Chapter Text
It's almost 11pm and his apartment is pretty dark, only the soft yellow lamp on the nightstand still on. The sheets around them are a mess after all they’ve been up to and the plate of leftover cake from earlier is still sitting on the kitchen counter. But Baku will deal with that tomorrow. Right now, all he can focus on is the weight of Gotak's head on his chest.
His pretty boy is barely awake, one leg thrown over Baku's, fingers tracing along his ribs, probably not meaning anything but driving Baku a little insane anyway. His hair is damp from the shower they took earlier and he smells like Baku's body wash, smells like his.
It’s been six months today. Half a year of this ridiculously complicated, exhausting, but amazing thing. He still can't fully wrap his head around it. Baku tilts his head down, pressing a kiss to the top of Gotak's hair. He gets a small, sleepy hum in return.
"What are you thinking about so loudly?," Gotak mumbles.
Baku laughs quietly, fingers combing through his boyfriend's hair. This brat. "Just thinking about how much you ate tonight. I'm usually the one eating that well."
Gotak hums. "It was okay pasta."
"Excuse me? It was great pasta."
"Mm. Modest, as always."
Baku grins into Gotak's hair. He had spent the entire afternoon on that dinner, made the pasta from scratch, even. The look on Gotak's face when he tasted it was worth every minute of it. He hadn't said much, just kept taking another bite after bite, and reached across the table to squeeze Baku's wrist in awe. It was the cutest thing. It made the sounds coming out of his pretty boy after, when he was eating a whole other thing, even sweeter.
Six months… He thinks about that fight they had back in September, when Gotak got home late from some dinner with his parents and a potential sponsor and showed up at Baku's apartment in a foul mood after, snapping at everything. Baku had told him to either talk about it or sleep on the couch. Gotak had picked the couch out of pure stubbornness. Baku had woken up at 2am to find him crawling in beside him anyway, mumbling a sorry into his neck. They hadn't really fought about that since. Well, mostly.
There was another thing in November, when Gotak's mother had almost walked in on them at the country club, and Gotak had spent the entire next day refusing to look at him. Baku had been more tired than angry that time. He'd cornered Gotak after everyone was gone and just said I told you that if you're going to do this every time, we have a problem. And Gotak had looked at him with those big eyes and said I know. I'm sorry. I'm working on it. And he was, in a way.
Of course, there were the little ones, too. Disagreements about plans, Gotak being possessive about Baku's coworkers in a way he refused to admit was possessive (Baku didn't mind that one that much, sue him). Baku making rich kid jokes that landed wrong. Normal stuff, nothing that ever made Baku doubt this.
He runs his hand slowly down Gotak's bare back, against his warm skin. Gotak makes another tiny sound against his chest, contented.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"You happy?"
There's a pause while Gotak shifts a little, like he's trying to see Baku's face. "Why are you asking me that?"
"Just want to know."
"…Yeah. I'm happy." He replies, quietly.
"Yeah?"
"You're going to make me say it twice?"
"I might make you say three times even."
Gotak huffs a laugh, turning his face fully into Baku's chest. "I'm happy, you idiot. Are you?"
"Disgustingly so." Baku smiles at the ceiling. His hand keeps moving, slow strokes up and down Gotak's spine. He can feel his pretty boy slipping further toward sleep with every second.
"Baku."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For today."
It's so quiet that Baku almost misses it. He turns his head and presses another kiss to Gotak's hair. "Anytime, baby."
"The cake was too sweet, though."
Baku laughs, and Gotak's shoulders shake against him in a tired chuckle. "Go to sleep, brat."
"I’m going."
"Mhm."
"Shush"
Baku presses his lips together to stop laughing and goes still. Within a minute, Gotak's breathing evens out. He keeps looking as his boyfriend's mouth falls slightly open, eyelashes fluttering a bit. There's a faint bruise forming at his collarbone that Baku had put there earlier, and Baku takes a moment to feel pretty smug about it.
He should sleep too. His shift tomorrow starts at nine, and he's been on his feet all day. Instead, he reaches carefully for his phone on the nightstand, turning the brightness all the way down before unlocking it.
He goes into Instagram and its the usual mess. Memes, basketball videos, some guy from the staff cafeteria who's started a food account, a couple of his old friends posting from clubs Baku hasn't been to in months. Six months ago he would've gone out on a Saturday night without a second thought. Now he can't really imagine wanting to be anywhere that wasn't here.
He opens the camera roll instead. Most of the photos from tonight are useless. Half of them are Gotak refusing to be in the frame, hand up in front of his face. There's one of the dinner table he set, candles and all. There's one of the cake, there's a blurry one of his own foot, taken accidentally when Gotak grabbed his phone earlier to play music. There's a sweet one of their hands on the table, fingers loosely linked, Gotak's expensive watch catching the candlelight.
He could post some of those, they should be vague enough. He starts assembling a draft. Adds the candles, then the one with the cake. Adds a photo of the pasta plate from before it got devoured. Adds the hands, because it's nice and you can't really tell whose hand it is anyway.
He's about to caption it something dumb like spoiled myself tonight when he keeps scrolling and stops.
Oh.
He'd forgotten he took it. Earlier, when Gotak had collapsed face down into the pillows for a few seconds before the shower, Baku had grabbed his phone and snapped a picture without really thinking about it. He'd been laughing at the time, teasing Gotak about being dramatic, and Gotak had flipped him off without looking up.
It's a really good photo. Gotak's face is fully buried in the pillow, hair messy, completely unrecognizable. Just his back, his waist, one arm thrown up by his head. The sheet is twisted low on his hips in a way that's definitely suggestive but isn't actually explicit. The lamp light hits him just right in the curve of his shoulder.
Baku stares at it. It's a beautiful photo. Of his beautiful boyfriend. On his bed. After their six month anniversary dinner. So he thinks about it.
