?

Me 8:25 AM

Yeah yeah that’s me

Puppy 8:25 AM

I’m so glad you texted!

Me 8:25 AM

Ψ(☆ｗ☆)Ψ

♡(ﾐ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﻌ ᵕ̣̣̣̣̣̣ ﾐ)ﾉ Of COURSE I would

Puppy 8:27 AM

Oh wow haha

You really like emoticons

Me 8:27 AM

Aren’t they adorbs?

/╲/\╭(ఠ్ఠఠ్ఠ˓̭ ఠ్ఠఠ్ఠ)╮/\╱\

/╲/╲/\/(° ͜ʖ°)\/\╱\╱\

Us in another life

I’m the top one of course

Puppy 8:32 AM

Oh ahahaha they’re very interesting

Me 8:32 AM
(∩｀-´)⊃━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
I cast a spell on you so you’ll think about me all day

Puppy 8:33 AM
Oh no what kind of spell

Me 8:33 AM
A love spell obviously
But also maybe a slight inconvenience curse. Your sock will keep slipping down in your shoe today and ur underwear will get stuck between ur butt

Puppy 8:34 AM
oh
that’s slightly terrifying

Me 8:34 AM
૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡٩꒰ʘʚʘ๑꒱۶

Puppy 8:36 AM
So what’s up?

Me 8:36 AM
why do i need a reason to check in on my boyfriend (╥╯⌒╰╥๑)

♡ ∩_∩

  („• ֊ •„)♡

|￣U U￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣|

|    (but r u free 2day)   |  

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

Me 8:42 AM
Daeyoungieeee

Me 8:45 AM
(✿˃̣̣̥‸˂̣̣̥᷅ ) where’d you go

Puppy 8:46 AM
Boyfriend??????!!!!!

Me 8:47 AM
Yeah u signed de contract remember?

Puppy 8:48 AM
What contract???

Me 8:48 AM
The verbal agreement we m8de at the club when you bought me a drink. Sorry, I don’t make the rules

Puppy 8:49 AM
Oh, so I just automatically became your boyfriend? That’s how it works?

Me 8:49 AM
Yes. It’s binding HEEHEEE ‘`,､(((ꏿwꏿ;))) So what do u say?

Puppy 8:54 AM
OK :)

Me 8:54 AM
wait really                                                                                                     

Yay! So what time am I picking you up?

Puppy 8:54 AM
Picking me up for what?

Me 8:55 AM
Our first date, OBVIOUSLY (((φ(◎ロ◎;)φ)))

Puppy 8:58 AM
This is moving very fast

Me 8:58 AM
Yeah we’ll probably be engaged by next Tuesday

Puppy 9:00 AM
Sion…

Me 9:01 AM
I’m kidding. Don’t worry (⊃‿⊂)

Puppy 9:04 AM
I’m free after four today! I’ll be at this address [location] but you really don’t have to pick me up

Me 9:05 AM
Nonsense, daddy will see you there (๑ö◡ö)۶

Puppy 9:08 AM
This is the most confusing conversation I’ve ever had

Of course Daeyoung volunteers at the children’s shelter on Sundays, like some fucking Saint.

Sion parks his shabby Honda Civic (with malfunctioning windshield wipers) in front of the building and bangs his head against the steering wheel. He already regrets offering to pick Daeyoung up in his loveable but frankly pathetic vehicle. To make up for the fact that he drives in a literal lunchbox, he spent a solid twenty minutes debating what to wear before settling on something extra slutty—a sheer black shirt, borderline too-tight jeans and a pair of combat boots.

It’s only now, sitting outside a literal orphanage, that he realizes this was a mistake. He steps out of the car, pulling his shirt out from his waistband. He looks like a hooker, god damn it.

Inside, it takes him exactly five seconds to spot Daeyoung.

He’s kneeling on the floor, surrounded by a small army of kids, helping a little girl tie a red ribbon on her stuffed rabbit while two other kids tug at his sleeves, grinning up at him like he’s their favorite person in the world.

Sion’s brain bluescreens.

A five-year-old tugs on Daeyoung’s wrist, eyes wide. “Jaehee, you promised you’d help us with the puzzle next!”

Daeyoung laughs, ruffling his hair. “Okay, okay, just give me a second.”

Another kid clutches his other arm. “But you also said you’d be the referee for our soccer game!”

“Wow, so many requests,” Daeyoung teases, smiling softly. “Am I that popular?”

“Yes!” The kids yell in unison, and Sion has to physically restrain himself from making a noise.

He is supposed to be driving Daeyoung insane, not stand here getting hit with the force of a thousand gamma rays watching this guy (his boyfriend) be so effortlessly, ridiculously good with kids.

In fact, he’s considering whether or not to leave and give up all together when Daeyoung notices him.

“Sion!” He brightens, standing up and dusting off his jeans. His sleeves are rolled up, his collar is slightly loose from where one of the kids tugged at him, and oh no, he looks so good.

No. Do not get horny in an orphanage, Sion.

“You came,” Daeyoung rises to his full height. He’s wearing a dark green sweatshirt that does wonders for his eyes.  

Sion clears his throat, desperately trying to regain control of the situation. “Yeah, well, I had to witness this charity fraud for myself.”

Daeyoung lifts an eyebrow. “Fraud?”

“Yeah.” Sion gestures vaguely. “This whole ‘oh, I volunteer at an orphanage, I’m so kind and selfless’ act. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’re Batman?”

Daeyoung looks confused for a moment, but then he laughs.

Not the reaction Sion was expecting.

One of the kids—who the hell is this tiny gremlin— tugs at the metal chain clipped onto Sion’s belt loop (the charm says film fanatic because he stole it from Yang Yang), blinking up at him with eerily large eyes and a wide grin. He looks like Jaemin’s illegitimate son.

“Are you Daeyoung hyung’s boyfrieeeeeend?” she drawls.

Daeyoung immediately goes red. “H-He’s—”

“Yes,” Sion says. Never look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever. “I am.”

Daeyoung almost tears a neck muscle whipping around to look at him

Sion smiles at him sweetly.

“You’re really handsome,” she says. “Hyung always plays with us, but he’s never talked about his boyfriend.”

Daeyoung looks like he’s about to short-circuit. “That’s because—”

“Because he’s shy,” Sion interjects. “We were both struck by lightning at the same time and woke up holding hands. The whole hospital wept.”

The kids let out an awed wow.  

Before Daeyoung can deny it, another kid grabs his hand, pulling him away.

“Jaehee! We need you for our soccer game!”

“Okay, okay, one second.”

Sion leans in slightly as Daeyoung turns to follow the kids. “Why do they call you Jaehee? Is your real name not Daeyoung? Are you actually a spy?”

Daeyoung blinks at him, perplexed. “Uh... No. They have a bit of trouble pronouncing Daeyoung so I just let them call me Jaehee, it was my nickname.”

Well, now Sion feels like a douche.

Then he looks down and realizes there are three tiny children now clinging to his legs like chicks clinging to a hen.

“You have to play too!” One of them insists.

“Oh,” Sion says blankly.

Fuck.

Sion’s never considered himself a kid person. He isn’t one of those people who instinctively knew how to talk to children, who could magically calm them down when they cried, or who had some deep, innate sense of how to interact with them.

And yet, somehow, he’s currently running across a soccer field, barefoot, with a seven-year-old on his back. He’s probably killing a lot of ants too. RIP.

One moment, he was dragged outside against his will, and the next there were too many small hands pushing him toward the makeshift soccer game. Someone hurled a ball at his stomach, a tiny girl with pigtails grabbed his wrist and demanded he be on her team, and suddenly he was playing.

Sion dodges a kid who’s determined to tackle him, shifting the boy on his back to keep them from slipping. “I’m warning you, my team is undefeated,” he says, grinning as another kid charges toward him.

“That’s because you’re cheating!” one of them yells, dramatically collapsing onto the grass.

“Hey, hey,” Sion says, lifting a hand in mock offense. “It’s just called being good.”

“No, you’re too tall!! It’s unfair.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” Sion teases.

The kids groan in unison, but they’re giggling as they do it.

After someone almost knees him in the crotch, he calls it a day. He gently sets the kid on his back down and helps another one tie their shoe, crouching down and nodding seriously when they explain their strategy to win the next round.

“Oh, so you think if you kick the ball really, really hard, it’ll just go straight into the goal?”

“Yes!” the boy insists. “Like in Blue Lock!”

Sion pretends like he knows what the hell Blue Lock is and ties the last loop of the shoelace. “I like your confidence. Questionable physics, though.”

The boy beams.

Sion stands, subtly tugging at the tight seam of his pants because running in tight-ass jeans on a soccer field has cut off all circulation to his balls. He has literal blue balls.

Daeyoung is watching him when he starts walking off the field.

He’s standing across the field, a pink whistle hanging around his neck, a water bottle loose in his hands, completely still, just staring at Sion.

Sion almost blushes but then remembers what he’s supposed to be doing. Remembers his video. Remembers that this moment, no matter how tender it may be, cannot last.

So he does the least romantic thing he can think of. He dabs. Twice.

Daeyoung looks at him like he’s grown a foot from his neck.

Mission successful.

Once they get in his car, Sion starts recording using voice memo from his apple watch.

He needs audio recording for his video, and it’s not like he can wear a go-pro everywhere. He’ll alter Daeyoung’s voice until it’s unrecognizable, only include a few inconspicuous clips, and ask for consent before posting.

Totally ethical (not really, Sion’s written grants, but whatever).

Sion glances over. Daeyoung is looking around his car like a puppy in a new house, eyes flicking over the dashboard, the little trinkets in the cupholder, the new “Elon Musk Our Lord and Savior” bobblehead Sion just bought off Facebook Marketplace from someone called Johanne.

It’s sort of adorable.

“You might wanna put on your seatbelt,” Sion reminds him, pressing the ignition. “Don’t want another person to die from vehicular manslaughter.”

Daeyoung pauses mid-reach, staring. “Another?”

Sion meets his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“What?”

Daeyoung blinks. “What?”

Sion cranks up the AUX, which immediately starts playing his curated playlist.

Daeyoung nods along the beat as Mark starts rapping, followed by Jaehyun.

That is, until the chorus.

Sion clears his throat and, in unison with Taeyong, shouts “2 Baddies, 2 Baddies, 1 HONDA CIVIC!” He squawks the last two words like he’s trying to drown out the original lyrics.

Daeyoung chokes. “Wait—what did you just say?”

“2 Baddies, 2 Baddies, 1 Honda Civic.”

“That’s not the lyric.”

Sion turns to him, completely serious. “Are you sure?”

“I think it’s ‘one Porsche.’”

Sion shakes his head. “No way. Not in this economy.”

The light turns green. Sion slams down on the gas pedal just as “Whiplash” starts playing. Daeyoung gulps, hand immediately flying to the overhead handle.

After twenty minutes of Sion screaming along to Girls Generation’ and SHINee, they arrive at Sion’s restaurant of choice. Daeyoung looks a bit wary but otherwise doesn't seem like he’s about to punch Sion in the face, which speaks a lot to his noble character.

He reaches to open his door before a hand pulls his wrist back. Daeyoung startles, eyes going wide as he turns toward Sion, who is now leaning across the car, one hand braced on the seat, chest inches from Daeyoung’s thigh.

“No. Allow me.”

Daeyoung doesn’t move. His fingers twitch against the door handle, clearly confused.

“O…Kay?”

Sion only nods severely and gets out of the car, slides over the hood like he’s in a James bond movie and spins on his feet upon landing. Finally, he yanks open Daeyoung’s door with a flourish.

“Prepare yourself, Kim Daeyoung,” he announces. “For the best mouth orgasm you will ever experience.”

If only he could take a picture of Daeyoung’s face right now. It’ll go viral as a meme.

Then, slowly, he unbuckles and steps out.

“You are…” he starts, the sentence dragging out.

“Incredible? Romantic? The embodiment of modern chivalry?”

“I was going to say cute.”

Sion blinks.

Cute.

Daeyoung thought that feral display was… cute? Is he insane?

Sion feels his smile slip for half a second. Daeyoung is supposed to be walking away, like, right now. Or asking him what the fuck that was. Or pretending like he has a gas leak at home and his pet snake is going to get poisoned.

But no matter. Like some great Roman general probably said once, preparation is key.

This is why Sion has Plan B. And Plan C. Even a Plan Z.

Once inside, Sion beelines toward a booth near the window, but before he sits, he stops in front of the bright yellow chair and squints.

“…Something about this feels off.”

In the duration that he’s spent scrutinizing the chair, Daeyoung’s already poured them two cups of water like the sweetheart he is. “What?”

“The vibes,” he says. “Are off.”

Daeyoung looks at the chair. Looks at Sion. “What vibes. It’s a chair.”

“That’s what it wants you to think. It’s…” Sion says. It actually physically pains him to sound this stupid, but he thinks about the subscribers, he thinks about scrapping by with Haechan’s leftovers until he’s eighty, and goes through with it. “It’s sus.”

 “It’s… what?”

“Suspicious. Off-putting. Probably haunted.”

Daeyoung frowns slightly. “Should we go to a different table then?”

Sion opens his mouth—then closes it when he sees the look on Daeyoung’s face.

Oh no.

He looks genuinely concerned. Like he actually thinks Sion has a real issue with the chair.

Fuck. Sion belatedly realizes that Daeyoung might think he has OCD or some kind of real aversion.

He waves a dismissive hand, sitting down. “Nah. It’s fine. I’ll just assert dominance.”

Daeyoung stares at him. “Over… the chair?”

Sion nods solemnly. “That’s how you win.”

Daeyoung sighs, slowly sitting down. “I don’t think that’s how anything works.”

Sion props his chin on his hand. “I don’t think you’re an expert in furniture psychology, so.”

Daeyoung smiles back. Sion feels his heart stutter.

“EXCUSE ME!” Sion shoots his hand up in the air and shouts.

Daeyoung startles so hard he nearly knocks over his water glass. “Jesus—”

The entire restaurant turns to look at them.

Sion waves dramatically, locking eyes with the deeply exhausted server across the room.

“I HAVE A QUESTION,” he announces.

Daeyoung tries to tug his hand down. “Sion, maybe—”

“Shhh,” Sion says, pressing a finger to his lips. “This is important.”

Daeyoung wilts like he wants to slide under the table and escape through the floor.

The server sighs, accepting her fate, and walks over with a notepad in hand. “Yes?”

Sion leans forward, all conspicuous, fingers interlocked like he’s Steve Jobs. “What is the largest possible amount of fried chicken I can legally order?”

The waitress, whose name tag reads Kassandra, is unfazed. “I don’t know about that but the largest portion we offer is the party platter.”

Sion tilts his head. “What party, though? Kassandra? The Democratic or the Republican Party? Do you have, like, an even bigger portion?”

Daeyoung perks up. “The party platter is fine.”

Sion slowly turns his head. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Daeyoung mutters, handing the menus back to the waitress. “I’m trying to save your arteries.”

Sion sighs deeply. “You sound’just like my parole officer.”

Daeyoung chokes on air.

Sion pretends not to notice. “The party platter, then. Extra crispy. Extra fast. Thank you!”

Kassandra just turns and speed-walks away as fast as she could without running.

“So. Daeyoung. Tell me, do you have siblings?” Sion smiles, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Um. Yeah. I do. An older sister. What about you?”

“No. Only child. I was the supreme champion of my father’s sperm, so all my siblings feared me.”

Daeyoung lifts both his eyebrows. “Wow. Okay. I can actually see that.”

“So what is your sister like?’

