what they order from take out
Woohyun’s ready to fall over by the time he gets the door open. He’s tired, damn it, but tonight’s his night for dinner—and he promised Sungyeol he would make it when they met for lunch. He’d felt sure he could clear up all the problems that cropped up at work that morning by dinner and come home in time to make Sungyeol something really good. Woohyun was damn good at his job, and he knew he could get it done.

He did. He also had not counted on his boss appearing and suddenly leaving him with a crapington of new work and a really, really, really annoying (and new, she had to be new) personal assistant to ‘help’ him, who incidentally couldn’t understand I’m taken, thank you to save her life.

Woohyun mostly likes his job—he doesn’t adore crunching numbers, but he gets paid pretty well and he has regular working hours. Mostly. Except on days like today when he suddenly gets swamped. It’s almost eight and he has no idea how he’s going to prepare a good meal in an hour.

“I’m home,” he says out of sheer routine when he closes the door, resisting the urge to fall against it and close his eyes for a moment. He knows it’s silly to tell an empty apartment he’s home, but it’s something that living with another person has conditioned him into—

“Hey. Welcome back.”

Woohyun drops his briefcase on his foot at the reply (and yelps in a really undignified way he’d prefer not to admit to) and when he turns around, the first thing he sees is Sungyeol cackling at him unsympathetically. “Oh my god, Sungyeol, shut up,” Woohyun growls, and almost pitches the briefcase at him before a more important matter strikes him. “Wait. What are you even doing home? You work until nine on Wednesdays.”

“I got Niel to take over my shift. He owes me one from when he wanted to take that emergency make-up test.” Sungyeol heaves a huge sigh. “I texted you about it, came home at six feeling sure you’d be home soon since you start dinner around then—and found your phone on the kitchen counter.” He shoves it at Woohyun, who stares it blankly for a moment before taking it. His phone. Right. Maybe that was why his boss’s appearance seemed so… sudden. “So I waited instead. And then,” Sungyeol went on accusingly, pointing a dramatic finger at Woohyun, “you didn’t turn up! Until now, and it’s eight! Do you know how worried I got? I almost called your boss!”

Woohyun opens his mouth to say something to the effect of oh my god please don’t ever call my boss I want to keep my job—but he notices the hard set to Sungyeol’s jaw that says more than his dramatics ever will. “…Sorry,” he finally says, and Sungyeol is obviously thrown off by the lacking retort for a moment. “Um. For not telling you, I mean. I didn’t know you were waiting.”

Sungyeol glares at him half-heartedly, and Woohyun belatedly realises he was probably after one of their usual teasing arguments to distract himself from his worry. That’s always how they’ve dealt with being worried about the other. Maybe he should’ve said what he originally meant to after all. Woohyun sighs again, shucking his coat carelessly and raking a hand through his hair. He isn’t doing anything right today.

“Hey.” Sungyeol’s voice is a little quieter now, and the next thing Woohyun knows, he’s being swept up and his nose is pressed to Sungyeol’s neck, Sungyeol’s hand warm on his back. “Is everything okay? Something go wrong at work?”

“What else if not that?” Woohyun mumbles into Sungyeol’s neck, relaxing slightly. Sungyeol mostly smells of body wash with a hint of skin, but it’s strangely comforting. “I got swamped by work. And I was wondering what to make for dinner that I could finish in an hour.”

Sungyeol makes a vaguely unimpressed snort. “Instant ramyun.”

Woohyun would glare at him if he could, but he can’t, so he settles for shoving an elbow in Sungyeol’s direction. “I said it would be good. Instant ramyun is not ‘good’.”

“It’s good. It’s really good stuff, I don’t think we could survive without it.”

“It’s an emergency thing, not a real meal.” Woohyun sighs, giving up the case. They could probably debate the topic for an hour straight (though Sungyeol has a point when he says they wouldn’t survive without it), but that wouldn’t cook dinner. “But whatever. If you don’t mind waiting, I was thinking of cooking fried rice—”

“Oh, come on, Woohyun. Cooking? Let’s order take-out.” Sungyeol draws back to lay a hand on Woohyun’s shoulder, his typical way of indicating that he’s had enough of cuddling but he knows that Woohyun still wants to be touched. It’s so Sungyeol that it makes Woohyun’s chest ache. “I vote pizza. Any objections?”

Woohyun breathes out a laugh, a smile quirking at his lips. “None. I always say you’re a man after my own heart.”

“The other way round, you mean.” Sungyeol’s already whipping out his phone, dialing the pizza hotline. It probably says a lot about their eating habits (no matter how often Woohyun tries to cook, there are always those days) that he has it memorised.

“We really need to vary out take-out selection beyond fast food, bad Chinese, and the fried rice place opposite,” Woohyun says, but Sungyeol just shrugs vaguely in return.

“We probably should, but in the meantime, you can’t go wrong with pizza.”

Woohyun has to concede to that point. Pizza’s never failed them before.

“Extra olives today,” he adds, when Sungyeol starts placing the order. Sungyeol gives him a look, one that says when do you not want extra olives? but adds it into the order anyway.

Woohyun pulls Sungyeol in for a kiss when he’s done, hand clenched tightly in Sungyeol’s shirt. It’s slow, without the rushed heat that usually accompanies it, but Woohyun finds that he enjoys it just as much. “I’ll make dinner this weekend,” he promises. “And it’ll be good.”

“Just dinner?” Sungyeol grins. “You owe me lunch too, to replace today. Or you can just make me waffles for breakfast on Saturday to make up.”

“You’re always asking for waffles.” Not that Woohyun minds at all. He minds even less when Sungyeol loosens his tie for him and drags him in for another kiss. “Chocolate or normal?”

“Both. I want at least three waffles. Maybe four. Or five? Can you make me five?” Sungyeol punctuates his words with kisses, hands sliding over Woohyun’s chest. Woohyun shivers under his touch, pulling him closer.

“Of course I can, but you always quit halfway through the fourth and leave it for me to finish.” His breath hitches when Sungyeol starts ing his shirt, pressing him against the door. “Four. I’ll make you four and——you can take some of mine of you want more. Sungyeol, shouldn’t we at least wait for the delivery man? We should stop traumatising every single person who——delivers our take-out.”

“I don’t care. Do you?” Sungyeol mouths at Woohyun’s collarbone again, and it feels really ing good.

Anyway, Sungyeol’s right. He really doesn’t care either.