You really can't tell anything from it. There's no face, no tattoo, no jewelry, nothing identifying. Just a guy. Could be any guy. Could be a stranger Baku brought home, for all anyone knows. None of his followers know Gotak. The two worlds don't overlap. Gotak's friends aren't on his account. Gotak himself isn't on his account, because Gotak refused to follow him publicly months ago and Baku had let it go.
It would just be for him, really. A tiny private thing. A way of saying this happened without actually saying anything at all. He adds it to the draft.
He looks at it sitting there next to the candles and the cake and the linked hands and his stomach does a little dance. Something close to pride, maybe, close to mine. Six months of having this incredible, infuriating boy fall asleep on his chest, and not being allowed to say so out loud.
It's just a photo. Baku looks down at Gotak, still soundly asleep against him. Lips parted, one hand curled loosely against Baku's stomach. Completely trusting and his.
He looks back at the screen. It's nothing. It's basically nothing. He hits Share. He watches the little progress bar fill up, then the confirmation. Posted. He locks the phone, sets it back on the nightstand, and slides down a little so he can wrap both arms around Gotak properly. Gotak mumbles something incoherent and gets closer.
"Go back to sleep, baby," Baku whispers, smiling into his hair.
It's fine. It's just a photo.
What's the worst that could happen?
Gotak hits another serve, watches it hit just inside the line, and resets. "That’s a bit better," his coach calls from the other end. "Again." He tosses the ball, hits, resets. Again, again.
His shoulder is loose this monday morning, his footwork clean as always. The indoor court is quiet except for them, the heaters are on in full blast since it's peak winter, but overall it's better than practicing under the summer sun. By all means, this should be a good practice. It isn't, it’s terrible. He misses the next serve, sending it straight into the net. Reset again.
"Hyuntak."
"I know."
"Why are you rushing?"
He ignores the question and tosses again, makes himself slow down, hits a clean one and his coach hums in approval. They run through serves for another ten minutes and Gotak forces himself to focus. He's good at this, no, he’s fucking great at this. He should be able to do this in his sleep. The problem is he hasn't really been sleeping. Well, he's been sleeping plenty, just very much not in his own bed. And definitely not on his own schedule. He returns a forehand cleanly and sets up for the next one.
His parents had been gone the whole week. His mother in Singapore for some board thing, and his father in Seoul as always. Which meant he'd basically lived in Baku's apartment since friday afternoon. Three days of waking up tangled in those cheap sheets, of Baku making him breakfast in that ridiculous tiny kitchen, of celebrating. He'd only come back to the country club for his Saturday practice and Baku's half day shift, just enough to keep things looking normal.
He hits a backhand too late and the ball hits the top of the net.
"Watch your footwork, Hyuntak!"
"I know, I know."
The thing is, normally his Sundays are for rewatching tapes. For going through his serve frame by frame and doing his strength training. Normally a weekend is two full days of training, not two full days of letting Baku feed him pasta and pull him back into bed every couple hours.
Not that he regrets it. He doesn't! But still, he hits another ball into the net.
"Reset, kid."
"Fuck…" He breathes out, rolls his shoulders, tries again. His coach is watching him closely now, a clear what's going on with you all over his face, and Gotak doesn't have a real answer. So he just plays harder. Focuses on the ball until his arm is burning, his shirt is damp under his hoodie, and he's actually starting to feel like himself again. By the time they call it, two hours later, he's hit clean serves for most of the last set. Coach gives him a nod that's almost approving. "Better. Tape work tonight?"
"Yeah."
"You looked real tired at the start."
"I'm fine."
"I worry, kid"
"I said I'm fine."
His coach raises both hands in surrender and walks off toward the locker room. Gotak stays on the court for another minute, just breathing. He eventually starts to pack his things. I can't keep doing this. It's a small thought for now, but it sits there in the back of his head the whole drive home.
He loves Baku. He's not stupid about it, he knows exactly what he has, and he's not letting it go. But he also knows what he is, and he's been Go Hyuntak a lot longer than he's been Baku's pretty boy. He's been training since he was seven. He's been raised for one specific kind of life since before he could even speak. And whether he likes that life or not, he's the best at what he does in his age group, regionally, and he's about to start qualifying for things that actually matter. He doesn't get to be the best by spending three day weekends in a tiny apartment with his boyfriend, no matter how nice it is.
He needs to draw a line somewhere. Not break up with him, god, no, just some structure. He doesn't think Baku will mind. Baku takes his own job seriously, he'll understand. He'll talk to him. Tomorrow, maybe, or later this week. He'll figure out how to say it without making it sound like he's pulling away. He just can’t today, today he has to focus.
The house is quiet when he gets home, just him and a couple of staff around. He drops his bag by the stairs and goes straight up, peeling his shirt off as he walks. Showering in his own bathroom is something he's actually missed. Baku's water pressure is fine for what it is, but his shower has a rainfall head, heated floors, enough space to move around, and he's not going to apologize for liking it.
He stands under the water for a long time, head tipped back, eyes closed. Lets the heat work into his shoulder. By the time he's clean, dressed, and downstairs again, it's just past two in the afternoon. He microwaves something the cook left in the fridge for him, takes it up to his room, and sets up his laptop on the desk.
Practice tapes from Saturday first. He pulls them up, opens his notebook, and gets to work. It's almost meditative, he loves it. There's something about seeing himself from the outside that snaps everything back into focus. This is who he is, this is what he's good at.
He's just starting his second set of notes when his phone buzzes on the desk. He glances at it, expecting to be Baku.
Wooyoung: congrats on fucking the hot staff lmao didn't know you had it in you
Gotak stares at the screen. He reads it again. What the fuck? Wooyoung is supposed to be in Seoul. Wooyoung doesn't know about his relationship with Baku. Nobody knows about it. There is literally no universe in which Wooyoung has any reason to send him this text.