Daeyoung shifts slightly, rolling his cup between his hands. “She’s… intense. Really smart, really accomplished. She’s actually a superior at my firm.”

“Wait. Your boss is your sister?”

“Not technically my boss, but close enough,” Daeyoung says, exhaling softly. “She’s been working there for years. This firm’s really, really traditional, and I got hired fresh out of undergrad, so… people like to talk.”

“About what? That you only got in because of her?”

Daeyoung’s fingers tighten around his cup for just a second before he lets out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Sion watches him. The way he schools his expression, but he still looks beaten down somehow.

Sion might be a lot of things—unhinged, a menace to society—but he’s also an excellent reader of people. And damn if he doesn’t get pissed at prejudice.  

 “That’s bullshit.”

Daeyoung blinks. “Huh?”

“I mean, it’s obvious, right?” Sion gestures vaguely at him. “You’re twenty-one and already working in a high-profile firm. If you were just coasting off her name, you would’ve crashed and burned by now. You wouldn’t still be there.”

Daeyoung’s eyes so wide Sion can see his own reflection in the pupils.

He looks away, unable to directly meet Daeyoung’s gaze.

“And you don’t strike me as the type of guy who gets handed things. You’re the type who has to work twice as hard even if he doesn’t have to.”

Daeyoung plays with the wrapper of his straw, the tips of his ears tinged red. The corner of his mouth looks like two small parentheses when he smiles.

Before Sion can say anything else, the server returns, setting their food down.

“Party platter,” she announces.

And boy, oh boy, were the Yelp reviews right. The party platter is definitely meant for a large group of people.

Good thing Sion didn’t have breakfast. Or lunch. Just for this.

Sion pulls out a pair of disposable gloves, slips them on with surgeon-like precision, and flexes his fingers in slow-motion.

He doesn’t look away from Daeyoung’s horrific eyes as he grabs a drumstick and swallows it in a single bite, like a cobra.

He pulls the thigh bone out and it’s clean of any flesh, like the meat has been washed with a power hose.

Sion just keeps going, tearing through pieces of chicken.  

“Are you…” Daeyoung trails off, hesitant. “Are you okay?”

Sion finally looks up, a chunk of meet dangling between his teeth.

He swallows and gestures to the plate. “This is the most okay I’ve ever been. I love chicken so much. UGH.” Then he lets out a near-pornographic moan that has a middle-aged couple looking at him in disgust.

“Here. Have some, Daeng. Let them eat cake? More like let them eat chicken! Haha!” Sion blindly shoves another drumstick into Daeyoung’s plate.

By the time they’re done, Sion feels 5 months pregnant. He insists on paying the bill, even though he considered doing another Red Flag move and making Daeyoung pay. But even Sion has some standards. Not many, but some.

They walk back to his car, Daeyoung a step behind him, stretching his arms like he’s shaking off the food coma. Sion unlocks the doors and slides in, sighing dramatically as he leans back against the seat.

Daeyoung settles in beside him, clicking his seatbelt into place with lightning speed. Sion bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. The streetlights cast a dim glow over his face, making the edges of his features look softer, less sharp.

Sion plays some soft R&B on the drive back, Daeyoung occasionally giving him directions. They don’t speak much, but for some strange reason it’s not uncomfortable.

When he pulls over into Daeyoung’s apartment parking lot, Sion unleashes the final part of his D-14 Plan. “Hey, can I ask you for a favor?”

“Depends. Is it something illegal?”

“Wow. You think so little of me.”

“I think exactly the right amount of you.”

"Fair.” Sion grins, then continues. “Can I record your heartbeat?”

The car goes silent.

Daeyoung turns to him fully. “I—what?”

Sion shrugs. “Just for science. I think it’d be relaxing to listen to before bed. Like. Human ASMR. Or I can even make Lo-Fi beats with it.”

Daeyoung looks like he wants to say something, stops, then shakes his head, biting his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “That’s…I don’t...”

Sion feels like one of those cougars who eats a young boy up and spits him out. A seasoned femme fatale, luring some naive young kid into the depths of depravity. He will repent after this, he swears.

He leans in uncomfortably close, until he’s sure Daeyoung can smell his body spray (Axe body spray, everyone, he’s going to have to clean himself in a car wash after this).

“Please? Oh please please please, Daeyoungie? Oh please please?” Sion pouts dramatically, shoving his face into Daeyoung’s space, looking up at him through his lashes.

He knows this move works.

Daeyoung visibly freezes. His hands twitch in his lap, and Sion sees his throat bob like he just forgot how to swallow.

He hides his face behind his hands. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Sion leans back, triumphant.

This is it.

Daeyoung is going to break up with him. Even though they’ve been “dating” for twelve hours. Hopefully this will be enough content for his video?

“Fine,” Daeyoung finally exhales, resigned. “But only if you’re the only one who’ll hear it.”

Sion freezes.

Oh.

Sion can feel his own brain short-circuiting. He was fully expecting mockery, rejection, or—best case scenario—Daeyoung walking out of the car, blocking his number, and never speaking to him again.

Sion clears his throat, sitting up straighter. “Ha ha.”

Daeyoung tilts his head. “Huh?”

Sion grips the steering wheel, staring ahead. “Haha, I was kidding.”

“…What?”

“Yeah. Joke. You’ve been pranked by the great Jester that is I."

“Oh…Okay.”

“Alright, home sweet home. Run along now, kid. Be free.”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“You’re never too old to be young.” Sion quotes. “That’s Snow White, by the way.”

With that, he gets out of the car. He doesn’t slide across the hood this time, opting to open the door like a normal person. Daeyoung’s been through enough today.

Daeyoung steps onto the sidewalk. He has a hand covering his nape, eyes flickering between Sion and the streetlight behind him.

“I had a great time today, Sion.”

That was a great time? Has this kid been locked in some dark cell getting tortured for the past two decades? Sion wanted to punch himself.  

Sion buffers for a moment. “Obviously. I’m an excellent date. Now go inside before I start charging you for my time. You should know all about that, huh?”

Daeyoung rolls his eyes, finally turning toward his building. “Goodnight, Sion.”

Sion leans back against the car, watching him walk away. “Night, Daeyoung.”

He looks back at Sion with every three steps he takes, and if Sion were any less smart, he’d almost say Daeyoung looked sad to say goodbye.

Puppy 11:29PM

[audio recording: 0:28 seconds]

Just in case you were serious

“Jaemin-ah, thanks for giving me a ride.” Sion says, a dead-eyed Jaemin holding an Ameircano besides him in the elevator.

“How lucky I am that me and your victim work in the same building.” Jaemin takes a painfully long sip of coffee. “And he doesn’t even know you’re coming, does he?”

Sion claps a hand on his shoulder. “Surprises are good for the heart.”

“You actually cannot be more wrong.”  

The elevator dings, and Sion exits, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes.

Jaemin stays because he’s headed for the lab five floors above, where he works as a food scientist. Sion gives him a playful salute which is returned with an eye roll.

The front desk asks him for his name, doing a double take at his T-shirt, the bold red lettering proudly displaying “I ❤️ My Lawyer Boyfriend”.

Sion smiles politely. “Hi. Looking for Kim Daeyoung. Tall, smart, looks like a puppy-chipmunk hybrid.”

The receptionist slowly types something into the computer, clearly debating if he should call security.

“Uh… and do you have an appointment?”

“I think of love as a standing appointment.”

The receptionist presses their lips together. “And you are?”

“Oh. I am...” Sion circles his arm in the air twice before pointing to his T-shirt. “his boyfriend.”

A second, longer pause.

Then, deciding he doesn't get paid enough for this, the receptionist waves him through. “He’s in the fourth row of cubicles, near the conference rooms.”

“Thanks.”

Sion turns the corner and enters the terrifying corporate jungle. Rows of white desks, people in suits, way too much beige. Capitalism, man. It’s so painfully beige that he wonders how Daeyoung doesn’t die of boredom every day. At least there are floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the wall, so it doesn’t feel like a rat cage.

Daeyoung’s desk is at the far end of the aisle, right by the windows. He’s chewing the cap of his pen, totally engrossed in something, a huge pile of folders stacked by his desktop computer. Sion goes on his tip-toes as he approaches, hunching his back like a cartoon villain.

“Hey, my favorite tax evader.”

Daeyoung nearly swallows the cap. He spins around on his swivel chair (which looks like it lacks adequate lumbar support) and gapes at Sion.

“Um. Sion. What—How did you find out where I work?”

Sion tilts his head, completely unfazed. “LinkedIn stalking.”

“I don’t think that's how LinkedIn is supposed to be used.”

Sion gives a lopsided grin, hands tucked into his pockets. “That’s what my parole officer said too.”

Sion can see two people slowly poking their heads up over their cubicle dividers. He vaguely recognizes them as the friends who accompanied Daeyoung to the club two nights ago.

“I still can’t tell if you’re kidding about the parole officer. But, um.” Daeyoung chuckles dryly, “what are you doing here?’

“I just missed you.” Sion says. It’s horrifying that a small part of that is true. He even had trouble sleeping last night after Daeyoung sent him the audio recording of his heart faintly thumping.

“I wanted to see how the Moonbeam of my capitalist hellscape was doing.”

The friend closer to them snorts and slams a hand over his mouth. Sion glares at him.

“Oh, and I brought you this.” Sion beams, pulling out a framed picture from his backpack.

“What is this?”

“It’s a gift, duh,” Sion says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He flips it toward Daeyoung, admiring his own ridiculously photogenic beach-self, complete with golden-hour lighting and slightly tousled hair.

Daeyoung takes it, blinking. “It’s… a picture of you.”

“Exactly. For your desk.”

The friend sitting closer to them, the one who snorted earlier, has fully given up on pretending to work. He’s just watching now, eyes bright with barely contained amusement.

“Isn’t it cute?” Sion continues, tilting the frame slightly. “I made it myself. Glitter hearts and everything. I even hand-painted the frame red. Red as in love.”

Daeyoung puffs out his cheeks then deflate them slowly. “Sion.”

“Yes, my handsome little sea cucumber?”

 “You can’t just… show up to my workplace unannounced just to give me a picture frame of yourself.”

Sion raises an eyebrow. “Would you prefer a canvas print? Because I can make that happen.”

“I just—why a picture?”

“I look hot.”

Daeyoung huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. But why do I need it?”

“To remember me when I’m not here,” Sion says, voice dangerously close to genuine. He hates that.

“Do you not…” He thinks of puppies dying. The Coco movie. The theme song to Interstellar. Cows dying. Oh not the cows. Anything but the cows. His bottom lip wobbles. “Do you not like it?”

“No—no, I do! I do like it!” Daeyoung blurts out, voice pitching an octave higher than usual, hands flailing as he thrusts the tissues toward Sion.

Sion sniffles, clutching the frame tighter. “You’re just saying that so I don’t cry.”

“No, I’m not!” Daeyoung insists, watching with growing alarm as Sion’s eyes remain suspiciously glassy. “I mean—it’s a great picture! You look—uh—very photogenic! And the blindingly sparkly hearts are… a nice touch!”

Sion dabs at his nonexistent tears. “You promise?”

“Yes. I promise.”

Daeyoung, desperate to make this end, grabs the frame and sets it on his desk, right next to his stapler, as if that somehow legitimizes it. "There. Perfect."

Sion’s grin returns instantly.

He turns to the two snooping friends, flashing a winning smile. “Hello there. I see you’ve been blessed with my presence. You’re welcome.”

The closer one, sitting right opposite Daeyoung's desk, bursts out laughing. The one a bit further away who resembles a cat just looks like he’s watched a mildly amusing clown performance.

Sion claps his hands together. “Anyway! Dinner tonight?”

“…Are you asking or demanding?”

“Both.”

Daeyoung hesitates. “Sion—”

"We just started this beautiful, loving relationship, and already you’re trying to ditch me? Wow.”

Daeyoung swallows, looking like he's in pain. "Fine. Yes. I’ll try to be done at six.”

Sion is about to make his grand exit when he spots a man—older, sharp suit, the kind of guy who probably loves saying ‘this is how the real world works’—walking toward them.

The man stops beside Daeyoung, dropping a stack of case files onto his desk.

“Kim,” he says, barely sparing Daeyoung a glance. “We don’t pay you to goddamn chit-chat. This needs reviewing before tomorrow morning.”

Daeyoung blinks. “I—this isn’t mine.”

“It is now.” The man doesn’t even wait for a response before walking away.

Daeyoung stares at the files. His jaw tightens, just slightly, before he exhales, already reaching for a pen.

Sion watches, something sharp curling in his chest.

He looks down at the younger man and clears his throat. “So, is this normal?”

Daeyoung very purposefully doesn’t look at him. “What?”

Sion gestures at the skyscraper stack of work. “This. Getting other people’s crap dumped on you just because they can.”

“It’s fine.”

 “Yeah, see, that’s what people say when things are absolutely not fine.”

Daeyoung huffs out a laugh. “It’s just part of being the youngest. You gotta prove yourself.”

Sion leans down, propping his hands on Daeyoung’s desk.

“...Want me to fight him?”

Daeyoung snorts, shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

“I could take him. Bruce Lee style.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

Sion sighs, straightening. “Fine. But just say the word, I’m stealing his lunch out of the office fridge and tainting it with Salmonella. I could slash his tires. I could destroy everything he’s ever loved.”

Daeyoung laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Noted.”

Sion smirks, taking a few steps back. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

And Sion—for reasons he does not want to unpack—feels lighter as he walks away.

Sion gets to university, sits through his classes, and comes back to pick up Daeyoung—only to end up waiting for one hour.

The perks of being gloriously unemployed (and by that, he means technically self-employed but currently in his flop era) is that he has literally nothing to do.

So he’s lounging in the back seat of his car, legs propped up against the door, highlighting a Lancet article on attachment theory, when his phone buzzes.

He glances at the screen. Daeyoung.

Sion answers on the second ring. “Finally. I was about to start charging you for parking.”

There’s a hesitant pause on the other end of the line. Then Daeyoung exhales, voice tinged with guilt.

“Hey… I’m so sorry. I have to stay overtime. I’m not done with my stuff.”

Sion sits up, the paper sliding off his lap. “Is it your work?”

Daeyoung pauses again, just long enough that Sion knows the answer.

“…Not really,” he admits. “But I have to finish it.”

Sion leans his head back against the seat, staring at the ceiling. Something sharp twists in his chest.

“That sucks,” he says. “I’ll just wait then.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, I do,” Sion cuts in. “I have to be a supportive boyfriend.”

Daeyoung lets out a breathy laugh, tired but amused. “Right. Of course.”

“Of course.” Sion scoots his butt back down into the seat, making himself comfortable. “But if you take more than another hour, I might start crying. Full ugly sobs. The kind where I sound like a dying cat. I’ll start wailing your name until you can hear it on the 35^th floor.”

Daeyoung laughs again, a little more real this time. “I’ll try to be fast.”

“You’d better,” Sion hums. “I’m already composing my tragic break-up ballad in my head.”

Daeyoung’s voice is incredibly soft through the speakerphone. “I’ll call you when I’m done, okay?”

Sion nods, even though nobody can see him. “Yeah. Okay.”

Sion tries to ignore it. Really, he does.

He flips through his paper, highlighting words he stopped processing ten minutes ago.

But the longer he sits there, the more annoying it feels knowing Daeyoung is stuck in that office, tired, overworked, doing someone else’s job for them. It’s 7PM, and Sion dropped in at 8:30 that morning, so that meant Daeyoung was there before 8:30.

It kills him to think about Daeyoung sitting alone in that dark office like some abandoned puppy.

