I DIED. AFSGDJFBKNGRKGHIR

fabrics to pull you closer.

It’s not that Jongin is an irresponsible individual. He knows how to cook (barely; though his results would still somewhat be put into category of edible), he knows how to wash dishes, wash his clothes, iron it, fold his bed, and do things that naturally flow thorough every mankind’s veins as means of a survival.

Therefore, Jongin is, in every little ways responsible and capable.

There are just those little things that slip from his mind which he doesn’t really pay that much attention to because if you think about it, it’s not really a big deal and it’s not as if it’ll kill him or will affect him to great extent as to endanger his life if it slipped through his mind.

This thing, as funny as it may sound, is that he never ever goes out of the house and return home bringing the handkerchief he brought with him in the morning. In its simplest term, he always loses his handkerchief in god-knows-where anytime, anywhere. And he just couldn’t live without it, that’s why he finds himself, every week face to face with an annoyed handkerchief dealer, picking those pieces of fabric soon to be on the possession of another soul for the next twenty four hours, or one hundred twenty four hours at most.

“Why,” Sehun starts as he pick on random design that will be to his buyer’s liking, “can’t you keep track of your hankies altogether?”

“Are you complaining?” Jongin snaps as he narrows his eyes to see that he almost bought all the design Sehun brings him. “Don’t you have anything else in here? I already had all of this…” he absent-mindedly grumbles as he uses his finger to flip through the folded pile of neat fabrics of different branded hanky which he most definitely bought already.

“Is that a surprise?” Sehun mocks innocence. “You lose handkerchiefs without miss on a daily basis.”

“Be thankful I’m being very helpful to your sales.”

“But in reality,” Sehun huffs, picking on another set of Armando Caruso that is supposed to be released next month,  “you are just that negligent and immature to keep track of your altogether.”

-

Sehun is, as how turn of events went, had been Jongin’s handkerchief ‘dealer’ for the past two years when Sehun inadvertently enters the largest company of Kim in whole South Korea and somehow managed to catch the heir’s attention and bought all of his products right there and then. (the heir, unfortunately, turned out to be super irresponsible, (and hot) olive-skinned, sharp jaws and taut muscled man name Kim Jongin.)

Then, by some twisted development (Sehun can’t still decide whether it’s good or bad) Sehun finds his phone buzzing every Saturday when he’s supposed to be in some part of his bed, burying his nose on the pillows and just taking a break from reaching his cota. This, however just had to change whenever Jongin will screech something as,

“Sehun! I don’t have any hanky anymore! I have a meeting on Monday!”

Or,

“There’s a sauce on my face. I can’t use the table mantle to wipe it.”

Or even,

“I caught a flu and now I’m –*cough* spreading virus –*cough* come quick.”

In which Sehun dutifully obliges even if it means missing his favorite Kdrama every Saturdays.

And of course, he reaches his target sales too and now just a step away from promotions. (if that even existed in his job)

-

Sometimes, Jongin calls him for other reasons, too.

“Accompany me to dinner.”

“Why? Don’t you have your nanny to spoon feed you?”

“Just go get ready already.”

“But –“

Toot toot toot~

And minutes later, a limo is pulled in front of his house (he still doesn’t know how Jongin knew where he lives though he’s convinced that the guy can be downright creepy) and he is being dragged inside the expensive vehicle, now speeding away in the busy streets of Seoul.

They arrived at some fancy western restaurant Sehun is sure only existed in TVs. He feels like he’s in a drama or something. He really needs to take a break from watching too dramatic programs on KBS.

“Do you ever eat at your house?” Sehun asks through a mouthful of something Western called beef broccoli.

“I don’t have a house,” Jongin answers in amusement. Sehun raises an eyebrow. “I only have a condo.”

Sehun rolls his eyes and devours the food in a quick flash of lightning.

-

“Next time I’m not drinking those champagnes on your stupidly expensive car.” Sehun half-slurs, half-grumbles, thinking of the impending headache he is sure to get later in the morning.

“Mhmm.” Jongin just hums as he walks Sehun at his front door, his alcohol tolerance unquestionable.

“Why do you even have to walk me in my front door?” Sehun murmurs, voice thick and heavy. He feels Jongin come closer, his breath sweet and reeking of expensive alcohol, hot air just a few meters away from his face.

“Do you want me to take you in your bedroom then?”

Sehun flushes at the older man’s ual innuendo and playfully slaps his chest which now lacks distance from his own. Jongin catches his hand and uses it to pull the boy closer. Sehun is too drunk to react, or maybe he doesn’t really think of resisting as Jongin dips his head, only slightly, and lightly trail his mouth at the corner of his lips. Sehun is too drunk to take teasing, so being never someone who harbors huge amount of patience; he tilts his head to meet Jongin’s lips fully, their noses bumping, and consumes the older boy with his mouth.

Minutes later and they are stumbling to get to Sehun’s room, Jongin’s expensive suit and tie discarded in the front door when Sehun pushes him on the wall and yank the offensive fabric out of the way.

His room is illuminated only by the light coming from the gaps of his curtain that fail to meet the windows. He is thankful for the lack of light; hiding his face the color of Snow White’s apple as Jongin him off, sending him to sweet oblivion.

They are messes of long limbs tangled with each other, slim, sticky fingers groping a hardened m