His thumb is already shaking when he types back.
Gotak: what
Wooyoung: don't play coy, hyuntak
Wooyoung: [4 images attached]
It's screenshots of an Instagram post, multiple slides. The first one is the dinner table from Saturday night, with the candles lit. The next slide is the cake. The next is the linked hands. Their hands. The watch his mother gave him for his last birthday, sitting right there on his wrist, fingers laced through Baku's.
And then the last one. Oh god. It's him. It's his back, his waist. The sheet pulled low. Lying face down in Baku's bed. He's never seen it before. He didn't know it existed. He didn't know Baku had taken it. He didn't know Baku had fucking posted it. His hand goes to his mouth before he can stop it.
Wooyoung: started following him last month for the eye candy, not gonna lie. wasn't expecting to recognize someone's back from a thirst trap but here we are
Wooyoung: you know i'd know that birthmark anywhere lol
Wooyoung: the little one right above your hip?? cmon
Gotak feels sick. He sets the phone down on the desk and presses both hands to his face, his ears are ringing. The watch, the hands, the last photo??? Anyone who knew him well enough would be able to know it was him, god, even fucking dumbass Wooyoung put it together in five seconds.
The phone buzzes again.
Wooyoung: wait are you actually serious about this guy??
Wooyoung: like the whole post is romantic as fuck hyuntak. candles? linked hands?? what is happening
Gotak's hands won't stop shaking. He picks the phone up again. His chest feels too tight, fuck, he's actually going to throw up. He's going to throw up and his mother is going to find out and his father is going to find out and there's going to be a scene and his sponsors and the club and-
He needs to stop this. Right now.
He starts typing, but he doesn't even know what to say. His thumbs are moving on autopilot, and the words that come out are the type that have always come out when he's cornered.
Gotak: relax. it's nothing.
He stares at it and hits send before he can rethink.
Wooyoung: nothing my ass that post screams boyfriend energy
Gotak: it's just sex sometimes
Gotak: he's into me way more than i'm into him
Gotak: he posts shit like that because he thinks it means something. it doesn't obv.
He sends them in quick succession, before he can read them back. The second he hits send on the third one, something cold settles in his stomach.
Wooyoung: oh my god poor guy lol
Wooyoung: he really thinks he pulled, huh
Wooyoung: this is so embarrassing for him actually
Wooyoung: candles??? at his sad little apartment??? did he cook for you too lmao
Gotak's jaw tightens. Yes, he thinks, he cooked for me. He cooked for me from scratch and it was the best meal I've had in months.
Gotak: yeah lol
He types it before he can stop himself. He looks at it on the screen and feels his stomach turn again.
Wooyoung: bro you have to cut this off, he's posting you. he thinks you're together.
Wooyoung: what is he going to do next. propose?? lmaoooo
Wooyoung: "babe i made you pasta from a 2000₩ box let's get married"
Gotak just stares at the screen, and somewhere in the back of his head, that small thought from this morning starts to grow again.
Gotak: i'll handle it
Wooyoung: good. you're way too good for this. genuinely.
Wooyoung: like. it's cute that you played it for a few months but jesus
Wooyoung: you know what we should grab dinner this week. i'm in town till friday. let me take you out somewhere actually nice. remind you what your league looks like ;)
Gotak doesn't respond. He sets the phone facedown on the desk. On his laptop, the practice tape is still paused. His own frozen face stares back at him from the screen, everything he's supposed to be.
He looks at it for a long time. Then he opens Instagram for the first time in weeks, and types bakuhoopz89 into the search bar. The post is right at the top, already at over a hundred likes. His own back sits at the end of it like a confession he didn't agree to.
Baku's alarm goes off at 7:30 and he wants to throw his phone across the room. He's not even sure why the club called an all staff meeting this early in the morning instead of doing it during the regular shift, but here he is, dragging himself out of bed. He pulls on his uniform with his eyes still half closed, grabs a banana off the counter, and is out the door by 7:45.
The walk to the club is brutal, it’s so cold. He buries his face in his scarf and tries to wake up properly along the way. Some part of him is already half thinking about tonight, about whether Gotak will let him come over or if he'll have to lure him out somewhere. He checks his phone again as he walks, still no sign of his boyfriend.
It's not a big deal, he knows by now that Gotak goes quiet sometimes. Pretty boy gets in his own head about his training, gets all serious and focused for a day or two, and then he comes back around. Baku has learned not to take it personally. He's also learned, more importantly, that if he just waits long enough, Gotak will absolutely cave first. Or he won't, and Baku will text him something stupid around lunch and Gotak will pretend to be annoyed for a while before warming up.
He smiles a little into his scarf, thinking about it. What u doing, pretty boy? Miss me yet? That would do it. Maybe with a selfie.
He clocks in at 7:55 and heads to the main conference room with everyone else. The room is already packed when he gets there. Baku spots Yeongi, one of his colleagues that he has grown closer to over the past few months, and slides into the seat next to her. "Morning, sunshine," she says without looking up from her phone.
"Why are we awake?"
"Because Daeho hates us."
"Ugh."
Daeho, the staff manager, walks in two minutes later, claps his hands once, and the room goes quiet.
"Good morning. Thank you for coming in early. I'll keep this short because I know none of you want to be here, including me." That gets him a few laughs. "As you all know, the club's anniversary is in mid-February. Forty five years this time. The board wants it to be a particularly big celebration this year."
Baku is vaguely aware of this event, as preparations have been going on for a while. But since this is his first year around, he has never seen how these events go.
"All major patrons will be invited," Daeho continues. "That means every member at the platinum tier and above, plus all the legacy families. We're expecting about three hundred guests over the course of the evening. There will be a dinner, a series of speeches honoring the founding families and the largest investors, and an afterparty on the east lawn with a band."
Whispers explode all around the room. Wow, this one will be a big deal.