So, against all logic and reason, Sion starts driving, and fifteen minutes later he’s standing outside a small, hole-in-the-wall Korean restaurant that he gate-keeps way too hard, ordering more food than two people could eat in one sitting.

Hey, what the viewers don’t know can’t hurt them.

By the time he gets back to Daeyoung’s office, it’s half past seven. The whole floor is almost empty, the lights dimmed.

Unsurprisingly, he finds Daeyoung still at his desk, hunched over paperwork, looking like he’s one bad email away from losing it.

Sion plops the bag onto the desk of whoever sits next to him (they own three cats judging from the pictures). “Hey, my little mozzarella stick.”

“Sion? What are you doing here?”

“Wow.” Sion starts undoing the knot on the takaeout bag. Why do they always tie it like it’s containing government-level secrets instead of food? “You forgot about me already?”

“No, sorry, I just—” Daeyoung blinks, processing. His eyes flick to the plastic bag. “What is this?”

“Food.” Sion slides into the chair next to him. “Because unlike your superiors, I actually care about your survival.”

The crease between his brows smooths out, replaced by something almost fond. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Maybe,” Sion says, carefully opening a container of Seolleongtang. “But I wanted to.”

Daeyoung’s face blooms when he sees the bowl of beef bone soup. Sion grins, “this is my favorite comfort food.”

“I thought it was fried chicken.” Daeyoung teases. Sion lightly kicks at his seat, sending him rolling a few inches towards his desk.

He watches Daeyoung eat for the next few minutes, not looking away once. It’s part of his plan to appear overly creepy. Not because he enjoys doing it, or anything.

“Is there something on my face?” Daeyoung asks eventually.

“I’m just admiring you. Burning your image into my retinas.”

“Why?”

Sion sighs woefully like he’s about to go to war tomorrow. “You never know what’s going to happen. What if I lose my eyesight?”

“That is oddly specific.”

Sion reaches across the table, gripping Daeyoung’s wrist gently. “Promise me that if I go blind, you’ll describe everything to me. That you’ll be my eyes.”

If somebody said this to Sion, he’d be running out of the building and moving to Austria immediately.

But instead of recoiling or telling him to fuck off, Daeyoung just tilts his head slightly, like he’s actually considering it.

His wrist is still and relaxed in Sion’s grip. .

“Of course,” Daeyoung says easily, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll describe everything to you. Even if you start dressing horribly and I have to lie about it.”

Sion drops Daeyoung’s wrist and sits back, eyes narrowing slightly. Daeyoung takes another spoonful of rice, dipping it into the soup carefully and blowing on the steam.

Sion bounces his leg, thinking. He looks out the window, tilting his eyes upwards at the night sky spread out over the city.

“It’s so clean out there tonight.”

“Yeah, it is.” Daeyoung agrees, following his line of sight.

“Too bad space is fake.”

“Come again?”

“It’s a lie. All of it. We live on a flat plane, and the government is feeding us propaganda.”

Daeyoung sets his soup down carefully, like he needs both hands to process this conversation. “You—okay. Wait. Back up.”

Sion steeples his fingers. “Have you ever personally been to space?”

Daeyoung rubs his temple. “Sion—”

“You haven’t,” Sion continues. “Exactly. You just blindly believe whatever NASA tells you. That’s what they want. Birds? Birds aren’t real, either. They’re all drones.”

“So, what? The sun just… floats around?”

Sion nods solemnly. “Like a lamp. That Pixar lamp!”

Daeyoung actually laughs. “Oh my god. You’re ridiculous.”

Sion frowns. This is not the reaction he was expecting. “I just told you I don’t believe in space, and you’re laughing?”

This was supposed to be the final straw. The moment Daeyoung realized he was too unbearable to be with.

But instead, he’s just sitting there, eyes warm, smiling like Sion is some kind of…Endearing idiot.

Sion gapes at him, mildly horrified.

“…What is wrong with you?”

Daeyoung only shrugs and continues eating.

Sion ends up falling asleep as Daeyoung continues with his work. He wakes up to the sound of Daeyoung’s desktop booting down and Daeyoung’s suit jacket draped across his lap.

This is Not Good.

He purposefully steps on Daeyoung’s heel five times as they walk to his car, then raves about how best Youtuber of all time is Logan Paul until he drops Daeyoung off.

Sion will break Daeyoung, mark his words.

Me 9:45PM

Saw this cute doggie and it reminded me of you heehee (༎ຶꈊ༎ຶ╬)

See you tomorrow, my sentient IKEA instruction manual!

Chapter Text

Daeyoung is tougher than he seems. In fact, he is tougher than Sion could’ve ever expected. He’s like a combat tank Sion’s trying to break with only a slingshot. Sion needs bigger guns. Maybe something nuclear.

Sion has classes all day Tuesday on top of his internship at the rat lab, but he wakes up at 6AM just to go to the florist. If Daeyoung is a romantic, then Sion's gonna give him romance.

So now it’s 7 AM and he’s standing crusty eyed in front of a florist’s shop, shivering slightly in his Kia team hoodie and regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“Why did you call me at ass-o’clock in the morning?” Ningning glares at him as she flips over the Open sign.

“Romantic emergency,” Sion says gravely.

“Sorry?”

“It’s life or death.”

Ningning just sighs and waves him inside. “Alright, lover boy. What’s the damage?”

Sion slaps down his debit card. It physically pains him, but he thinks about the potential payback, imagines Express VPN giving him so much royalty fee he buys a mansion right next to Mr. Beast. Imagines clothes that no longer smell like rat shit after a long day.

“I need two bouquets that say, ‘I worship the ground you walk on but also might be clinically insane.’ Also just give me the flowers that are so old they’re about to die. Just the absolute cheapest, please.” 

By 9 AM, the first bouquet arrives at Daeyoung’s office. It’s massive—an explosion of roses (slightly wilted), lilies (even more wilted), and extravagant frills to take up more volume. Tucked into the blooms is a tiny white card:

"Thinking of you, sugarplum. Hope your morning is as sweet as your face."

He makes sure to sign it Your Beloved Sion.

At 11 AM, the second bouquet follows. A monstrosity of peonies, carnations, and whatever else Ningning had thrown in under his coercion.

This time, the note reads:
"Dear Daeyoungie, my love for you blooms eternal like these flowers. Except these will die (probably in 2 hours) and my love never will."

By noon, Sion is vibrating in his seat during neuro lecture. He practically squeals in delight when he finally sees a text notification.

Puppy 12:45 AM
Sion I appreciate the flowers but Sohee who sits by my desk has pollen allergies and he’s like. Suffering. So.         

Me 12:45 AM

（´థ౪థ）oopsie hehe

Puppy 12:46 AM
so maybe no more bouquets?

Even if Daeyoung wanted more, he’d be getting none, because Sion is two cents away from bankruptcy.  

Me 12:46PM
my b I just missed u so much daeyoungie I miss youuuuuu

Puppy 12:47PM
I miss you too

Me 12:47 PM
So I was thinking about potential names for our firstborn.

Daeyoung doesn’t reply for 10 minutes.

Me 12:57 PM
If it comes out with a doo-doo, then maybe Jonesy after my favorite fortnite character

Puppy 1:00 PM
a doo-doo???

Me 1:00 PM
Yeah, y’know, it’s a slang word like skidibi

Puppy 1:01 PM
Sion no

Me 1:01 PM
I live to be a skiddily toilet

Puppy 1:02 PM
I don’t think you know what that means

Me 1:04 PM
so, Jonesy, yes or no? (ʘ‿ʘ✿)

Puppy 1:05 PM
…Maybe for a pet?

Me 1:05 PM
(☉∀☉) Did we just make our first parenting decision?

Me 1:07 PM
Okay, new plan. I will plan my death and reincarnate as a giant kangaroo. We can finally be together.

Puppy 1:08 PM
?

Me 1:10 PM
I just think it would be nice, y’know? You, me, throwing sticks in the park, me incubating our Jonesy in my little stomach pouch thing, I can even kick all of ur bosses in the nuts for you I think kangaroos are like scarily strong maybe I’ll even become an MMA fighter. Kangaroo Oh Sion professional MMA champion

Puppy 1:14 PM
Sion stop I have a meeting but I’m smiling so hard right now and it’s embarrassing.

Me 1:06 PM
yayyyyy

Sion closes out of the messages app and stares at his laptop screen for a long moment. He thinks about Daeyoung in a suit—maybe a sleek black one, maybe with a tie a little loosened at the collar, maybe with a pair of black-rimmed glasses that make him look even smarter than he already is.

Later that afternoon, he does absolutely nothing productive and instead Face-times Daeyoung under the guise of missing him too much (which if that’s actually somewhat true, don’t tell anyone).

“Sion,” Daeyoung sighs, but his face is soft, his hair slightly mussed from what Sion can only assume has been a long day.

“You’re slacking, babe. Where’s my ‘I miss you’?”

Daeyoung huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his office chair. “I literally told you I missed you less than an hour ago.”

“And? That was a whole fifty-four minutes ago. I could’ve died in that time. You could’ve lost me forever.”

Daeyoung rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he shifts slightly, adjusting his phone, and that’s when Sion sees it. Tucked neatly in a pen holder on Daeyoung’s desk, a single peony.

Sion knows he should keep talking, but his brain short-circuits for a second.

“You—” Sion swallows, trying to keep his voice even. “You kept one?”

Daeyoung blinks, following Sion’s line of sight to the flower before quickly looking away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh. Uh—yeah. It was, um… it was the nicest one. The others kinda started falling? Melting? Disintegrating into dust? Beneath my fingers.”

Damn it. Now Sion actually feels bad. He should’ve just sold his kidneys so he could’ve gotten fresh flowers just to avoid looking at Daeyoung’s disappointed face.

“You said no more bouquets.”

“I know.”

“But you kept it.”

Daeyoung makes a vague noise, looking like he wants to combust. “Sion.”

Sion grins, triumphant. “You like me.”

“Don’t.”

“You like me so much, Puppy.”

“Sion, I swear—”

“You loooooove me,” Sion sing-songs, stretching the words out like a child on a playground.

“I—” Daeyoung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Please keep your voice down.”

Sion beams. He doesn’t push further. He could, but for some reason, this moment feels good as it is. He lets Daeyoung flounder for a few more seconds before finally relenting.

“Okay, okay,” Sion raises both hands in mock surrender. “No more flowers. I’ll behave.”

Daeyoung eyes him suspiciously.

“But I was thinking, if flowers are too much, maybe I should start sending you other things? Like, what’s the office policy on singing telegrams?”

“Sion, no.”

“What about a dramatic sonnet every morning? A gymnastic routine? They tell me I’m better than Simone Biles. I am so flexible, I can bend my foot until—”

“I’m hanging up.”

Sion cackles as the screen goes dark.

But he still sees the single flower on Daeyoung’s desk in the afterimage, and for some reason, it stays with him for the rest of the day.

Oh Sion 2:18 AM
Would you still love me if I was a worm? (¬､¬)

Me 2:19 AM
wdym

Oh Sion 2:19 AM
would you let me live in a little jar on your desk? 

Me 2:20 AM
Why are you awake.

Oh Sion 2:20 AM
Why are YOU awake?

Me 2:21 AM
Because SOMEONE is texting me about being a worm.

Oh Sion 2:21 AM
Avoiding the question 凸(｀0´)凸

Me 2:22 AM
Sion, I’m not keeping you in a jar.

Oh Sion 2:22 AM
Wow. So you’d just abandon me? In the cold, cruel world where I could be squished by anyone?

Me 2:23 AM
you’re literally a worm

Oh Sion 2:23 AM
SO???

Me 2:24 AM
What would you even do as a worm?

Oh Sion 2:24 AM
Vibe?? Maybe start an underground boxing ring (ง •̀_•́)ง the possibilities are endless

Me 2:25 AM
Do you not have to get up early tomorrow?

Oh Sion 2:25 AM
Next question: If ghosts are real, why do we never see dinosaur ghosts

Me 2:26 AM
Sion please I have work in the morning

Oh Sion 2:26 AM
no but srsly Where are they??

Me 2:27 AM
I don’t know?? Maybe ghosts fade after a certain time?

Oh Sion 2:27 AM
So you’re telling me creepy ass human ghosts from the 1800s are still out here knocking over lamps but a T-Rex just went, “Nah I’m good”??? ໒( ⇀ ‸ ↼ )७

Me 2:28 AM
Sion I am begging you to sleep.

Oh Sion 2:28 AM
You’re dodging the real issue here, puppy. Imagine how adorable it would be to see a velociraptor haunting a Wendy’s it’d be like I can’t reach the hamburger （ ´థ౪థ）

Me 2:29 AM
Okay, okay. Sure. That’d be cool.

Oh Sion 2:29 AM
See?? I’m onto something ლↂ‿‿ↂლ

Me 2:31 AM
…Goodnight, Sion.

Oh Sion 2:31 AM
Goodnight, Daeng. Think about the dinosaur ghosts.

“And he facetimed me three times within the last two hours. THREE TIMES, guys. I’m pretty sure Sohee thinks I’m a phone sex operator.” Daeyoung slams down his phone screen, whisper-yelling the last three words since they’re in the company cafeteria and he doesn’t want more people to get the wrong impression of him.

Riku reaches for a tissue to clean up the soup he spat all over the table as he read Sion’s texts. “You only have, what, eight more days?"

"Ten," Daeyoung corrects grimly, stabbing at his rice with unnecessary force.

Riku leans back, stretching his arms above his head. "You know, I think you might enjoy it.”

Daeyoung shoots him a withering look. “I think you should shut the hell up.”

Yushi points to Daeyoung’s mostly untouched tray and asks, “Are you going to eat any of that?”

“No.”

Yushi doesn’t hesitate before reaching over to take a big portion of his steak. “Good.”

Daeyoung exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders back. “He’s FaceTimed me six times before noon.”

Riku, mid-sip of his soda, nearly snorts it out his nostrils. Again. “For what?”

“The first one was just to say good morning.”

“The second time was a butt-dial.”

“The third was to apologize for the butt-dial.”

“The fourth was to ask if fish got thirsty.”

 “I mean. Do they?” Yushi asks.

“The fifth one was to show me his Spotify Wrapped which is just all Kanye West for some reason??”

“Now that,” Riku points his fork at Daeyoung, “is the biggest red flag so far.”

“The sixth one was to ask if a horse is a tiny dinosaur or a giant dog. He’s like, weirdly obsessed with dinosaurs.”

“Giant dog.” Yushi offers. “Giant dog for sure.”

“This is actually the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Riku gasps. “This is the greatest gift I have ever received.”

Yushi, ever so patient, finishes his second helping of pasta. “You could just break up with him.”

“No, I can’t.” The words come out too fast, and Daeyoung knows it the second his friends exchange a look.

 “Why not?”

"Just. Cuz. Oh, by the way. He’s invited us all to his house on Saturday. For a double date.”

There is a full three-second pause before Riku carefully sets his utensils down, folds his hands together, and says, “Excuse me?”

Daeyoung exhales. “He wants to meet you.”

“No, no, I heard you.” Riku squints. “I’m just trying to process the fact that Oh Sion, the man who showed up to our office unannounced wearing a shirt that said ‘I heart My Lawyer Boyfriend’, wants to sit down and have a meal with us.”

“To be fair, we barely saw him. He came, he gave Daeyoung a framed photo of himself, and then he left.” Yushi adds.

“Right, and that alone was enough for me to know that he’s deranged. I don’t understand how someone can look like that and have a personality like…that.”

Daeyoung presses his lips together because Riku is not technically wrong. “Just please do this for me. I don’t think he’s going to take no for an answer.”

