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Joong is someone who observes — not intentionally, but out of habit. It’s a trait that’s been carved into him since childhood. His father was never one for softness; instead of hugs, there were cold words and firm handshakes. Even at the age of just ten, his father would regard him as if he was already an adult. One thing Joong remembers clearly is his father telling him to be an observer rather than a talker, because people who talk too much are often the ones trying to overcompensate.
Observers, he said, were the ones with the advantage. They caught things others overlooked, because instead of filling the air with noise, they let the world speak first. Joong grew up carrying that lesson like a quiet commandment. Even now, in rooms full of people, he prefers to blend into the edges when he chooses to do so — watching, reading, understanding.
It isn’t that he’s one to shy away from attention. Instead it’s that he learned at a young age that silence can be its own kind of power. While others rush to fill the space around them, desperate to be seen. Desperate to be someone important. Joong takes his time. He studies the rhythm of a conversation, the way people’s eyes shift when they are trying to hide behind their lies, the way a person’s voice betrays their real feelings. And by the time he finally does decide to speak, he already knows more than most people realize.
Which brings him to tonight. The club scene he’s standing in isn’t one he particularly enjoys, but because of his job, it’s a place he ends up more often than he’d like. The man he’s doing business with is—for lack of a better word—wasted. It grates on Joong’s nerves, but the deal is important, so he slips on his most charming smile and does what he does best: he gets what he wants.
The contract is already signed, tucked safely in the briefcase his assistant delivered. Now it’s simply a matter of showing face until his business partner decides he’s ready to go home. Normally, Joong would be counting the minutes, but tonight is different. Tonight, his attention keeps drifting toward the dance floor, where a very attractive man moves in the center of the crowd.
He’s tall, lean, and fills out his shirt in a way that should be illegal. Joong had noticed him the moment he walked into the upscale bar, a spark of intrigue brewing in Joong’s chest making it nearly impossible to look away. There’s something magnetic about him — something that pulls Joong’s gaze back no matter how many times he tries to remain focused on business.
“I’m going to take him home,” a voice pulls him from his thoughts.
Joong turns, glancing at the woman who arrived with his newly signed business partner. He gives her a polite smile and a nod, granting permission, before signaling to his own team to start wrapping up. His assistant offers to escort the pair outside, leaving Joong alone with his two guards.
“What do you want to do, boss?” Aou asks. “Do you want to leave?”
Joong hums thoughtfully, eyes drifting back toward the dance floor in search of the man who’s been occupying his attention. He spots him weaving through the crowd, heading toward what looks like the bathroom corridor.
“I need to go to the bathroom first,” Joong says, not giving room for argument as he starts moving.
His guards fall in behind him as he cuts through the crowd. Just as they reach the mouth of the hallway, the man suddenly stumbles out—right toward him. Joong barely has a second to react before the stranger collides with him, arms looping around Joong’s neck like they belong there.
Joong lifts a hand to halt his guards as they instinctively move forward.
“What are you looking at?” the man demands, despite being practically wrapped around a stranger. Then, with a mischievous slur, “You have nice eyes.”
Joong swallows the flicker of surprise, steadying him with a firm hand at his narrow waist.
“You okay?” he asks, helping the man find his balance.
“No,” the man says, almost pouting. “You’re hot. Stop staring at me like that or I’m going to kiss you.”
Joong barely has time to process the warning before soft, tequila-sweet lips press against his. The kiss is messy, uncoordinated, and undeniably intoxicated—but something about it still pulls at him. His hand tightens at the man’s waist, his other guiding the man’s jaw as he deepens the kiss for just a moment.
The man responds eagerly, almost desperately, chasing the contact. But Joong pulls back, and the stranger leans forward with a small, confused pout when he realizes the kiss isn’t continuing.
He’s drunk. Very drunk. And Joong may not be a saint, but he respects boundaries.
“Take me home,” the man whines—before his knees give out and he collapses fully against Joong’s chest.
Joong tightens his grip on the man’s waist, making sure he doesn’t topple over. Aou steps forward to help, but Joong shakes his head once—sharp and decisive—stopping him before he can lay a hand on the man. Joong isn’t one to share, not even in situations as seemingly innocent as this.
He adjusts the man’s weight, guiding his arm around Joong’s shoulders while securing an arm firmly around his waist. The man melts into the hold like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Go find who he came with,” Joong orders, voice low but firm.
Aou nods immediately, disappearing into the crowd. That leaves Joong with Santa, who stays silent but whose curiosity radiates like heat at his side. It’s rare—almost unheard of—for Joong to concern himself with the wellbeing of someone he doesn’t know or have a personal stake in. Santa knows better than to comment, but Joong can still feel the question lingering in the air.