"Now," Daeho says, raising his voice a little, "the important part for all of you. This is mandatory staffing. Everyone in this room will be working that night, regardless of your usual shift. We've already cleared it with HR."
Some groans. Daeho ignores them.
"You'll be getting your role assignments closer to the date, but expect to be busy. We'll have additional briefings as we get closer. Any questions?"
There’s some questions about overtime pay and uniforms, but Baku zones out a little. He's not really worried about it. He's worked plenty of events at the club by now and they're always long and exhausting, but he gets very good tips. Mid-February, though. That's only two weeks away. He’s sure Gotak will be there, his mother probably has a speaking slot, knowing her.
The meeting wraps up by 8:30. He leaves with everyone else and takes the opportunity to get some coffee from the staff break room before officially starting his shift. He's just hanging up his coat when his phone buzzes in his back pocket.
He pulls it out fast, smiling before he even sees the name.
Gotak: come to the back court when you can.
The smile dims a little. It’s a bit of a cold message. Which isn't unusual, exactly, but. Hm.
Baku: ok give me ten <3
Baku: everything ok?
He waits but gets nothing back…. Okay. He stares at his phone for a second longer, then pockets it. He has a delivery to receive in ten minutes anyway. He can do that and then swing by the back court after.
The walk across the grounds is freezing. There's frost on the grass, and his ears are burning by the time he rounds the corner past the indoor tennis facility. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and quickens his pace on the way to the old half court.
He sees Gotak before Gotak sees him. He's standing at the edge of the court in his training jacket, hood up, arms crossed tight against the cold. He's pacing, just a little.
"Hey." He raises his voice as he approaches, trying to keep it light. "Did your training get-"
Gotak turns, and Baku stops walking. He's seen Gotak angry before. but this is something else. He looks straight up furious.
"What is it?" Baku says, more carefully now. "What happened?"
Gotak doesn't answer. He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket, unlocks it, and shoves it into Baku's chest. "What were you thinking?"
Baku takes the phone on, glancing down at the screen. It takes him a second to recognize what he's looking at. It's his Instagram post. The one from Saturday night, open on the last slide.
His stomach drops. "Oh."
"Oh?" Gotak's voice cracks. "That's what you have to say? Oh?"
"Wait. Wait, baby-"
"Don't call me that right now."
Baku looks up at him. Gotak's eyes are furious, and he won't look Baku directly in the eye.
"Gotak." Baku tries to keep his voice steady. "Okay. Okay, I hear you. But you have to listen to me for a second. Look at the photo. You can't tell it's you. There's no face, there's no-"
"It's my watch."
"…What?"
"The one with the hands." Gotak's voice is very steady. "It's the watch my mother gave me for my birthday. The one she had custom made. There are three of them in the entire country, Baku, and one of them is on my fucking wrist."
Baku looks back down at the screen. Slides back one. The linked hands, the damn watch. His stomach drops further.
"And the last one-"
"Has no face!"
"Has my birthmark, Baku!"
Baku goes still. "What?"
"The one above my hip. The small one." Gotak's voice is climbing. "It's visible. It's right there. Anyone who's been close enough to me would recognize it."
"Who has been close enough to recognize it?" Baku cuts in, sharper than he means to, but his brain is suddenly racing. "Who saw it, Gotak? Did someone-"
"That's not the point!"
"It's the whole point, no?"
"The point," Gotak says, voice rising, "is that you posted a photo of me on the internet without asking me. Without even telling me. You decided, on your own, that it was fine to post your hookup on Instagram and just hope for the best."
The word hits Baku like a punch to the face. "Hookup?"
Gotak's expression flickers for a second, then it locks back into place. "You know what I meant."
"Do I?"
"Baku."
"No, what did you mean?"
"I meant…" Gotak exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I meant me. Posting me. Whatever, you're focusing on the wrong thing."
Baku looks down at the phone again. The photo. He had thought about it for so long before posting, had told himself it was fine because it was just for him, a small private thing, nobody would know. He looks at it now and tries to see it through Gotak's eyes. The way the whole post reads, as a thing. As a relationship. As a saturday night spent with someone he loves.
He thinks about how that had been the point, when he posted it. "…Okay."
"Okay?"
"I get it. I shouldn't have done it without checking with you first."
"Without checking- Humin, you should have never done it at all."
"I get that too."
"Do you? Because you're defending it just now."
"I'm not defending it." Baku's voice is quieter now. "I'm just trying to understand how bad it is. Did someone say something to you?"
Gotak hesitates. "It doesn't matter who saw it. The fact that it's possible is the problem."
"…Right."
"Delete it."
"Okay."
"Now."
Baku looks at him. Gotak's arms are still crossed, his shoulders tight. He looks exhausted. He looks scared, actually, now that Baku is looking properly. Underneath the anger, his pretty boy is genuinely terrified. Something softens in Baku's chest, even if he doesn't like it.
"Okay," he says again. He pulls out his own phone and goes to the post. He stares at it for a long moment, it was a nice post. Then he hits delete and the post is gone. He turns his phone around and shows Gotak the proof. "Done."
Gotak's shoulders drop, and he lets out a shaky breath.
"Okay." He nods, mostly to himself. "Okay. Thank you."
"Sure."
"I'm-" Gotak runs a hand over his face. The anger is bleeding out of him, leaving behind just an anxious mess. "I'm sorry I came at you like that. I just panicked. I saw it and I- I just-"
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. I shouldn't have…" He stops himself, then starts again. "I should've called you. Talked to you about it, instead of just." He gestures vaguely. "All this."
"It's fine, baby."
The pet name slips out before Baku can think about it. Gotak looks at him then, his eyes bright. He looks like he wants to step forward, but isn't sure if he's allowed to.
"Are you mad?" he asks, quietly.
Baku smiles. It feels strange on his face but he does it anyway. "No. I'm not mad."