“Fine. But you owe us big after this, especially if we get murdered by your boyfriend.” Riku warns. “If I die, I’m haunting your apartment.”

“You already haunt my apartment.”

Yushi nudges Riku . “We’ll be there.”

Daeyoung sighs, setting his chopsticks down. He should feel relieved, should be grateful his friends are agreeing to go through with this, even if it’s under duress. But there’s something else sitting low in his chest, something unspoken that he’s been very purposefully ignoring.

Because here’s the thing he doesn’t tell Riku and Yushi:

That even though Sion is clingy, and paranoid, and probably has three personality disorders, he can also be hilarious and—against all odds—weirdly endearing. That sometimes, despite himself, Daeyoung likes waking up to texts mourning the existential tragedy of pigs being physically incapable of looking at the sky. That he likes seeing Sion’s huge, owl-like eyes gawking at him through the screen when they FaceTime, blinking too slow like he’s buffering.

That he gets the pressure on Daeyoung in a way nobody else does, the need to be seen seriously and to prove yourself, what it’s like to have everyone look at you and assume things. For someone who’s crashed into his life like a runaway train, Sion has surprisingly soft edges that comfort him at the most unexpected times.

And call him narcissistic, but the attention almost feels nice. Being noticed by someone as attractive as Sion, and the way Sion hovers around him like he’s someone worth orbiting. After all, he broke up with his ex Sangwook because they were both too busy, too independent, too comfortable in their neglect to maintain anything real.

That even though he should be dying to get rid of Sion, who is a walking red flag who needs higher maintenance than a rocket ship, there’s a small, quiet part of him that doesn’t hate it.

And God, if he isn’t the prettiest person Daeyoung’s ever seen.

Sion is slowly losing his sanity.

He doesn’t understand why Daeyoung hasn’t broken up with him. He’s slowly running out of ideas, money, and dignity. And it’s not even like he’s failing for a lack of trying.

Case in point:

Day 4

As they were walking through a shopping mall, there was an unfortunate indoor puddle where the ceiling was leaking.

Sion threw his jacket over it with the flourish of a 19th-century nobleman laying his coat over a puddle for a duchess.

“Your path is clear, my love,” he had declared in a British accent, motioning toward it with grandiose flair.

Daeyoung gaped at him, slack-jawed.

Sion, undaunted, lifted his chin and held out a hand. “Come, my sweet. Walk freely.”

Daeyoung’s face flamed up instantly like someone had set a match to his entire existence. Then he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.

Sion watched him go before dramatically scooping his jacket back up.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking it out. “This is why romance is dead.”

And despite him doing three renditions of Careless Whisper in the car (one as Spongebob, one as an Opera singer, and another one as a Scottish farmer), Daeyoung still didn't’t break up with him.

Day 5

They went to a respectable restaurant, the kind where the servers wore actual vests and the water came in a glass bottle.

Sion decided to drop the bomb halfway through the meal. Come on, he wasn't evil enough to make Daeyoung suffer beginning from the appetizers.

“I have hemorrhoids.”

Sion watched, pleased, as Daeyoung grabbed for a napkin and coughed into his fist. A few diners glance over. The waiter—who had been approaching with the wine list—immediately backtracked.

When Daeyoung finally recovered, he looked up with pure, unfiltered disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I have hemmies on my heinie. They’re chronic. I’ve got multiple, too, and I’ve named them after the Kardashians. Khloe is the worst one, so painful.”

“And why… do I need to know this?”

“I just think it’s important to be open about these things. No secrets. No shame.”

“No shame,” Daeyoung echoed.

“Exactly.” Sion nodded, spearing a piece of asparagus. “And since we’re in a loving, committed relationship, I figured you should know all about my medical struggles.”

Daeyoung gripped his fork a little tighter. “Sion, maybe you’re moving a bit too fast.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Sion waved a hand. “I mean, we haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet, but I figured we were saving that for a special moment.”

Daeyoung looked like he wants to peel himself out of his own body and leave it behind.

Sion, encouraged, leaned in conspiratorially. “Anyway, I’ve been meaning to track my bowel movements more consistently—”

“Sion—”

“No, listen, this is important—”

“No, I really don’t want to hear this right—”

“Like, sometimes it’s totally normal, but other times it just gushes—”

“Sion, please stop talking.” Daeyoung said, picking up his drink and downing the entire thing in one go.

 “Careful. Drinking too fast can cause bloating. Just ask my colon.”

Daeyoung stood up.

Sion tilted his head. “Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom.”

Five minutes later, Daeyoung came back. He sat down without a word, picked up his fork, and resumed eating like nothing happened.

Sion leaned forward, bracing his hands together underneath his chin. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you come to any, um, conclusions?”

“Nope.” Daeyoung shrugged, popping a piece of steak into his mouth like Sion hadn’t just traumatized him in a luxurious dining establishment.

Sion almost stabbed himself in the jugular right then and there.

But later that night, he finally made a breakthrough. Sion, who had been documenting Daeyoung’s texting habits with the diligence of a NASA scientist monitoring solar activity (ironic for someone who claimed to not believe in space), noticed something.

Daeyoung took an average of 3.5 minutes longer to reply to his spam texts compared to day 1.

Which, to the untrained eye, might not seem like much. But to Sion, who had meticulously logged every response time into an Excel spreadsheet, this was statistically significant.

Me 11:42 PM
Hi! Please review the attached document at your earliest convenience (◕︿◕✿)

Puppy 11:43 PM
Sion

Me 11:43 PM
Yes, my dearest angel?

Puppy 11:44 PM
What is this?

Me 11:44 PM
math (⁎꒪̕ॢ ˙̫ ꒪ٛ̕ॢ⁎)

Puppy 11:45 PM
You made a spreadsheet?!

Me 11:45 PM
yeah 2 document your slow, painful emotional withdrawal from me (༎ຶꈊ༎ຶ╬)

Me 11:46 PM
I even included a linear regression model. Look at the projected curve! The statistically significant difference even with a p-value below 0.05! By Day 10, you might not respond at all.

Sion watched the typing bubble appear. Then disappear.

Then reappear.

Then disappear again.

He scrolled back to his work, admiring the graph with a deep, parental pride. The color coding is immaculate. What is there to dislike?

Puppy 11:49 PM
I’m going to bed now. Good night.

Me 11:50 PM
see you tomorrow Daeyoungie

The read receipt shows up soon after. Sion finally lowers himself onto the bed. What he’s got planned tomorrow will be the final straw that breaks the camel’s back. He scrolls through his photo album at the selfie he convinced Daeyoung into taking with him. They’re mostly of weird requests, like the two of them with a dead white dude’s statue in the park, or the fake plastic hot-dog stand in front of Sonic’s hot dog. 

But there’s a candid he took of Daeyoung. They were walking to their car along the street, and Sion had insisted on buying an ice cream cone because he’s kind of a sucker for ice cream, and Daeyoung had ended up holding it for him while Sion tied his shoelace.

Sion had turned his phone toward him without thinking. The streetlights were dim, the neon from a liquor store sign casting a faint red glow across Daeyoung’s face. He was looking off to the side, completely unaware of the camera, licking at the vanilla soft serve.

It’s not a great photo, not really—the angle is a bit off, and Sion won’t have any use of it for his video. His thumb lingers over the screen. Over the curve of Daeyoung’s cheek, and he can’t quite bring himself to delete it.

“Remind me again if you were hit in the head as a child?” Jaemin asks, leaning against his bedroom door frame with his feet crossed at the ankle.

“If not, this is a pretty glaring sign to go get an MRI.” Yangyang adds.

“So let me get this straight. Your plan is to kick all of us out, redecorate this apartment until it looks like a shrine to Yushi and Riku, and somehow convince your fake boyfriend and his coworkers not to call the cops on you?”

Sion, standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by an alarming amount of hastily printed photos (he probably used the entire ink cartridge of the library printer). “Yes. Now would you  help me hang this head shot of Yushi up, please?”

Jaemin flips it over, expression blank. “Why is this framed.”

“Because,” Sion says patiently, like he’s explaining why fish live underwater to a very slow child, “I need to convince them that I care deeply about their interests. That I am invested in their lives.”

Haechan, who has been silently watching from the kitchen, finally speaks up. “You do remember you’re trying to mentally break your boyfriend so he dumps you?”

“Yeah, totally,” Sion manages, clearly preoccupied with laying out a heart made of (fake) rose petals on the floor. “And I am very dedicated to the craft.”

Jaemin points to the hand-drawn banner in neon pink. “You hand-lettered this.”

“You don’t appreciate my talents.”

Yangyang, who’s fussing with his earrings in front of the foyer mirror, mutters, “I feel like at this point you should just date him for real.”

Sion spins around so fast he nearly trips over a pile of Yushi-themed pillows (aka pillows with Yushi’s face taped over them). “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Yangyang shrugs. “You’re doing a shit ton to get rid of this guy, but instead of just, I don’t know, being a regular asshole, you’re turning our entire apartment into a shrine to his coworkers.”

Sion narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And that’s a lot of effort to go through for someone you, supposedly, don’t even like.”

Jaemin finishes hastily taping up the last headshot and tosses the glittery pink roll of duct tape on the couch. “Whatever. Let’s skedaddle before this lunatic starts spraying us with a water hose.”

“Shut up, like you weren’t planning on going out anyway.”

Haechan grabs his jacket, sighing. “I better not come home and find a custom-printed Riku shower curtain. Or some life-size sex doll in my bed.”

Sion just shoos them out of the apartment with a cardboard cutout of Yushi’s LinkedIn Profile picture.

He hasn’t gone overboard with this, right? There is no way.

The first thing Riku and Yushi do is come to a full stop as they walk through the narrow foyer corridor and into the apartment.

They don’t stop in the casual way people stop when entering an unfamiliar space, pausing to take in their surroundings. No, their bodies have suddenly shut down like a 2000s Window computer in a public library that only balding depressed white men visit, like some primal survival instinct is warning them not to proceed.

Daeyoung, who has already seen this disaster coming from before he even set foot the apartment building, rubs a hand down his face, inhaling slowly through his nose before stepping around them. Riku and Yushi remain rooted at the entrance.

The apartment has been transformed into the brainchild of a madman with an agenda, now adorned with printed images of their own faces. Some are ridiculously oversized, enlarged to the point of pixelation, most are either from their social media accounts or from their website profiles. There’s a banner hanging over the kitchen entrance that reads WELCOME, MY DEAREST FRIENDS & CONFIDANTS, RIKU & YUSHI, in an exaggerated cursive font that must have taken hours to hand-letter.

There’s a shuffling sound before Sion magically appears in the kitchen entrance to their lefthand side genie-style. “Welcome!” He booms, and there’s something about the way he spreads his arms. It reminds Daeyoung of Hannibal inviting his guests into his apartment for a feast of human meat.

An apron clings weirdly around his hips, bunching at the edges where it doesn’t quite sit flush. The naked torso printed on it is tanned, greased, and flexing, a caricature of masculinity that makes the red briefs pop in a way that should not, under any circumstances, be allowed to exist in a kitchen. The dish towel Sion’s holding is embroidered with the words kiss the cook in cursive font, though most of the letters have been smudged with what appears to be hoisin sauce.

Yushi takes one cautious step forward like he’s testing for landmines. He clocks the shrine-like arrangement on the bookshelf, where there’s a framed headshot of him flanked by two dollar-store candelabras and what looks suspiciously like a laminated copy of his résumé. One of the candles has toppled slightly, resting against the glass like it fainted. There are smaller printed photos curled at the corners, arranged on a side table like someone tried to recreate the aesthetic of a college admissions office.

Sion’s face-splitting smile doesn’t falter. His teeth, Daeyoung notices, are alarmingly even. Like veneers, though Sion would probably insist he’s just genetically blessed. There’s a bead of sweat gathering near his temple, but he doesn’t move to wipe it.

“You all look delectable,” Sion says, brandishing the dish towel like it’s a wand and he’s about to summon champagne. “Please, make yourselves entirely too comfortable.”

"So,” Riku says warily, drawing the word out, “this is…?”

“A celebration,” Sion answers. “An homage.”

Yushi studies the array of candles on the coffee table, all burning low and sluggish. He picks one up, sniffs it once, then extends it to arm’s length.

“Sandalwood and…” He squints at the label. “Masculinity?”

“Ooh, you like? It’s from a gift set called Scents of the Modern Man. One can never be too sigma.” 

Yushi turns around and gives Daeyoung a look that can only be translated as what the fuck did you get us into. Daeyoung, who has never seen Yushi look so visibly disturbed, finds it hilarious.

Sion proceeds to give them a tour of the entire apartment, sharing that he shares the space with three of his friends, who are totally not drug dealers, he says, unprompted. And even if they were, they’d only deal with weed or at most some Adderall. Nothing that requires offshore banking or burner phones, Sion assures them, though he does add that Jaemin once accidentally joined a Telegram group chat for European cryptocurrency arms traders, which might explain the occasional strange mail that are just collaged blood-red words in Hungarian.

Sion’s bedroom is surprisingly normal looking. There’s a dark wooden bookshelf near the corner. Beside the window, a desk with a sleek laptop and a tall, matte black ring light casting a faint reflection on the glass. The bed is neatly made with two pillows stacked and a few worn stuffed animals perched near the headboard. One of them—a funky looking yellow creature with unruly purple hair—stares into the void like it’s witnessed unspeakable acts.

Yushi’s eyes land on the ring light. “That’s cool.”

Sion, who’s been smugly leaning in the doorway, jolts like he’s been tasered.

“That?” he scrambles. “Oh. That’s not mine. That’s…uh. My roommate Jaemin’s. Yeah.”

Riku peers over his shoulder. “Why would he keep his stuff in your room?”

“Because. He uses my natural light,” Sion says, words tumbling into each other. “North-facing windows. It’s a lighting thing. I think.”

“Is he, like… an influencer?” Yushi asks, tilting his head.

“No,” Sion blurts. “He’s—he’s a lighting hobbyist.”

 “A what?”

Sion nods solemnly, arms crossing like he’s just stated something completely reasonable. “Yeah. You know, some people are into gardening, some people are into phallic pottery, and some people really appreciate… lumen differentials.”

“Right.”

Sion claps his hands once and points toward the bookshelf. “Anyway! Look, books. Wow. So many of them. Aren’t I well-read and mysterious?”

Daeyoung must take pity on him. “We should probably head back,” he says, already stepping out into the hallway. “Didn’t you have… a presentation to give?”

It’s moments like this that Sion feels something shift in his rib cage like the click of a watch gear aligning itself. Daeyoung doesn’t look at him too long or wink or nudge, but there’s something in the unspoken offer of an out, like he knows what Sion needs by instinct. He doesn’t know how to name it, so he doesn’t try.

“Alright. Since the meat’s still roasting and we’ve got—” He chirps, leading them back down the hallway, checking the microwave clock upon passing, “—approximately twenty-five minutes and forty-two seconds of breathing room, I’ve prepared something for us.”

Yushi visibly schools his features into neutral interest. “Oh,” he says softly. “How… fun.”

“We’d be honored.”

“I know,” Sion says, already fiddling with the HDMI cord. “Daeyoungie, can you turn off the overhead light? I need ambiance.”

 Daeyoung, seated like a man awaiting trial, reaches up without comment and flicks the switch. The room drops into dim yellow shadows, the only light coming from the abundant number of candles and the TV screen, which flashes blue as Sion loads up the file.

“REASONS I AM A GREAT PARTNER (and why I am not legally allowed to own a ferret)”

The worst part of it all is the comic sans font, white text on a hot pink background. In the corner, there’s a Bitmoji of Sion wearing heart eyes and what appears to be a lab coat, giving a thumbs-up to a gif of two cows humping relentlessly.