It takes less than ten minutes before Aou returns, and he’s brought someone with him. The man is equally handsome, and the resemblance is unmistakable—the same jawline, the same expressive eyes, the same air of slightly chaotic charm. Brothers, cousins… something close.
“I’m so sorry,” the newcomer blurts, hurrying forward to take the drunken man from Joong’s arms.
Joong hesitates—not because he wants to keep holding him, though the weight against his body is strangely grounding—but because the man in his arms lifts his head at the sound of the voice. His face lights up instantly, practically radiant, as he launches himself into the other man’s waiting embrace.
“Boom!” the stranger says brightly, catching him with ease. “There you are!”
The drunk man clings to the newcomer—Boom—with a familiarity that confirms Joong’s suspicion. The two sway for a moment before Boom steadies them both, one arm firm around the man’s back.
“He’s my brother,” Boom explains quickly, glancing up at Joong with an apologetic smile. “He gets like this sometimes. I swear he’s usually more put-together than… this.”
Joong arches a brow, not entirely convinced as the man buries his face against Boom’s shoulder with a dramatic little groan.
“Boom,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “That man was staring at me. He has stupidly pretty eyes.”
Boom closes his eyes as if begging the universe for patience. “Yes, I heard. You were shouting it.”
Joong’s lips twitch—not quite a smile, but close. It’s hard not to feel the echo of the man’s earlier warmth, the weight of him pressed against Joong like he belonged there.
Boom adjusts his brother in his arms. “Thank you for catching him. He disappears when he’s drunk. And then he finds trouble. Or trouble finds him.”
Joong’s gaze is steady, unreadable. “He almost fell.”
“And you kept him from eating the floor,” Boom replies, genuine gratitude softening his features. “I owe you for that.”
Joong shakes his head. “No debt. Just take him home.”
Boom nods, shifting his brother again, and the drunk man cracks open one eye—glassy, unfocused, but somehow still landing directly on Joong.
“You didn’t kiss me again,” he says, pouting.
Boom freezes. “Oh my god. Please tell me he didn’t—”
Joong offers nothing more than a small, enigmatic smile.
Boom groans in a way that tells Joong this is far from the first time his brother has stumbled into a situation like this. “I am so sorry.”
Joong gives a small nod. “No need,” he says calmly. “Is this a habit of his?”
Boom shifts his brother higher against his chest, looking both embarrassed and resigned. “No. Dunk does a lot of stupid things, but he’s never kissed someone while drunk—at least not without actually knowing them.”
Dunk.
Joong tastes the name silently. It fits him—short, sharp, memorable. It rolls off the tongue in a way that feels almost… dangerous. He’s certain he’d enjoy saying it under different circumstances—when there were fewer people watching…and fewer layers of clothing involved. And he’s even more certain he’d enjoy hearing Dunk say his name.
“Like I said, it’s no problem,” Joong replies smoothly.
Some of Boom’s frazzled energy fades, replaced by cautious relief. As the tension eases, Boom’s eyes drift over Joong—measured, observant, not lustful but undeniably curious. Cataloging him. Trying to place him.
Joong is used to that. He stands there with quiet confidence, shoulders squared, his presence a deliberate thing. He’s not naive about his own image. Even without knowing his profession, anyone with eyes can tell that wealth sits comfortably on him—woven into the fabric of his clothes, embedded in his posture, threaded through every unhurried movement. Power doesn’t cling to Joong; it radiates from him.
And Boom notices.
Most people do.
“I’ll take him home,” Boom says once his subtle assessment of Joong is complete. “Thank you again.”
Joong gives a light shrug. “Get home safely.”
It doesn’t sound like a suggestion, and Joong doesn’t intend it to. Boom seems to understand that on some instinctive level. Before he can offer another rushed apology, Santa steps forward; Joong catches his eye, and Santa nods. Without a word, he falls into step behind the two brothers, shadowing them out of the club.
Aou returns to Joong’s side, brow raised as he watches them leave.
“Surprised you just let him go like that.”
The corner of Joong’s mouth twitches—almost a smile, but not quite. His hand slips into his pocket, his posture loose, relaxed… deceptively so.
Letting him go.
The thought is amusing, if not entirely naive.
“Something like that,” Joong answers after a beat, offering nothing more.
He doesn’t need to. Aou knows better than to pry.
Joong, however, knows exactly what he’s doing. He has no intention of letting Dunk slip out of his grasp—not when the man has already sparked something in him, rare and intoxicating. But Joong has never been one to be impulsive. He is not careless with his decisions. He doesn’t chase like some dog off the streets.
He hunts.
He plans.
He waits for the right moment to strike.
He doesn’t aim for short-term wins. That’s not the way he was raised. No—Joong plays the long game. The kind of game where every move is deliberate…and victory is always inevitable.
And Dunk?
Dunk doesn’t even realize he’s already playing.