"You can be mad."
"I'm not. I get it. I should've asked. It was stupid."
"…Okay."
"It was a dumb idea, I don't know what I was thinking."
Gotak watches him for a long second, like he's trying to read his face, so Baku makes sure there's nothing there. He's good at this, when he needs to be. He learned it from his own house, growing up, the trick so that whoever was upset would feel heard and move on faster. He's not even doing it on purpose right now, it just happens.
"Okay," Gotak says finally. His voice is back to almost normal. "Thank you for understanding."
"Of course."
"I have to get back. Coach is waiting."
"Yeah. Go on."
Gotak hesitates one more second. Then he steps forward, reaches out and squeezes Baku's wrist through his coat.
"I'll text you later," Gotak says.
"Okay."
"I love you."
"Love you too, pretty boy."
Gotak nods once, then turns and walks back toward the indoor courts, jacket pulled tight around him, hood still up. Baku watches him go but stays standing there for a while, his ears burning from the cold. He looks down at his phone, still open on his profile.
It's fine, he tells himself. It was a dumb thing to do. Gotak was right, and now it's deleted, and they talked about it, they're okay. He puts the phone in his pocket, walks back across the frozen grass to the staff building, and gets back to work.
Gotak is suffering, and he only has himself to blame. Well, himself and his stupidly hot boyfriend.
"Watch the video."
"I'm watching."
"Your eyes were on the wall, pretty boy."
Gotak feels Baku's quiet laugh, vibrating through his back where it's pressed against Baku’s chest. He shifts a little on his boyfriend's lap, trying to look like he's actually focused on the laptop screen in front of him, and not at all distracted by the lips kissing along the side of his neck.
This is, technically, their agreed study setup. Gotak is sitting on Baku’s lap as he sits at Gotak’s desk, arms loosely around his waist, and they watch tape together while Baku tries to distract him and Gotak tries to focus. Baku has been at the country club long enough now that he actually has opinions about Gotak’s training, which is annoying (and a little hot).
The catch, as Baku has explained to him multiple times now in that smug voice, is the reward system. If Gotak watches the full clip without getting distracted, he gets a kiss. A proper one, the kind that makes him forget what he was watching in the first place. If he gets distracted, he gets nothing. Just the soft press of lips at the back of his ear and the slow stroke of a thumb along his hip, all the things that cause the distraction in the first place and then refuse to follow through.
It's a mean system, and Gotak pretends to hate it. He has, in fact, told Baku on three separate occasions that it's ridiculous and patronizing and he's not a dog being trained for treats, thank you very much. He also pays better attention now than he did when he watched tape alone.
"There," Baku murmurs against his neck. "See? Your back foot is dragging."
"I see it."
"Tell me what you're going to do about it."
"Drop my weight earlier on the first step."
Baku hums, pleased. The next thing Gotak knows, there's a hand on his jaw, turning his face, and Baku is kissing him deeply, his thumb stroking along the line of his cheek. Gotak makes a small sound and tilts further into it. Baku pulls back, leaving Gotak's mouth slightly open, before he goes back to resting his chin on Gotak's shoulder like nothing happened.
"Next clip."
"I hate you." Gotak hits play, scowling at the screen. Baku's hand slides flat across his stomach under his hoodie, and Gotak forces himself to keep his eyes on the video. Drop the weight earlier. Watch the angle. The little reward system, he tells himself, only works if he's actually trying. He is very much trying.
But he can’t help but let his mind wander a bit. It's been a week and a half since the post, since the cold feeling of watching Baku delete it without a fight. Things have been okay since. Baku hasn't brought it up once, and Gotak hasn't either. They've been sleeping in their own places more during the week, which was Gotak's idea, framed as I have to take my training seriously and Baku had nodded and not pushed. Instead, he just came up with this lovely idea that they are working on right now.
Gotak knows that he can't keep this forever, that eventually something has to give. But right now, for tonight, for this week, things feel like they did before, and he's allowed to enjoy that. He's allowed to sit on his boyfriend's lap in his stupidly big bedroom and get reward kisses.
There’s also something else on his mind. The dinner with Wooyoung had been a week ago. He had to go, he couldn't not go after everything he'd said in those texts, not without making Wooyoung suspicious. So Gotak met him at a wine bar downtown and sat through two hours of casual cruelty about Baku that he laughed along to because what was he supposed to do, defend him? Make it worse? He'd sipped a single glass of wine and made a couple of jokes that made him want to peel his own skin off later, and Wooyoung had been delighted. See, this is the Hyuntak I missed. The check had come and Wooyoung had paid for it with a wink, and Gotak had gone home and showered for twenty minutes.
It was fine, it was a one time thing. He'd done his part, played his role, and that was the end of it. Except-
"You stopped watching."
"I'm watching."
"You're staring at the wall again, pretty boy." Baku laughs, kisses under his ear. "Try again."
Gotak hits the rewind, makes himself focus. Except Wooyoung had said oh, by the way, I'll be back for the club anniversary. Mom's making me. You know how it is, legacy stuff. He had not, until that moment, allowed himself to think about Wooyoung in the same building as Baku again, with three hundred other guests that included his mother and his father. He'd smiled and said yeah, definitely catch you there.
Baku's hand strokes a slow, distracting line up his ribs. "You're very far away tonight, baby."
"I'm just watching."
He's not, really. He hits play anyway, blinks at the screen and makes himself watch the next forty seconds. Baku, to his credit, lets him have it. Just holds him a little tighter. When the clip ends, Gotak turns in his lap to face him properly. Baku's eyes are soft, he looks a little tired but mostly content, hair flopping over his forehead, that ridiculous lip piercing catching the light.
Gotak kisses him, long and slow, both hands coming up to cup his face, and Baku makes a quiet sound and pulls him closer, hands settling low on his back. His phone, sitting facedown on the desk beside the laptop, buzzes. He breaks the kiss with a wince and grabs for it. His mother. Twenty minutes out, darling. Have you eaten?