Slide 1 is somehow worse.

“Credentials”

• Former child
• Psychology PhD candidate (don’t ask what year)
• Has never committed tax fraud
• Ranked top 3% in Mario Kart at campus rec league
• Is hot

Daeyoung slowly lowers his face into his hands.

Sion beams. “As you can see, I am both accomplished and humble.”

Riku leans toward Yushi and whispers in a tone only the two of them can hear, “is it too late to fake a family emergency?”

Yushi murmurs back without looking away from the screen, “only if I can be the one who dies.”

The next thirty minutes are spent with Sion going over twenty more slides like “Proof I am a Good Partner” where he’s feeding Jaemin with a tenuous grasp on a pair of trainer chopsticks, Next, a bathroom mirror selfie with Haechan—shirtless and damp-haired—staring directly into the lens like a man who’s just been told his wife and kids died in a car accident. There’s even a screen-recorded video of a shared Google Calendar titled “Joint Life Milestones (Draft)” with events like “Adopt 3-legged dog named Biscotti” and “Engagement photoshoot in abandoned circus.”

or “Daeyoung’s Best Features According to Me” which is just a bunch of photos including Daeyoung sipping coffee. Daeyoung from the side. Daeyoung at the office, blurry, clearly taken from a distance. Or ““Why Riku and Yushi Should Trust Me With Their Friend” with bullet points including I’ve never killed a fish (on purpose), and Daeyoung (puppy) is smarter than a fish.

It ends just as the timer goes off with a slow-motion gif of Sion blowing a kiss. It's mirrored, so the kiss lands back on him.

Daeyoung’s never been more eager to eat some dubiously colored meal vaguely resembling human flesh.

The roast, surprisingly tender and savory, is drowned in a sauce Sion calls his “Emotional Reduction”. Sion insists on giving live commentary between bites, detailing each step of the cooking process with increasingly exaggerated French words to the point of borderling racism. He also tries to feed Daeyoung with his hands twice.

Riku and Yushi, to their credit, maintain perfect diplomatic composure, even helping clear the plates when Sion disappears into the kitchen to retrieve his “signature dessert” (which turns out to be four melting mochi balls precariously balanced on a chipped saucer with birthday candles jabbed into them like stakes.)

As the meal winds down, Riku leans back and interlaces his fingers behind his head. His shirt rides up an inch at the stomach, and Yushi tugs it back down for him. “By the way,” he says, glancing at Daeyoung over his glass of water, “Do you guys want to carpool to the wedding?”

Daeyoung freezes.

Sion looks up from his food. “A wedding?”

Daeyoung shoves a bite of mochi into his mouth. “Um, yeah. My sister’s, next Sunday.”

“That soon?” Sion asks.

It would be right at the end of his 14-day benchmark, but maybe he’d make it work, somehow. Maybe he’d stretch it to 16 days. 16 is a better number. Or maybe 26 days. 26 is cinematic. Or 260 days, or 2600—

“Why didn’t you ask me? I would love to go. Just imagine us slow-dancing to Ed Sheeran in a ballroom while your extended family stares at my ass and whispers about how hot your boyfriend is. Should I wear a suit? No—wait—I have a turtleneck that makes me look like a gay Bond villain. It’s perfect.”

“I—I was worried you’d say no,” Daeyoung pinches his reddening ears.

Sion pauses, fork suspended mid-air. Then he lowers it slowly, setting on the edge of his plate with a soft clink. For a moment, his face softens. "Why would I say no?"

Daeyoung doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at the candle wax dripping down the holder, shoulders drawn up.

Sion leans his elbows on the table. “Hey, if you want me there, I’ll go. I won’t even wear my MILF-magnet turtleneck.”

Daeyoung looks up briefly, something like relief flickering across his face.  “It’s... just dinner and dancing. And some photos. My mom’s side always takes a bunch.”

Sion smiles. “Got it. I’ll make sure I look good for you.”

He’s so pleased with himself he nearly knocks over the mochi plate. “I need to tinkle,” he adds a second later when he remembers his mission for today, hopping up with an exaggerated groan and squeezing his legs together like a cartoon character. “Probably from excitement. Or nerves. Or maybe the Emotional Reduction sauce is actually fermenting inside me.” He points finger guns at Riku and Yushi. “Stay fresh, cheese bags!”

Spoiler alert: he doesn’t go to the bathroom.

He shuts the door just loudly enough to sell the illusion, pivots smoothly on his heel, and presses himself quietly against the cool, shadowed wall just beyond their view.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Daeyoung. I thought you had already talked to him about the wedding."

Daeyoung sighs heavily, rubbing one hand over his face, the stress visibly knotting the muscles of his shoulders. "No, it's not your fault. I've been putting it off."

"Look, forget the wedding for a second. Honestly, Daeyoung, he’s a little—no, he’s actually completely off his rocker. There's no level of attractiveness worth dealing with…whatever this is." Riku says, voice a sharp whisper like he’s afraid Sion might somehow re-materialize out of a vent.

“No,” Daeyoung says, more defensive than he’d intended. He forces his voice down. “You don’t really know him. He’s not like what you’re assuming. Or implying. Or whatever.”

Yushi narrows his eyes. "Daeyoung, he hand-lettered a massive banner with our names in elaborate calligraphy, and he surrounded my printed-out resume with candles like it was a shrine. You can't pretend that's not concerning."

Daeyoung’s mouth tightens into a thin line, eyes cast stubbornly downward. "He was just trying really hard to make a good impression. I know it's excessive—Sion is always excessive—but it comes from a good place. He's not crazy."

“That’s fair. All we’re saying is that you can’t ignore the red flags."

Daeyoung lets out another long breath, a hand passing through his hair. "Trust me, I know," he admits. "I mean, I even know exactly how many hemorrhoids he has."

Riku immediately gestures, eyes wide with disbelief. “Exactly! Who does that?”

“Someone honest?” Daeyoung tries, a raw edge creeping into his voice. “Someone who—”

Sion re-enters at that exact moment, wiping his hands that clearly haven’t touched any water onto the thighs of his jeans. He sits back down and immediately starts picking at a frayed seam in the corner of his phone case with his thumbnail.

“So,” he says, without raising his eyes, “I’m crazy, huh?”

Daeyoung reacts before he can think, guilt rising so fast it makes him nauseous. “Sion.”

“You know,” Sion interrupts, gaze still downcast. “it’s kind of funny. Here I thought I was trying my best to be a good host but it turns out you would rather be crocheting thongs with Elon Musk.”

Riku shifts in his seat. “Sion, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sion laughs, short and sharp.

“I heard you all. The hallway’s not that long. You all think I’m unstable. And all this,” he waves vaguely at the remnants of dessert, “is just because I’m off my rocker.”

Daeyoung pushes his chair back with a scrape as he stands. “Sion, please. Let’s just talk.”

“Oh babe, I’m okay.” Sion says in a tone that very much suggests he is not okay, “no, I get it! I’m intense, I’m too much. I literally made a PowerPoint with cow porn on the first slide.”

Riku chokes, covering his mouth hastily as Yushi steps on his foot under the table.

Sion slowly looks around the table like he’s seeing it for the first time, like he’s surveying the remains of the evening now a museum exhibit he doesn’t recognize anymore.

Then he finally meets Daeyoung’s eyes.

“Maybe it would be easier if we just break up.”

Sion should be celebrating. He’s been planning this all week, the culmination of his devious master plan. It’s nearly perfect. He’s giving Daeyoung a clean exit that is too good not to take. It’s exactly what Sion has written on his digital vision board that ends with him taking over Mr. Beast’s throne as the king of YouTube.

But something is wrong. He hates the way Riku and Yushi are looking at him like he’s some wounded stray that wandered into their dinner party and started bleeding on the carpet. He hates how dejected Daeyoung looks right now. He hates how, even if he overheard the conversation and sabotaged everything on purpose, it feels like absolute shit.

Daeyoung’s gaping at him with those cartoonish round eyes, lips slightly agape like his brain’s short-circuited somewhere between “cow porn” and “break up”.

Sion shifts his weight, suddenly too aware of his own hands. He starts to shove them into the front of his hoodie only to be met with the stitched seam of a fake-out pocket. He drops them against his outer thighs, afraid that he might say something he’ll regret if he stays here any longer.

He’s used up all his exit lines, burned through every scenario of this conversation, and none of them included him feeling like a vinegar bottle has spilled inside his chest.

“I’ll see you around, Daeyoung.”

The hallway is dim, the only light spilling from the crack beneath Sion’s door, the only door that, Daeyoung realizes with a pang, doesn’t have a lock like the others. There’s something painfully open about that. Something soft and boyish and unguarded.

He’s left Riku and Yushi in the living area. They’d both apologized more than once. Riku even tried to follow him down the hall. But he knows where they were coming from. Daeyoung knows how Sion can come off when you don’t know what you’re looking at. After all, he almost ran into oncoming traffic that first night when Sion asked for his heartbeat after devouring an entire fried chicken like a heavy-weight Gladiator.

He stops outside the door and gives three quiet raps. He can hear the bathroom sink dripping slightly from here, and decides to focus on that instead of the mind-boggling fear of Sion not letting him come in.

“You may enter. But be warned, I am slumbering with my suitor.”

Daeyoung opens the door to find Sion lying like a starfish in the center of the bed, one arm slung over his face like he’s shielding himself from the world. The suitor seems to be that sweet potato looking stuffed animal nudged right up to his side.  

“Hey.” Daeyoung says softly.

Sion doesn’t move, but voice floats out, low and monotonous. “I thought you three would’ve escaped from the witch’s dungeon by now.”

“I’m sorry,” Daeyoung slips inside, shutting the door behind him and lowers himself to the edge of the bed. “I shouldn’t have let them talk about you like that. I should’ve stopped them.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Sion shifts just enough to let the light from his lamp catch the corner of his jaw. “They were just looking out for you. And they weren’t wrong.”

“I mean, what did I expect?” Sion continues. “I printed your friends’ faces and stuck them to the walls. I made a literal slideshow.”

“They don’t know you,” Daeyoung protests quietly.

“They know enough. It doesn’t take that long. People always figure it out pretty fast.”

“Figure what out?”

Sion keeps his gaze somewhere near the edge of the comforter. His cheek is lined from the blanket. His eyes are dry, but red around the edges. “That I’m too much. Or not enough. Or both. That I don’t know when I’m just being...Put up with.”

Sion sits up, dragging his purple-haired suitor up with him, kneading it under his hands.

“You have to wonder,” Sion rambles on. “Like, you’re this perfectly put-together guy who’s accomplished so much for his age. You have friends who look out for you and look like they model for Chanel in homoerotic photoshoots. And then there’s me…This loser you tolerate.”

“You think I’m tolerating you?”

Sion gives an evasive hum that sounds a lot like an yes as he squirms.

Daeyoung crosses his arms, tilting his head in interest. “So how many dates do you think I’ve actually introduced to my friends?”

“Dunno. Five, maybe?”

“Zero.”

Sion blinks, surprised.

“I don’t often just invite people into my life like this. I’m married to my job. I’ve been accused of eating the same lunch for a year straight.”

Sion studies Daeyoung, as if trying to spot a lie. It’s times like this that make Daeyoung remember that Sion writes papers on behavioral psychology for his professional career. “So why me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Daeyoung admits, thinking of the way Sion’s barreled into his life and made a home in his heart. “I just know I don’t want to break up.”

Sion leans back against the wall again, the back of his head resting against it with a soft thud. It would be so easy to end it now. Sion knows Daeyoung wouldn’t force his hand. Not sweet Daeyoung who’s never hurt a butterfly, who always keeps his body half-turned toward Sion even when he’s annoyed. But Sion’s the type of person who’s greedy and never knows when to stop, even if it could cost him something huge. Even now, there’s something awful and thrilling about how easy it would be to stay. How dangerous it feels to want that.

“Okay,” Sion licks the back of his teeth. “But if you piss me off, I’m making another PowerPoint.”

Daeyoung scoffs, the sound bordering on a laugh. “Fine. Just. No cows this time.”

“I do feel obligated to point out that when I called myself a loser, you didn’t rebut me.”

“What is there to rebut?”

Sion picks up the lumpy plush and crawls across the bed before smashing the thing into Daeyoung’s chest with all the petty righteousness of a six-year-old with a Nerf bat.

Daeyoung is unimpressed. “Okay. I have to ask. What is that thing?"

“How dare you call my precious baby son a thing?” Sion gasps, cradling it like a Victorian governess shielding her sickly child. “His name is Sioning. He’s got my eyes.”

“Did you have sex with a troll doll to produce such an interesting looking fellow?”

Sion squints, tonguing the inside of his cheek. That tell-tale glint in his eyes is starting to flare and it makes Daeyoung’s fight or flight respond kick in at high gear. He starts inching back away from Sion like they’re in the middle of a Discovery channel documentary.

But then there’s a loud bang at the front door, followed by the unmistakable clamor of keys dropping and a high-pitched yell. “Oh my god, don’t lean against the wall when you’re bleeding!”

Daeyoung flinches. He turns instinctively toward the door, but Sion is already past him in a blur, shoulder brushing his as he tears open the door, socked feet sliding against the wooden floor.

 “Shit—shitshitshit—He’s slipping Haechan—” Jaemin’s voice ricochets off the walls. Yushi and Riku have gotten up too, but they’re just hovering in bewilderment.

“Do not bleed on the carpet either! ” Haechan yells, more out of exasperation than fear.

Yangyang stumbles through the doorway, one arm looped over Jaemin, the other now flung over Riku’s shoulders, a jacket half-draped over his head. His jeans are ripped at the knee and there's blood trailing down his temple, and there’s a dark stripe of blood trailing down from his temple, seeping along his jaw.

“I’m fine,” Yangyang slurs as he enters, flailing a hand into Jaemin’s face. “Totally fine. Do not call anyone. No hospital.”

“You’re not fine,” Jaemin hisses, shifting his grip as Yangyang’s knees threaten to give. “You’re concussed.”

“It was the floor’s fault. The floor attacked me.”

“You slipped at the club,” Haechan says, dragging the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot. “And by ‘slipped,’ I mean did a death drop in platform shoes on tile after five vodka cranberries and headbutted the DJ booth.”

Yangyang, still draped over Jaemin like a wounded saint in a baroque painting, lifts his head and grins. “Still ate.”

Sion’s at his side in three strides. “Lie down with your head propped up,” he orders, guiding the trio toward the couch so they can lower Yangyang down. “How many fingers do you see?”

Yangyang giggles. “Four. But you’re holding up two. Your fingers are so short and stubby, like baby carrots. Are you sad we interrupted your orgy?”

Sion doesn’t even blink. “Daeng,” he calls over his shoulder, tipping Yangyang’s chin face to get a better look at the wound, “bathroom. There’s a purple box under the sink. Get towels, too. Not the bleach-stained ones with the weird crunchy corners.”

Daeyoung’s turned, already jogging down the hall, but he hears Riku’s voice behind him.

“Is your friend okay?”

“Yes. But if he keeps making vegetable metaphors about my hands, that answer could change.”

Yangyang paws at Sion’s sleeve. “Can I have one of your fingers? Just for scale when I buy my groceries at the Farmer’s market? I think they’re ripping me off.”

Sion grabs his wrist before he can tug any harder. “I am trying to keep your blood inside your body. Please don’t make me smother you with the Yushi throw pillow.”

Jaemin groans from the entryway where he’s pulling off his shoes. “We told him to stop drinking after the second round.”

“You told me to stop drinking after the fourth round,” Yangyang says.