He drops the phone back on the desk. "She's on her way back."
Baku exhales slowly through his nose. "Yeah. Okay."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"Tomorrow?"
"My place. I'll text you."
Gotak nods and stays in his lap one second longer than he should. Then Baku tilts his chin up and kisses him again, like they have all the time in the world. When he finally pulls back, Gotak's lips feel a little swollen.
"Get up," Baku says quietly. "Before I do something reckless."
Gotak huffs a laugh and slides off his lap. They do the routine they've done a hundred times by now. Baku slips out through the side entrance, nobody sees him. Gotak is downstairs in fresh clothes by the time the front door opens and his mother walks in.
"You look thin, Hyuntak. Are they overworking you at practice?"
"I weighed in two days ago. I'm fine."
His mother makes a sound that says she'll be the judge of that and goes back to her plate. Dinner is some kind of grilled fish with vegetables, and Gotak eats more than he wants to just to stop another comment. They make small talk for a while, his mother tells him about her trip, asks about his training, the new sponsor meeting next month, she tells him about a friend who's getting divorced. He just nods at the appropriate moments.
It's only halfway through her wine that she gets to the actual reason for the conversation. He can tell because she stops looking at him directly, which is what she always does before she has something uncomfortable to say.
"The club anniversary is in a few days. I'll be giving a small speech."
"I figured."
"I want you on the stage with me for it. Just briefly, okay?."
"Okay."
"Good." She takes another sip. Then: "Hyuntak, darling."
There it is. He looks up. "Yes?"
She sets the wine glass down very carefully. "I had lunch with Soyeon and a few of the others yesterday. Catching up after my trip. And the topic of you came up, of course."
"Of course."
"And one of them mentioned, just in passing, that there's a sort of silly little rumor going around the club."
The fish in his mouth turns to ash. "About me?" he says, keeping his voice even.
"About you and one of the staff. Something about you being.. too friendly with them. Spending time at the club after hours."
Gotak laughs. He doesn't even have to think about it, the laugh just comes out, light and a little incredulous. Thank god, he thinks distantly, for years of being trained to perform.
"Mother…"
"I know."
"That's so stupid."
"I know it is. I just wanted to-"
"I stay late because I train late. You know that. Of course I talk to the staff, they're the only ones around at that hour. I'd rather have them on my side than annoyed at me, like usual."
"That's what I assumed."
"And you know how people at the club are. Everyone's bored. They invent things."
"Oh, you have no idea." She picks up her wine again, smiling a little, her posture easing up again. "I told Soyeon as much. I said, my Hyuntak doesn't socialize with staff. He doesn't socialize with much of anyone, that's my problem with him."
"Thanks." He answers sarcastically, but glad to be making jokes and moving on.
"Oh, you know what I mean."
"Yeah." He forks another piece of fish, smiles at it. "It's fine, mother. People talk. Let them talk."
She watches him for one more second. Then she nods, satisfied, and changes the subject. He gets through the rest of dinner and kisses his mother's cheek when she heads up to her bedroom. Then he goes up the stairs to his own room, closes the door behind him, and stands in the middle with his hands shaking.
Three days until the event. The stone in his stomach is heavy enough that he has to sit down on the edge of his bed. He doesn't know how this ends, he just knows it isn't going to end well.
It’s the event day and Baku's been running between the main hall, the kitchen wing, and the lawn since before sunrise, and his feet are already starting to ache by the time he stops at noon for a quick bowl of soup in the staff cafeteria. He pulls his phone out for the first time in three hours. There's a text from Gotak from this morning that he never got to answer.
Gotak: good luck today love. don't overwork yourself before the actual event starts.
Baku smiles down at the screen, soup forgotten.
Baku: too late. i've been running for hours pretty boy
Baku: see u tonight <3
The reply comes a minute after.
Gotak: see you tonight
It's short and a little stiff. But Baku knows by now that Gotak gets nervous before big family events. He'll be tense all day, performing for everyone. Baku has already made peace with that. He's working and Gotak is being Go Hyuntak for today. If he's lucky, pretty boy will let him steal him away for ten minutes somewhere quiet. He eats the rest of his soup into his mouth and gets back to work.
By six thirty, the main hall has transformed, the chandeliers are on and every table is draped in deep navy with white floral arrangements. Baku is at the front entrance with three other senior staff, in charge of greeting and seating. Daeho had pulled him aside two days ago and told him that he was being trusted with the guest facing role because the patrons like you, Humin, so don't make me regret it. Baku had grinned and promised not to.
The first guests start arriving at seven. He smiles, bows the appropriate amount, escorts them to their tables, exchanges a few warm words with the ones he recognizes. Soyeon, the chairman's wife, lights up when she sees him and pats his cheek. He winks at Yeongi over her shoulder, she mouths suck up and turns back to the coats.
This is actually fun, when he lets himself enjoy it. He's good at this, people like him. The tips at the end of the night are going to be ridiculous. He's walking back from seating an older couple when he sees the next group come through the door, and his good mood dims immediately.
It's a family of three. The mother is in a red dress, beautifully tailored, the father in a dark suit. The son is a step behind them, hands in his pockets, looking around the room with an expression of vague boredom. Baku knows that face, even if he doesn't know the name. He never bothered to learn it. But it’s the same guy who is Gotak’s friend, who called him over like a dog at the charity event months ago and made jokes about him.
The mother approaches the entry desk. "Kang. Three."
Kang. Right.
"Welcome. My name is Humin, and I’ll be walking you to your seats. Right this way, please."
He picks up their seating card and leads them through the hall. The mother and father walk beside him, making polite conversation about the decor. The son trails behind, and Baku can feel his eyes on the back of his neck the entire walk. He doesn't turn around, just keeps his voice smooth and professional.