“And yet you didn’t stop,” Haechan adds, now emerging from the kitchen with a frozen bag of peas wrapped in a dishtowel and hands it to Sion. Sion’s focused on the bloody scrape just past Yangyang’s eyebrow, already crusting over at the edge. His mouth pulls down slightly at one corner as he presses the folded towel against it carefully.

Daeyoung returns with the box and sets it on the table, a battered lilac thing with a cracked hinge and a peeling sticker on the lid that says KISS IT BETTER. Sion flips it open to reveal an assortment of half-used gauze rolls, wrinkled alcohol swab packets, a stack of folded gauze, a few stray safety pins, and two cartoon band-aids that must’ve come from some ill-advised emergency kit marketed to children.

Sion rummages through the pile while muttering under his breath, giving Daeyoung the impression that Sion’s definitely not doing this for the first time. For a moment, the image overlays: the Sion he first met at the club, confident and attractive and smooth-talking, a little too charismatic for his own good.  

“How was it?”

Daeyoung breaks out of his hypnotic trance find Jaemin raising an eyebrow up at him while sipping from a lurid pink tumbler.

“Hmm? How was what?”

“The dinner.”

Daeyoung laughs faintly. “It was…” He searches for something suitable. “Very him.”

Jaemin snorts into his drink. “You can say it was unhinged. I won’t tell.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No need to. I printed every single one of those cut-outs at work. Do you know how many my lab PI saw? He asked me if I was part of a cult.”

“It’s cool you did that for Sion, though.”

Jaemin shrugs. “He’s family. He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s mine. I know he may seem… Different, right now. But he’s really not a bad person. He just gets too stuck in his own head sometimes.”

Daeyoung nods, turning back to where Sion is kneeling on the floor gently securing the gauze to Yangyang’s temple with a strip of tape. “Yeah.” He says, softly. “I know.”

Jaemin studies him for a second longer before walking away to the fridge.  

“There,” Sion announces, sitting back on his heels. “Operation Dumbass complete.”

Yangyang sways a little where he’s seated. “I can feel my brain again. Might be the gallon of water Haechan poured down my throat.”

“Good. Try to keep it inside your skull next time.” Sion comments, gathering used wrappers and crumpled gauze into a loose pile.

When he finishes, he exhales, posture slumping for the first time in ten minutes. His shirt is stained with a small arc of blood near the hem, and one of his knees has a wet patch from when Yangyang nearly vomited into the couch cushions.

“You okay?” Daeyoung crouches beside him, wrapping his arms around his chins.

Sion looks over, smiling slightly, something unreadable in his eyes. “Fine.”

Still, when he stands, he doesn’t move right away but leans slightly into Daeyoung’s side.

“Someone please put this man to bed before he starts trying to sing freestyle rap,” Sion nudges Yangyang’s shoulder with one knuckle.

Sion crosses the room to grab a clean towel. Daeyoung watches him go, eyes trailing over the curve of his shoulders, the dip of his spine, the quiet carefulness in his gait. He’ll think about it later. On the train ride home. In the middle of brushing his teeth. Lying in bed with the lights off.

He’ll think about it more than he should. And then some.

The second week of dating Sion, in some ways, better than the first one.

It’s better in the sense that Daeyoung knows what to expect, now. He knows about Sion’s compulsive need for reassurance, the flood of increasingly feral texts that come in at odd hours, like do u still like me followed by an HD meme of two CGI wolves locked in a violent shirtless embrace with the caption GANG I KINDA GAF. He knows that Sion refuses to eat lunch alone and will call him at noon sharp just to watch Daeyoung chew while ignoring his own food entirely. He knows that Sion will demand a daily supply of hoodies, which would be returned days later smelling like spiced vanilla and oranges (not that hes niffs them on purpose, or anything).

And it’s not like Sion is doing anything new, he’s always been quick to smile, always distracting and impossible to ignore, but it’s different now. Daeyoung can’t put his finger on it.

Because when Sion laughs, he’s sometimes rests his head on Daeyoung’s shoulder. When he leans over to show Daeyoung brainrot TikToks, he lingers in the space between for a second longer than he used to. When he talks about stupid things like soup rankings, dreams where he’s Chris Hemsworth’s secret lovechild, which sports team mascot could beat one another in a fight, he does it with a weird kind of intimacy like they’re already inside the joke together. Like the joke starts in his mouth and ends in Daeyoung’s.

Daeyoung keeps telling himself that it’s fine. That he’s still playing along to Sion’s antics just because he needs a date. But the truth is, what started as a quick fix for a douchebag ex has become a problem.

It’s worse because Daeyoung starts looking for Sion when he’s working overtime, because Sion always shows up carrying Korean comfort food he must’ve driven ten blocks to order. And after eating, sometimes they’d go out for a walk at a nearby park so Sion can ramble until the rhythm starts to soothe the static in his head, and when Daeyoung interrupts with a deadpan comment, Sion always sputters, flailing, pretending to be offended in a way that’s so clearly engineered to get a smile out of him.

And it works. Every time.

It’s worse because Daeyoung is starting to remember what it felt like to be alone in a room and not feel lonely.

It’s worse because he doesn’t know where they’re supposed to go from here, what it’s supposed to mean when the two weeks are up, because he started this with a mundane lie he was sure he’d forget a month later.

But what if that’s not what he wants, anymore?  

A few days before the wedding, Daeyoung gets a call from Sion.

It’s just past six, the sky outside bruised with a dim blue that will never quite make it to darkness for hours. Daeyoung’s changed out of his work clothes and he’s halfway through deleting an email draft to his sister when his phone buzzes. Sion’s taking him to the arcade tonight where he’s going to be “annihilated on a spiritual and cosmic level” (not his words).

He answers with a slight smile already forming. “Hey.”

Sion’s voice is low and rough when it answers, like someone’s taken sandpaper to his vocal cords. “Hey. Sorry. Didn’t wanna text. I feel like shit.”

Daeyoung straightens in his chair. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t know,” Sion says. “I woke up this morning with my whole body aching and now my throat feels like I swallowed a cactus.”

“Did you come down with something?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so? I took a COVID test and it came out negative, at least.”

Daeyoung shuts his laptop. “Are you alone?”

“Yangyang’s in Chicago for that indie horror thing with the haunted doll. Jaemin’s camping out at his lab. Haechan left in a three-piece suit and sunglasses and hasn’t been seen since. So yeah. I guess it’s just me and this bottle of expired cough syrup.”

Daeyoung exhales through his nose. “That sucks.”

Sion coughs again, an awful, chesty rattling. “I was gonna say I’d still come out tonight, but honestly, I think if I stood up too fast, I’d meet God.”

“No, don’t be stupid,” Daeyoung says. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

There’s a rustling sound like Sion is burrowing deeper into his blankets.

“Thanks,” Sion whispers.

“Do you need anything? I can come by.”

“Don’t,” Sion says. “I’ll get you sick. It’s fine.”

“I’m not worried,” Daeyoung lies, already getting up to find his keys. “I just don’t want you to choke on a lozenge and get eaten. alive by a raccoon or something.”

“I’m not going to die. Yet.”

“You don’t sound great.”

“I’m at my most seductive,” Sion croaks like a Disney villain. “Th-This is peak masculinity.”

“I’ll bring soup,” Daeyoung adds, ignoring him. “And real medicine. Do not drink the syrup.”

Sion sighs, but Daeyoung can hear his smile through the receiver. “You’re bossy when I’m dying. I like it.”

When they hang up, Daeyoung stands for a second in the doorway, keys in hand, looking out at the hallway like it’s taken on some new shape. Then he shuts the door behind him.

Sion’s apartment is dim when Daeyoung arrives. The living room is lit only by a Marvel movie playing at low volume on the TV and the ambient pink-orange of the salt lamp in the corner. There’s an empty tissue box on the floor and a mismatched sock flung halfway over the coffee table. Sion is curled on the couch like someone trying to disappear into a pile of blankets, hoodie pulled up to his ears, hair sticking out in wild, static-y tufts.

“You look like hell,” Daeyoung says.

Sion doesn’t even open his eyes. “Then you’re the hellhound who dragged me here.”

 “I... what?”

Sion whines into the pillow. “Nevermind.”

Daeyoung heads into the kitchen, sets down the bag of takeout soup, and pulls out the cold meds he bought alongside a can of energy drink and a tiny bottle of expensive hand sanitizer he absolutely did not need. There’s a single mug in the sink with a used tea bag sagging over the rim like a corpse.

“I got your favorite,” he calls. “Radish and bone broth. Rice on the side.”

“Daeng,” Sion mumbles from the couch. “You’re a wet, sopping dream.”

Does he ever, ever turn it down?

When Daeyoung reenters the room, balancing the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other, Sion’s managed to sit up a little straighter. The blanket’s pooled around his waist, and his oversized hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder, revealing a faint splotch of flushed skin along his clavicle. His eyes are glassy and slightly unfocused, and Daeyoung tries very hard not to gulp or stare or do anything stupid.  

“Here,” Daeyoung squats down by the couch and holding out a spoon after dipping it in the soup.

Sion stares at the spoon, then at Daeyoung’s face. “I thought I was gonna die with dignity.”

“Here,” Daeyoung says, still holding the spoon out. “Open up.”

“I can feed myself,” Sion says, reaching for it.

Daeyoung doesn’t let go. He wants to be the one teasing Sion for a change. “Congratulations.”

“I’m an alpha. I’m king of the pack. I don’t think you understand, Deayoung-ie. There will be no feeding of an alpha.”

“I’m two inches taller than you.”

Sion lets out a dry, congested groan and throws his head back against the couch dramatically. “Ugh. Misogyny.”

“That word doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“It’s the condescension,” Sion accuses. “You get off on it.”

Then he looks up at Daeyoung with a strange, petulant, pouty expression. Like a wet cat being offered a bath towel, or a bunny whose treat has just been stolen. Daeyoung raises his eyebrows, still holding the spoon. Finally, Sion takes it into his mouth like a martyr and smacks his mouth with exaggerated sadness.

Daeyoung hands over the bowl, smile flickering and settles on the floor beside the couch.

Sion slurps another mouthful of soup. “You didn’t have to come.”

“You were wheezing like a haunted air vent.”

“I was fine!”

“Sure,” Daeyoung says. “Next time I’ll let you marinate in your own fever sweat.”

Sion doesn’t answer for a moment, his spoon clinking against the side of the bowl. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asks: “You’re staying, right?”

Daeyoung twists to look back up over his shoulder. The light from the TV stretches across Sion’s face, casting his cheekbones in soft red. He looks younger like this, his usually sharp features muted.

“Of course.”

Later, they dig out an old Wii console. The controllers are tangled and one of the remotes is sticky with something neither of them wants to identify, but Sion insists this is his “revenge date.” His last chance to prove he would’ve annihilated Daeyoung at the arcade if not for his terminal condition.

“Wii sword fighting is a test of character,” he announces, wielding his controller like a baguette. “And I’m a man of principle.”

They are both abysmal. Sion sneezes mid-swing and decapitates himself on-screen. Daeyoung forgets which button does what and swings like a drunk toddler in a foam pit. The game devolves into cheap shots, cheating accusations (mostly from Sion), Sion trying to wrestle the controller out of Daeyoung’s hands by jumping on top of him and covering his eyes.

Daeyoung wins the last round. Sion demands a rematch after a “quick break”, then immediately falls sideways on the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin like a child. Daeyoung sits at the other end of the couch and slouches until he’s horizontal too. They’re both too long for the cushions and their legs overlap awkwardly, but neither of them complains.

Sion wakes up slowly, throat dry and raw, vision still unfocused in the low light of the room. The TV has gone quiet, stuck on the idle menu screen, soft blue shadows flickering across the furniture. It takes him a moment to realize that his legs are warm. Daeyoung’s head is resting just above his knee, cheek pressed into the fold of the blanket. He’s out cold, mouth slack with sleep.

He watches the crown of Daeyoung’s head for an uncountable stretch of seconds. Feels the weight of his breath through two layers of fabric. Watches the way Daeyoung’s hand, curled near his stomach, twitches every now and then like it’s reaching for something in a dream. Sion watches long enough that the crick in his neck starts to ache.

Sion reaches out, hand slightly trembling, and carefully cards his fingers through Daeyoung’s hair.

There’s a fullness in Sion’s chest that catches him off guard. Like something expanding too fast inside too small a space. The slow, aching want to be exactly where he is forever. press his face into the crook of Daeyoung’s shoulder and stay like that until the rest of the world recedes, until nobody else ever exists.

He shuts his eyes, hand still threaded through Daeyoung’s hair, and tries to stay very still. Tries not to think about the voice memos saved in his phone. Tries not to think about how good it feels to be so close to Daeyoung, or about his rent, his channel, or his plan.

Tries, and fails, not to think about the life he’s faked his way into and now doesn’t know how to function without.

Me 9:12 PM
so what if I showed up dressed like scar from the lion king
might ur sister be into furries? 〠_〠

Puppy 9:14 PM
please do not traumatize her on her own wedding day
also why scar specifically
why not mufasa at least. or literally anyone less feral

Me 9:15 PM
no i’m committing to the bit （థ ՞ਊ ՞）థ
gonna mark you like a territorial animal
make eye contact with your family while i do it

Puppy 9:16 PM
Okay. Please do. My family was being annoying at wedding rehearsal
it doesn’t help that my sister keeps introducing me to people like i’m twelve, and there are several homophobic great aunts in the family                      

Me 9:19 PM
perfect. i will fight the old hag
and make out in front of the cake just to see how many aunts faint

Puppy 9:20 PM
yet, might help balance out my mom’s whole “you’re just shy, he’ll find a nice partner someday” thing even though I’m only in my early 20s like

Me 9:21 PM
wait are you saying i’m being brought as a decoy?  ( ⋋ · ⋌ )

Puppy 9:22 PM
you’re being brought as my date
who I like
a lot

Me 9:22 PM
omg
stopppp
u like me?? ( ◉◞౪◟◉)

Puppy 9:23 PM
unfortunately yeah
and it’s becoming a serious issue

Me 9:24 PM
i’m screaming and yangyang wants to murder me
i’m gonna wear a bolo tie and matching eyeliner just for you

Puppy 9:24 PM
see you tomorrow?

Me 9:25 PM
yeah
i miss you already

Puppy 9:25 PM
i miss you too
get some sleep, okay?

Me 9:26 PM
only if you dream of me
in my little lion tail ( ◣∀◢)ψ

Puppy 9:28 PM
Goodnight, Sion.

Daeyoung lies on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other in front of his chest, holding his phone just above eye level. The screen’s glow slices through the dusk of his room. His phone buzzes for the third time tonight.

The first is a photo of the seating chart with red circles drawn around his name and “+1.” The second is a blurry image of the cake, stacked tiers high, captioned: Your sister picked lemon! You like lemon, right? :)

And the third:
“So excited to meet your plus-one!! 💕💕

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he stares at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, then flicks open a different tab and goes to YouTube. He needs something to distract him, to keep himself from spiraling into whether his tie should be charcoal or slate or what it means that he cares this much.

The homepage loads with your typical algorithmic guesses: background music to work to, an anime fight compilation, a cooking video with half the title cut off.

A thumbnail stops him cold.

The Sion here looks different. His hair is longer and black, going down almost to the top of his nose, and he’s wearing round glasses. But Daeyoung recognizes the background as his bedroom.

His first thought isn’t betrayal but confusion and disorientation. A strange ache building just behind the eyes. Sion is on YouTube? How come he’s never told Daeyoung about this?

He clicks into the video, even though something inside him is screaming not to do it.  The intro is clean and well edited. The lighting is soft and golden, like it’s late afternoon in another season entirely. Sion is looking right into the camera, looking bemused. The version of him here is sharper than the one Daeyoung knows. Less theatrical and more incisive, like he’s pared himself down for the lens.

He doesn’t know this Sion.

“So,” Sion begins, “there’s a term you might’ve heard—‘love-bombing.’ Kind of a buzzword right now, but it’s got real roots in psych literature. Technically, it refers to the use of overwhelming affection, gifts, and attention to gain control over someone. And, get this: it originated from cult recruitment.”

Daeyoung’s stomach goes tight.

The Sion on camera continues. “It works because it feels good. Because everyone wants to be chosen. You get flowers. Surprises. Good morning texts at 8:01 AM. It feels like the universe realigned just to make space for you.”

The air leaves Daeyoung’s lungs, his mind already filling in the blanks.

He thinks back to the flowers sent to his office and the slideshow presentation, the embarrassing PDA from Sion these past two weeks. But he also thinks back to the quiet moments they shared together, Sion dozing off as he worked overtime, or that game night when Sion was so soft and vulnerable and kissable. The way he looked at Daeyoung sometimes—open, unguarded, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Daeyoung scrolls through the channel numbly. There are dozens more spread out over the past few years. Most of them are video essays on different psychology topics, The last public upload is from three weeks ago.

He goes to the caption and finds Sion's Twitter account, tapping the screen impatiently. It loads slowly, like the app itself is trying to spare him.

It doesn’t take long, since it’s the first tweet he sees.

New video coming in two weeks, stay tuned ;) btw: have any of you ever seen how to lose a guy in 10 days?

It’s dated the night they met.

A strange, itching coldness seeps through Daeyoung’s arms, numbing the skin beneath the covers. His fingers twitch around the phone involuntarily.

He wants to be rational and calm about this, he really does. Maybe this is just a coincidence. But it sure doesn’t feel like one.

He lays there for a long time, in the dark, with nothing but the low sound of cars outside. The glow of his phone is an afterimage behind his eyes. He lays there with the dawning suspicion that he’s been nothing more than a subject delivered to the camera.

If this was all an experiment, some grand act of love stitched together for a video, then what the hell were the last two weeks? And what the hell was he?

When sleep finally comes, it’s thin and haunted, just hours he doesn’t remember losing.

The wedding is held at a quiet estate just outside the city, a huge, old mansion that would appear in bridal magazines with names like The Hawthorne House or Foxglove & Vine. There’s wide wood-plank floors and elaborate floral wallpaper inside is intricate and antique-inspired, clearly chosen to evoke some kind of storybook elegance. The air smells faintly of lilies, eucalyptus, and whatever perfume that was spritzed across the entry tables to make the place feel more expensive than it already is.

Daeyoung arrives with his family half an hour early, per his mother’s request. Earlier, really, if you count the fifteen-minute buffer she insisted on just in case the valet situation was chaotic. She frets from the passenger seat, weaving in thinly veiled commentary about how “everyone’s getting married so young these days” and “lemon’s a bold cake flavor, isn’t it?” before casually adding, “Would you ever consider adoption if the situation required it?” Daeyoung doesn’t answer. He smooths the front of his shirt with one hand and presses the other against the car door.

They’re among the first to arrive, which means Daeyoung spends a full twenty minutes greeting cousins he hasn’t seen since puberty. An uncle who almost breaks his vertebrae with a clap to his back. Aunts who gush over how tall and how thin he is now and how he should eat more. Guests begin trickling in from both sides of the family—neighbors in pastel chiffon, coworkers in rental suits, teenagers awkwardly trying to figure out if it’s appropriate to vape behind the greenhouse. He greets his team leader, Mr. Min, who just scowls vaguely at him.

He’s explaining his job (no, I don’t work for my sister) to one of the groomsmen when he feels a presence near his side.

Daeyoung turns, and there’s Sion.

Sion’s in a navy-blue suit, fitted at the shoulders and tapered at the waist. The shirt underneath is crisp white, the collar left slightly open, as if he’d fussed with a tie. His newly bleached blond hair’s been pushed back to keep it out of his eyes. There’s a small, intricate silver pin on his lapel. He looks like he walked out of a W Korea magazine cover.

He looks really, really good.

“Hey,” Sion says, smiling like he always does when he sees Daeyoung, like the whole world pauses for a second just to give him that opening. Daeyoung feels the impact in the worst way because now he doesn’t even know if he’s allowed to believe it.

“You’re late,” Daeyoung says after a beat.

“Only fashionably, I had to hide my Scar costume.” Sion winks, making a point to give him a leering one-over, “You look really good.”

Daeyoung gestures toward the main path leading to the ceremony. “Come on. You’ll miss the part where my mom cries during the first hymn.”

As they walk, their shoulders bump once, lightly.

The ceremony takes place on the lawn beneath a trellis covered in pink and white wisteria. The chairs are arranged in perfect rows, each one draped in gauze and tied with a ribbon, the aisle lined with petals. Everyone has that typical, brittle wedding guest expression, faux-pleasant and self-conscious.

Sion sits next to Daeyoung near the front. He doesn’t fidget or bounce all over the place for once, which isn’t typical behavior. Daeyoung sometimes thought Sion was incapable of sitting still, ever. Daeyoung glances at him once during the vows and finds him watching the ceremony with genuine sincerity, his lips slightly open. Something about it presses sharply against Daeyoung’s chest.

When the ceremony ends (he can hear his mother actively sobbing behind him), there’s a wave of polite applause and the slow rustle of guests rising and moving toward the reception area inside. The caterers start setting out hors d'oeuvres. Someone cues a playlist over the venue speakers of light, instrumental pop music.

Sion’s hand finds Daeyoung’s wrist briefly as they move through the crowd. Daeyuong stares down at it and doesn’t have the heart to pull away.

They make their way to the front of the ballroom, weaving past round tables draped in white linen and silverware that’s been buffed to a shine. Daeyoung’s parents are already seated beneath the chandelier, and his mom’s face practically lights up the second she sees Sion walk over.  He can imagine how Sion looks, suave and regal and ethereal. Too bad he wants to punch Sion in the face right now.

“So this is Sion!” she gushes, extending her jeweled hand out “You’re even more handsome than Daeyoung said.”

Sion shakes her hand, then Daeyoung's father's. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Kim. You are more beautiful than Daeyoung has said.”

She beams, gesturing toward the empty seat beside her. “Come, come, sit down. We’ve heard so much about you. I kept asking Daeyoung to introduce you earlier, but he said he wanted to do a grand reveal. His words.”

Sion glances at Daeyoung with the lift of an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I was being hidden."

“He was saving you,” his mom says, as if that’s the sweetest thing in the world. “Saving you for today.”

"Yes. I guess he was."

“I’m surprised you haven’t joined us before,” Mrs. Kim continues. “After a year of dating, it’s a little unfair you waited this long.”

The smile slips slightly from Sion’s face. “Sorry?”

His mom waves her hand, laughing like she’s made a scandalous joke. “Well, he told us three months ago that he’d be bringing you to the wedding. We just assumed you two had been together for a while. It’s so nice that it worked out, though. Honestly, we were worried you’d broken up.”

Daeyoung tries desperately to flag down a waiter. He’d even take Mr. Min strolling over to make fun of him right now, honestly.

“Oh,” Sion says, his voice quieter this time. “Three months ago.”

Mrs. Kim keeps going. “He was so secretive about it. We thought maybe you were shy, or long distance or something—”

“Mom,” Daeyoung says, sharper than he means to. “Can we not do this at the table?”

She blinks, surprised. “I was just making conversation.”

“I know,” Daeyoung mutters. “Just… it’s a lot.”

Sion smiles again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s a wedding. Emotions are high.”

They sit there until they finish the main course, and it’s the most uncomfortable Daeyoung has ever been in his entire life. They make small talk about the ceremony, complimenting the floral arrangements, laughing when Daeyoung’s dad makes a joke about wine pairings. When Daeyoung’s sister comes to make the rounds with her husband, she waggles her eyebrows at Daeyoung at makes a thumbs-up gesture behind Sion’s back.

When there’s finally a lull, Sion excuses himself. “I think I need to step out for a second.”

Daeyoung follows two seconds later.

They don’t speak until they’ve made their way in the back corridor near the coat racks. The hallway is dim and faintly too warm, as if the building forgot to circulate air back here.

Sion leans back against the wall, glaring at Daeyoung as he stuffs his hands into his pant pockets.

“So,” he says, slow and even. “Three months ago. You told your family you were bringing someone.”

Daeyoung crosses his arms. “Sion—”

“And we didn’t meet back then. Obviously.”

“Which means,” Sion holds up a finger, “you didn’t bring me because you wanted to. You just need a body to fill a role? Let me guess, was it an ex? Are you still not over him?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then explain it to me,” Sion says, voice cracking at the last words. “Tell me what it was like. Because from where I’m standing, it’s a little hard to tell.”

Daeyoung opens his mouth and shuts it again. Then, yanked by an emotion guttural and furious, he says, “I found your YouTube channel.”

Sion freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

“Why don’t you explain that to me?”

“I—”

“The videos. The tweet.” Daeyoung doesn’t give him a chance to regroup. “The one about How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. You said a new video was coming.”

He watches the panic flicker across Sion’s face, the moment he tries to calculate the damage, only to realize it’s already done.

Daeyoung laughs dryly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

“I’m sorry, Daeyoung. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, I swear.” Sion says, and even he seems to hate how empty it sounds.

“That’s rich, coming from someone who built an audience off of pretending to care. Was that going to be in the video too? My face when I realized it was all a bit?”

Sion flinches like he’s been physically struck. “It wasn’t a bit.”

“And you know what pisses me off the most?” Daeyoung plows on. “I actually thought I was the bad guy. I spent the entire two weeks feeling like an asshole because I didn’t tell you why I brought you here. But at least I didn’t turn it into content. You let me introduce you to my family. You let my mom hug you and now she’s probably planning our baby showers.”

Sion steps forward, pushing himself into Daeyoung’s space. ““Stop acting like you’re some helpless fucking victim. You brought me here because you didn’t have the guts to tell your family the truth. You lied too.”

“I didn’t monetize it.”

“Oh, spare me!” Sion shouts. “You needed a prop and I needed a story, what’s the difference? Don’t pretend like you didn’t use me right back!”

Daeyoung turns away, exasperated, and runs a hand down his face.

“So what now?” he asks, facing the wall. “That’s the conclusion? That we’re both assholes who should’ve never crossed paths?”

Sion stares defiantly at the back of his head, biting his lower lip so hard it might draw blood.

“Yeah,” Sion says weakly. “I guess it is.”

Daeyoung doesn’t watch Sion disappear down the hallway, instead committing every detail of the overly priced wallpaper to memory to try and stop himself from crying.

Sion slips out through the side hall with his jacket crumpled under one arm and the silver pin in his palm. Outside, he walks past the rose trellis, the overpriced rental lanterns, the fucking fountain shaped like a lion coughing up water into its own mouth. He can feel the back of his heels start bleeding from the dress shoes he bought from Facebook Marketplace by the time he gets to the main road.

On the subway, someone stares long enough that he opens his front-facing camera to check if he’s visibly crying. He must look horrible, because a pregnant lady offers him a seat.

Here’s the truth: he’s never even made a rough draft of the video.

His roommates find Sion sitting on the floor of the shower, fully clothed, three days later.

“Ah,” Jaemin says, peeking around the door frame like he’s come across a rare species in the wild. “It’s back to the floor for our little gremlin. The shower floor this time. Fun.”

Sion doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his head two centimeters and attempts to gnaw on Jaemin’s ankle like an angry rodent. He misses, obviously.

Jaemin sighs. “Do I need to get the spray bottle again?”

“Let him be,” Haechan says, stepping in behind him with a towel draped around his neck. He crouches, starts gently petting Sion’s hair in a way that gives Sion major déjà vu from three weeks ago, when he came up with the worst plan ever known to mankind. “We can disembody him for you, by the way. The lawyer boy. Just say the word. I’ve got contacts.”

Sion closes his eyes. “Stop touching me like I’m a therapy horse.”

“You wish you had therapy horse energy,” Haechan replies. “You’re more like a cursed barn cat.”

The petting continues anyway.

Jaemin leans against the sink and frowns. “We’re worried about you, Sionie.”

“You’re not sleeping,” Haechan adds, softening for once. “Or eating. Or speaking in full sentences. You hissed at Yangyang yesterday.”

“I sleep,” Sion mutters. “At very specific intervals. Between the hours of four and five A.M., when the void gets loud enough to knock me out.”

Yangyang appears in the doorway just in time to hear that. “Jesus.”

He crosses his arms. “You didn’t post the video.”

Sion blinks at his knees. His voice cracks on the first syllable. “No. I never even started it. So, hah. Joke’s on me. I spent the last of my life savings ruining someone’s life and didn’t even get content out of it.”

“So why didn’t you just tell him?”

“Because.” Sion groans. “Because I thought he wouldn’t believe me. Like I just deleted it to cover my ass. Like he didn’t matter.”

Jaemin raises his eyebrows. “Then why didn’t you tell him?”

“Okay,” Yangyang says. “But now he thinks you’re a bastard and a coward.”

“I am a bastard and a coward.”

None of them speak for a beat.

“You’re also dressed like a Disney child,” Jaemin observes. “Are those even your pants?”

“They’re Yangyang’s.”

Haechan leans his chin on his knee. “So what would make the baby feel better?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sion, come on. Use your words, baby.”

“Oh my god,” Yangyang says. “Do you have a mommy kink?”

“What,” Haechan snaps. “It’s called gentle parenting.”

“Okay,” Jaemin says, crouching now to meet Sion’s eye level as much as he could given that Sion is sideways. “If you actually care about him—which I know you do, because you’ve been using my phone to check his instagram—then do something about it.”

“Like hang myself in front of his company?”

“No, you dumbass. Just—do something. Say something. You don’t get to sit here like a soggy sponge forever. Make a plan. Figure it out. Make a different video this time, if that’s the only language your emotionally repressed brain understands.”

Haechan gently starts pushing Sion out the shower. “Anyway, love and thoughts and prayers and whatever, but can you please vacate the bathtub now? I need to shave and you’re literally sitting on the shampoo.”

“What if I just died here?”

“Then I’d still move your corpse so I can exfoliate my T-zone.”

Sion sighs, drags himself upright with the energy of a man rising from his own grave, and steps out of the shower stall. His socks are wet. How pleasant.

Jaemin clicks his tongue, like that would somehow make Sion move faster.“Go wash your face. And your spirit. Then fix your shit.”

“God, I hate you all.”

“Love you too,” Yangyang calls from the other room. “Now shut the hell up.”

Search history

Monday

• how to get over a guy quickly
• how many days does heartbreak last biologically
• is crying in the shower every night bad for skin elasticity
• can you die from yearning
• Kim Daeyoung ex (private tab)
• Kim Daeyoung news

Tuesday

• how to tell if you're the villain in your own story
• how to undo emotional damage without contact
• romcom where they get back together even after lying
• Kim Daeyoung ex (private tab)
• Kim Daeyoung new boyfriend

Wednesday

• is it manipulative if you fall in love for real
• did anna kendrick get back together with the guy in that one movie
• can you get a person back by accident
• Kim Daeyong (private tab)
• Kim Daeyoung new boyfriend

Thursday

• love languages if you’re emotionally constipated
• how to know if the person you’re into hates you now
• Kim Daeyoung (private tab)
• Kim Daeyoung new boyfriend
• Kim Daeyoung hate Sion

It’s raining when Deyoung finally gets to Sion’s building. It’s the kind of rain that looks like nothing from inside but seeps into the stitching of your coat the moment you step out.