"Here we are. Table nine, near the stage. Mr. Han wanted to seat the legacy families up front."
"Wonderful." The mother takes her seat.
Baku takes a peek at the names as they sit. Wooyoung. That’s the guy's name. He’s about to turn and walk away when the son leans in, close to his ear, voice low enough that only Baku can hear. "You do clean up really nicely. Almost makes sense now."
Baku blinks. Wooyoung is already pulling back, a smug smile on his face. He picks up the wine list and doesn't look at Baku again.
Baku stands there for half a second too long. His brain is trying to understand what just happened but he doesn't have time to. He bows slightly and walks away. He ignores it for now and gets back to greeting.
The Go family arrives ten minutes later. He sees Gotak first, just a step behind his mother. He's in a dark, beautifully cut suit, hair styled neatly back. He looks gorgeous, as usual. Baku's chest does something stupid at the sight of him and he stands a little straighter.
"Mr. Go, welcome. Minah-ssi, it's good to see you again. You as well, Hyuntak-ssi."
Gotak's eyes flick to him for half a second, and then past him, like he's looking at the floral arrangement behind Baku's head. It's not personal. Baku knows it's not personal. They've talked about this a hundred times. It still stings, just a little.
"Thank you, Humin-ssi." Gotak's mother gives him a small, gracious smile. "Are we at our usual table?"
"Yes, ma'am. Right by the stage, of course." He walks them through the hall. Gotak walks behind his parents, eyes politely forward.
He doesn't look at Baku once and Baku doesn't look at him either. He chats with Gotak's mother about how lovely her dress is, makes a small joke and gets the polite laugh he was hoping for. He pulls her chair out for her. Mr. Go nods at him without making eye contact, already paying attention to his phone. Gotak takes his seat between them and unfolds his napkin onto his lap.
"Enjoy your evening," Baku says to the table at large. He turns and walks back toward the entrance.
He doesn't let himself look back. That's their rule, they set it months ago. So he just keeps walking.
Dinner service goes by in a blur. He works the floor, refills wine, clears plates, smiles at everyone, charms an old man at table twelve who tips him an embarrassing amount in cash before the second course is even out. Yeongi catches his eye across the room at one point and flips him off. He grins back.
He glances over at Gotak's table twice, very briefly. Once when he's clearing dishes at the next table over and once when he's pouring water at the table behind. Gotak doesn't look up either time. He's eating quietly, listening to something his father is saying, nodding along. He's beautiful, even from across the room. Baku still can't get over that, sometimes.
It happens when he’s finishing with the final plate cleanup.
He's just finished stacking plates from table four and is walking back through the side corridor that connects the main hall to the kitchen wing. The corridor is empty. The catering staff is all on another duty or in the kitchen.
He's halfway down the corridor when someone steps out from the alcove near the bathroom. "Hey."
Baku stops. It's Wooyoung. The fuck he wants? He's smiling and it’s not a friendly smile.
"Can I help you, sir?" Baku says, balancing the stack of plates carefully.
"Mm." The son tilts his head. "Maybe."
"The bathroom is just behind you."
"Not what I'm looking for."
Baku takes a small step back. "Then how can I help you, sir?"
"I was wondering when your shift ends."
Baku blinks. "I'm sorry?"
"Your shift. Tonight." The son smiles wider. "The afterparty runs late, I know. But these things wind down eventually. I was thinking, when you're done playing waiter, you might want to sneak out and come back to the hotel with me. I got a room at the Westin."
Baku stares at him. "I'm flattered, sir," he says, carefully, because he is on the clock and this man is a fucking patron's son. "But I'm seeing someone."
The cruel smile widens. "Are you, though?"
Baku is filled with a dread that can’t be properly explained. "…Excuse me?"
"It's just, and forgive me, I'm just going off what I've heard, but I was under the impression that what you have isn't really, you know." Wooyoung makes a small dismissive gesture with one hand. "Serious."
The plates in Baku's hands feel suddenly very heavy.
"What did you just say?"
"Apparently it's just sex sometimes. From what I gather." His eyes drift over Baku, slow and assessing. "And I’m very down for something like that too."
Baku doesn't move. "What are you talking about?" he says, and his own voice sounds very far away.
"Oh, come on, Humin." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. "Don't make this weird. We both know. I know because I'm an old friend. The kind of friend you tell things to over dinner when you need to vent about your, what was the phrase…" he taps his lip, mock thoughtful "Clingy hookup. I think that was what he said. Charming, really."
The hallway is tilting. Baku is going to drop the plates. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Wooyoung shrugs. "I have screenshots, if you want to see them. Though I imagine that would be embarrassing for everyone."
Baku's hands are shaking, but he manages to keep the plates balanced. His face, he can feel, is very still.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asks.
"Because I'm offering you something better." He smiles again, the same damn smile from the charity event. "He's not going to fight for you, Humin. He's not even going to look at you tonight. You've already noticed. And meanwhile I'm right here, telling you my room number is 1407, and I will treat you a lot better than he ever did. So. What do you say?"
Baku thinks for a second that he might actually laugh. It bubbles up in his throat, hysterical, and he swallows it back down.
"No, thank you, sir," he says, and his voice is perfectly polite. "I have to get back to work."
He steps around Wooyoung. He walks the rest of the corridor at the same pace he was walking before. He drops the plates off in the kitchen. He doesn't make eye contact with anyone. Then he turns around and walks back toward the main hall because he is a professional, his shift isn't over, and he doesn't know what else to do. He can’t think right now.
Wooyoung is right behind him the whole time, he can hear his footsteps. He doesn't turn around. Instead, he pushes through the door back into the dining hall and the lights have dimmed for the speeches.
Gotak's mother is on the stage. She's standing at the lectern in her silver dress, microphone in hand. Gotak is standing a step behind her and to the side, hands clasped politely in front of him, looking out over the crowd. Baku stops just inside the door, because he doesn't know what else to do, and because the moment he steps further into the hall he has to be a functional human again.