Daeyoung stands in the hallway outside Sion’s apartment.  His jacket’s damp at the shoulders, his hair beginning to curl slightly from the moisture. He’s been out here long enough to memorize the evacuation chart beside the elevator. He’s read it twice, half out of boredom, half to keep himself from pacing a hole into the floor. He’s run through five versions of what he might say and discarded all of them.

He lifts a hand toward the door, hesitates, then lets it fall again. He’s about to leave when the elevator creaks in the hall.

The sound of Sion's footsteps is familiar in a way that makes Daeyoung’s chest tighten. Sion rounds the corner with his hood up, airpod in one ear, a plastic grocery bag in hand. His shoes are soaked through, the cuffs of his pants darkened with rain. He slows mid-step when he sees Daeyoung and blinks a few times.

“...Hey,” Sion says. His voice is hoarse like he hasn’t used it all day. It’s ridiculous, how much Daeyoung misses hearing it.

“Hey.”

He’s got red knuckles, like he’s been clutching that bag too hard, or maybe just walking with his hands out too long in the cold.

“Do you want to come in?” Sion says, opening the door a bit wider.

The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the muffled sound of chatting from Haechan’s room. Sion takes off his shoes and places his bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. He moves to the sink and turns on the tap, even if the Brita filter is already mostly full.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Sion says, voice low, eyes still on the stream of water.

“I didn’t either.”

The truth is, Daeyoung’s been miserable.

He hasn't been to work in a few days. He’s called in sick and didn’t bother to lie about the reason when Riku asked. He spent yesterday refreshing Sion’s YouTube page and stuffing his face. He doesn’t know what possessed him to come here. Something in him just gave out. Something tender, and stupid, and hopeful.

“I didn’t come here to make you say sorry.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“I’m not really sure.” Daeyoung looks at a ridiculous monkey-printed sock on the lamp, then at the forgotten glass of juice on the bookshelf. “I just… couldn’t not.”

“You sure you’re not here for your hoodie?

That pulls a small, involuntary laugh out of Daeyoung. “Which one?”

“Aha. So you noticed.”

“And the hemorrhoids? Was that part of the plan to get me to break up with you too?”

Sion pretends to think. “Maybe. I just didn’t know you’d be so hard to crack.”

There’s a beat where neither of them says anything.

“I’m sorry. About the wedding. I wanted to tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to bring it up,” Daeyoung sighs. “And by the time I thought I could, you were already being...”

“A circus clown?” Sion offers.

“Well. I was going to say persistent.”

Sion shrugs and walks closer. Up close, his eye bags are sharp, almost purplish at the edges. He hasn’t been sleeping well. Daeyoung knows, because his own probably look the same.

Sion twists his mouth like he’s made a decision, then nods towards the direction of his bedroom.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

Daeyoung has no choice but to follow. Maybe that’s the problem. He’ll always follow if it’s Sion.

Sion’s room is mostly unchanged. The curtains are drawn halfway, filtering in a hazy strip of daylight. An empty Dunkin’ cup sits on the table, the straw chewed flat. Daeyoung’s old sweatshirt is slung over the back of the desk chair. The ring light is pushed awkwardly to the side to face the wall, as if it’s been deliberately ignored. Sion wakes his laptop without sitting down, hitting the space bar once.

“I made something,” Sion clicks open Google chrome. “I just finished it yesterday. I was going to send it to you, but I couldn’t work up the courage.”

Daeyoung steps closer when Sion beckons him with a hand, to read the open tab. It’s an YouTube video titled How to Fall in Love With a Guy in 14 Days (unlisted).

When Sion hits play, the screen fills with a grainy still of a park bench, a frame paused mid-motion.

The video opens with a shaky shot at the hotdog stand. Daeyoung remembers that day. Sion had launched into some elaborate theory about Martian dogs colonizing Earth and declared that Daeyoung looked like someone who’d cry during E.T. and was trying to get him to pose at the stand. Daeyoung, caught mid-laugh, shoved his face into his elbow. It’s followed by quick clips, including one from their first “date” at the orphanage. Daeyoung on the soccer field, the whistle around his neck, Sion grinning breathlessly at the lens, and another photo of him tying a kid’s shoelaces.

More footage play, ramen containers scattered across his office desk, an empty office late at night, streetlights blurred through a car window, their voices off-camera, muffled laughter in the background. There’s a clip from the wedding: his profile backlit, watery eyes trained on his sister as she walks down the aisle. Sion is gazing at him from the side, his lips curved at the corners.

The last frame freezes on Daeyoung just outside Sion’s favorite ice cream shop, laughing at something off-camera, hair windblown, one strap of his bag slipping down his shoulder.

“Why did you make this?” Daeyoung asks, hands balling into loose fists at his side.

Sion’s presses the heel of his hand into the side of his jaw before letting it drop. “Because everything I actually wanted to say sounded like an excuse or a lie. Something you wouldn’t believe, even if I meant it.”

 “I was angry. I thought you were laughing at me, like this whole thing was just some fucked-up experiment.” Daeyoung’s voice hitches. “And the worst part was—I kept missing you anyway.”

Sion nods and shifts his weight from one leg to another, the floor creaking beneath him.

“But I wasn’t fair either. I brought you to the wedding because I didn’t want to deal with the fallout of being alone. That wasn’t fair to you.” Daeyoung says. His hand drops to his side and flexes once, like it aches. “I think we both made it fake. We both went into this pretending it was something else, and when it started becoming real, neither of us knew how to stop pretending. When it fell apart, I didn’t know if what I missed was real—or just the part we were acting out. And that scared me more than being lied to.”

“I didn’t want to post that video,” Sion says. “I didn’t want this to be a story I used to get more followers. I wanted it to be something I remembered without feeling sick.”

“So what do we do it now?’

Sion’s fingers drum a slow rhythm against his desk. “I don’t know. You can’t just erase everything that happened, and neither can I.  But maybe we can decide that we don’t want to stay where we were. We can decide to be honest.”

 “Do you think we can actually do that?” Daeyoung leans back slightly, studying Sion. Then he pushes away from the desk, closes the space between them until he’s breathing in Sion’s familiar vanilla perfume.

“I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try.” Sion lifts his gaze, his lashes casting dull shadows creased just above the top of his cheekbones.

“Good,” Daeyoung says. “And no more weddings, at least not for a while.”

Sion thinks for a moment, then extends a hand between them. Daeyoung furrows his brows, confused.

“Hi.” Sion introduces. “I’m Oh Sion. Part-time YouTuber, full-time PhD student.”

Daeyoung looks at the hand, and something in his chest unwinds as he reaches out.

“Kim Daeyoung. Associate lawyer. I’m overworked and have a lot of family issues, to the extent where I lied to the hottest person I’ve ever met just to—”

Sion bursts into his laughter with his whole body. It’s the kind of laugh that crumples Daeyoung from the inside, that presses against every soft place he’s been guarding, like something too great to be named is blooming inside him.

“Nice to meet you, Kim Daeyoung.”

It’s almost nine p.m.

Everyone else has gone home—except the usual suspects: Sohee, three bleary-eyed first-year associates, and Sakuya, the pre-law intern who now looks like he’s transcended the limits of human cognition. His hand is still clicking his mouse, but Daeyoung’s not sure he’s blinked in twenty minutes.

The office is bathed in the unflattering glare of overhead fluorescents. The air-conditioning is still blasting as if it's noon in August, and the room feels like a refrigerated coffin lined with cubicles.

Mr. Min had dumped a manila folder on his desk earlier with a brisk, “Just compile this before you go.” That was three hours ago. Daeyoung can still hear him in the middle of another deranged Zoom call, likely micromanaging some poor junior in Singapore or Seoul.

He hasn’t even eaten dinner and his lower back aches, but Mr. Min is still in the adjoining room, screaming a someone over a video call with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant on cocaine. He winces as the team leader’s curses echo out the walls. “No, no, you don’t understand what I mean, you understand what I said! Jesus, do I have to come there and force-feed it down your throat? Huh?"

Daeyoung slouches lower in his seat and checks the time again. Sion had texted him two hours ago and he hadn’t had the energy to answer.

It’s been two months since they started dating (for real this time, Daeyoung has triple-checked). Dating the real Sion, the one that isn’t trying to actively sabotage their relationship, has been the wildest and undoubtedly favorite time Daeyoung’s ever experienced. He still makes Daeyoung’s head spin with how ridiculous and strangely beautiful he is.

Dating Sion has been like standing too close to a lightning storm—exhilarating, a little dangerous, but it makes him feel alive. And Sion is trying. Daeyoung can see that. He’s even invited Riku and Yushi to a dinner in an actual restaurant (no cow porn this time) and his best friends are almost scarily close to accepting Sion already, even if they did threaten to pull out his bowels and knot it into a bow tie at the beginning, when they were still pissed on Daeyoung's behalf.

He’s halfway through typing up a summary memo when he hears someone hollering. No, shrieking is a better word for it.

Daeyoung startles so violently he nearly elbows his coffee off the desk. Sakuya twitches like a Sims 4 character on his deathbed.

Sohee pushes up from his desk, squinting toward the window. “What is that?’

Frowning, Daeyoung shuffles toward the glass, planting his palms against the cold pane. They’re on the fifth floor. He shouldn’t be able to hear street-level conversations unless someone’s using a megaphone.

And guess what, ladies and gentlemen and nonbinary peeps? He finds Sion standing top of a white Cadillac.

He’s wearing a hoodie with the drawstrings pulled so tight he looks like a sentient meatball, and wide, obnoxious sunglasses that reflect the orange glow of the streetlamps. He’s crouched like a gremlin, waving a crooked cardboard sign scrawled in thick black Sharpie: “FREE MY BOYFRIEND.”

Then Sion jumps. The car honks in protest, flashing its lights as the built-in alarm system wails. Sion bounces once on the roof before locking eyes with Daeyoung through the window. Then, grinning with the full force of a man possessed, he throws both arms wide and blows a huge, theatrical kiss like he’s won a Grammy’s.

Daeyoung makes a strangled wheeze and staggers back.

“Oh no—”

The door to the adjacent office slams open. Mr. Min storms in, tie askew and his Bluetooth headset still dangling from one ear.

“What the hell is that?!” he yells, charging toward the window. “Who is—what—why is someone jumping on my car?!!”

Sion must see Mr. Min in all his middle-aged fury too, because he points straight at the man.

Then he hops on the roof five more times, making sure to propel his full body weight downwards every time. Daeyoung can almost see the roof of the car getting more dented.

Daeyoung sinks into the nearest chair, laughter bursting out of him in silent, full-body spasms. He folds in on himself, hiccuping uncontrollably, hands braced on his knees.

He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this in the office, or maybe ever.

“He’s stepping off now!” Mr. Min screeches in the background. “He’s leaving the scene! Get security! Call someone—call the police! CALL—”

Down below, Sion performs one final, ridiculous twirl. He places the cardboard sign on the Cadillac for good measure before finally taking off, his hoodie strings flapping behind him like streamers.

Daeyoung watches his skittish silhouette almost trip over the curb before flailing down the sidewalk, his heart hammering with something wild and impossible.

God. Daeyoung is so, unfathomably, incredibly in love.

It takes a cryptic text, ten minutes of jogging down the street, and cutting through several back alleys to find Sion.

Sion’s sitting on the curb behind a corner comic store. His legs are sprawled out, back resting against a wall plastered with sun-bleached posters of Haikyu!! screenings. One sneaker is untied, its lace curled on the pavement like a loose thread waiting to be pulled.

He doesn’t notice Daeyoung yet, too busy laughing to himself, head tilted back like he’s watching something funny play out across the dark night sky.

Daeyoung wants to keep this. The image of Sion lit up in flickering streetlight, cheeks flushed pink from exertion.

Sion looks up as he approaches and breaks into a grin. “Caught me.”

“You’re—” Daeyoung plants a hand on his hip, trying to catch his breath. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Probably,” Sion tilts his head. “Worth it, though.”

“Do you know how stupid that was? That was—that was a crime.”

“I guess I’ve been a bad boy, officer.”

“Now is not the time to bring up whatever kinks you have." Daeyoung flushes, looking around to see if anyone’s heard them.

Sion giggles as he rises, brushing off the seat of his jeans. He looks incredibly smug , like he’s daring Daeyoung to do something about it, like shove him or kiss him or preferably both. His entire existence is the definition of bait, honestly.

“You can’t just vandalize my boss’s personal property.”

“And yet,” Sion says, eyes gleaming with mischief, “you didn’t rat me out.”

It’s unbearable. Sion’s infuriating. Reckless. Barely tethered to logic. You can’t argue with him. You can’t reason with him.

So Daeyoung does something any rational person would do, he surges forward, grabs the front o Sion’s hoodie, and kisses him.

Sion gasps softly against him, surprised and already smiling. Daeyoung’s hand slides up, cups the back of Sion’s head, thumb grazing the nape of his neck. He tilts Sion’s face up a little more, and Sion leans in eagerly, bumping their noses together.

“Ow.” Daeyoung complains, pulling back just enough to rub the bridge of his nose.

“You want me so bad.” Sion teases.

Daeyoung promptly shuts him up.

Sion’s fists his hands in Daeyoung’s shirt, tugging on his hair and biting Daeyoung’s lips with little nips. Daeyoung feel like he’s being set alight from the inside out.

When they finally break apart, Sion’s eyes are wide and glassy, lips kiss-bruised. Daeyoung feels his own lips sting and leans in again, resting their foreheads together, still panting a little. “Let’s go home. Mr. Min’s talking with the security guards and he’s forgotten about all of us.”

“They’ll never catch me. Do you think this is my first time committing a minor crime?”

“We have to go to yours, though,” he adds. “Yangyang says he’s going to throw tomatoes at us if we do any more PDA in the apartment.”

“Movie, then, my place.” Daeyoung says, nudging him with a shoulder as they start walking. “No kissing until the third act.”

Sion rolls his eyes. “I’ve literally already had your—”

“We’re in public!” Daeyoung screeches as he smacks a hand over Sion’s mouth with so much urgency he nearly fumbles his own balance. A couple walking their dog across the street glance over and their bug-eyed chihuahua starts growling at them.

Sion is wheezing into his palm. His eyes scrunch at the corners as he laughs, mouth moving under Daeyoung’s hand like he’s still trying to finish the sentence.

“You’re actually the worst,” Daeyoung mutters, peeling his hand away and wiping it on his jeans. “One day I’m going to get hit by a bus mid-convresation and it’s going to be your fault.”

“Okay, okay,” Sion says, still catching his breath, the grin never quite leaving his face. “So what movie should we watch?”

“Up to you.”

Sion hums, kicking a loose pebble off the sidewalk. “Hmm. How about… How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”

Daeyoung turns to glower at him.

Sion shrugs, unbothered. “Just feels topical.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You love it when I’m insufferable,” Sion beams, all teeth.

Daeyoung groans, but the sound’s already ruined by the grin tugging at his mouth. He pretends to walk faster to escape the conversation, but Sion catches up easily, swinging their hands together until Daeyoung gives in and lets their fingers twine.

Sion starts humming the movie’s theme song off-key, and Daeyoung pretends not to know the words. There’s takeout in their soon future, and Sion will probably fall asleep ten minutes in, his favorite headband pushing his hair out of his face like some misplaced halo. Daeyoung will watch him until the credits roll, then nudge him awake just to kiss him one more time.

So yeah. Daeyoung hates to admit this, but sometimes you really do get your very own romcom ending.