Gotak's eyes find him. It happens fast. A scan of the room, and then, as if pulled by gravity, his gaze lands on Baku at the back wall. Something flickers across his face, like he's about to give Baku a small private smile.
Then his eyes slide a little to the left, because Wooyoung has just stepped through the door behind Baku.
Gotak's face changes. Even from this far away, Baku can see the moment his pretty boy understands what happened. His shoulders go stiff and his hands tighten very slightly in front of him. He looks back at Baku, and his eyes are very wide and very afraid.
"-and of course," Gotak's mother is saying into the microphone, voice warm and amused, "I want to thank the staff of this beautiful club, who have, as always, gone above and beyond for us tonight."
An explosion of polite applause follows.
"In fact-" she pauses for her own joke, "-I've been told there's actually a rumor going around that my Hyuntak has gotten so attached to this place, he's developed a little crush on one of you."
There's a beat before the room is filled with laughter.
"I've been told it's because he spends so many hours here, my own fault for raising such a workaholic." she continues, smiling. "Which I had to laugh at, honestly. My son with staff. Please, give me some credit, I raised him better than that. "
More laughter, the crowd is delighted by her. The Han family at the front table is howling.
"So whoever started that rumor," she finishes, smiling sweetly, "I appreciate the imagination. But let's keep our feet on the ground, shall we?"
Baku looks at Gotak. Gotak is trying to laugh on stage, too. He's shaking his head at his mother in an appropriately embarrassed way, not looking at Baku at all.
Baku feels something in his chest just… stop. He doesn't think it's anger or even pain, not yet. It’s more of an absence of anything. He feels stupid, he feels pathetic. He can’t stay here any longer, fuck being professional.
Baku turns around and walks out of the hall. The cold hits him hard, his uniform jacket isn't built for this, but he doesn't care. He just keeps walking, his ears are ringing.
"Baku."
He doesn't stop. "Baku!"
He hears footsteps running. "Park Humin, stop."
He stops. He doesn't know why. Pure reflex, maybe.
He turns around and Gotak is running, in his suit, no coat. He looks wild and terrified.
"Baku-"
"Is it true?"
Gotak stops about three steps away from him. His chest is rising and falling fast.
"What?"
"Is it true?" Baku's voice is very calm. "What he said, that Wooyoung guy. About what you told him, about me."
Gotak's face does several things very quickly. None of them are denial.
"…Baku"
"That's a yes."
"Let me explain-"
"That's a yes, Hyuntak."
"It's not what you-"
"It's exactly what I think." Baku's voice starts to rise, the hurt is finally settling in. "I think you sat at dinner with that guy and told him I was a hookup. I think you laughed when he made fun of it."
Gotak's mouth opens but he doesn't say anything.
"Did you?"
"Baku, please-"
"Did you, Gotak?"
"…I had to," Gotak says finally, voice cracking. "I had to say something. He saw the post, he recognized me, he was going to tell people, I had to make it sound like nothing, I had to-"
"You had to, did you?."
"Yes!"
"You had to tell your friend that I was a sad little nothing who didn't matter to you."
"It wasn't- I didn't mean-"
"You sat through a whole dinner with him, where he made jokes about me and you laughed."
Gotak's face crumples. "Baku, listen to me, please. I had to, you don't understand what would happen if my mother-"
"Your mother just made a joke about me on a stage in front of three hundred people."
Gotak goes very still.
"And you stood there," Baku continues, and now he can feel tears in his eyes, "and you laughed. While I was standing in the back of the room, right where you could see me."
"I didn't know what to do."
"You always know what to do."
Gotak flinches.
"You always know what to do, Gotak. That's what you do. That's what you're good at. You knew exactly what to do. You stood there and you laughed and you didn't look at me because if you looked at me you would've had to feel something, and we can't have that, can we?"
"Baku-"
"And you said you were working on it. And I believed you. And I've kept believing you because every single time you do something like this, you cry a little, and you apologize, and you tell me you're trying, and I tell myself, He really is trying. He just needs time." Baku laughs once, dry and ugly. "I'm so fucking tired."
"Baku, please-" Gotak's voice breaks. There are tears now on both of their faces. "Please, I love you, I love you, you know I love you-"
"I know you do." That's the worst part. He does know, he has always known. It has never been the question.
"Then please-" Gotak takes a step forward. "Please, just come back inside. Or come home with me later, or we'll figure it out, I'll fix it, I'll fix it, I just need a little more time-"
"You don't have to do anything, Gotak."
"What?"
"You don't have to." Baku looks at him. "You keep saying you had to. You had to lie. You had to sit through that dinner. You had to laugh at your mother's joke. You didn't have to do any of it. You chose to."
"No, that's not true." Gotak shakes his head, trying to reach for him. Baku takes a step back.
"You chose all of it. Every single time. And every single time you chose it, you chose it over me. And I kept-" his voice cracks, but he keeps going "-I kept telling myself it was different. That you weren't choosing against me. You were just choosing them first, and I could wait. Well, I'm done waiting."
Gotak's whole face goes even paler behind his tears. "What?"
"I said I'm done waiting." Baku's voice is still shaking, but the words are clear. "Since I'm not even close to your priorities, I'd rather not be anything to you."
Gotak is frozen, his eyes huge. He looks like he has no clue of what to do. Good, that makes two of them. Baku turns around, he walks back toward the staff entrance, around the side of the building, away from the music and the lights and the warm hall. His feet hurt and his hands are still shaking. The cold surrounds him through his uniform jacket and he can feel it everywhere now like his whole body has just woken up to it.
Behind him, he can hear Gotak crying his name.
He doesn't stop and he doesn't look back. That's their rule and he's not going to break it tonight, of all nights.