~ Office Romance ~
M(15) - fluff, light references, violence
Luhan and Jongdae

In which Jongdae and Luhan are still fated to meet, despite having not joined the Zodiacs.
(You do not have to read the Zodiacs for this to make sense)

'What's meant to be will always find a way' - Trisha Yearwood

Jongdae hums happily, a smoking hot Americano in one hand and a heavy briefcase in the other, as he skips through the street. He smiles sweetly at all those he passes, naturally upturned lips stretching even further across his face. Sometimes he stops to politely tip his head, bowing to the elderly with hard lines etched into their features, careful not to let his beverage spill. He waves awkwardly at small children and they wave back with enthusiasm, and when nobody is looking, he bends to coo at dogs wandering throughout the city.

The weather has just started to cool down and his breath spans out in thick white clouds, so he puffs out with extra force and watches the fog drift off in the breeze. He is wearing a knitted sweater, one he snatched from his father’s room before he left, tugging it on over a thin white t-shirt and laughing when he saw that it was far too big. He thinks it makes him look cute and that his slender figure is made to seem a little larger, something he has been meaning to attend to for quite some time. He often tells himself to visit the gym, but things like books and videogames tend to distract him from what’s really important.

With a giddy jump, Jongdae takes a turn and paces down an alleyway. He takes this route every day. It saves him time and there are no crowds to fight through. There are overflowing trashcans lining the sides and on the odd day a homeless person may be rummaging through them, but such people are harmless, and Jongdae doesn’t mind stopping to lend them some of his measly pocket money. Today though, there seems to be some kind of commotion towards the end. He stops and peers through squinted eyes in attempt to distinguish the situation, but quickly thinks nothing of it and presses on, smile immediately returning to his face.

He strolls on past the obnoxiously loud men, who have begun pushing and shoving angrily at one another, and thinks that he has escaped any imminent danger. However, instead of continuing to fight, they all spin to face him and watch as he tries to pick up his pace. He gulps, not daring to check over his shoulder though he knows he is being followed, the footsteps behind him prominent and reverberating off of the alley walls. His short legs start to ache and he realises that he is running, ugly oversized sweater blowing up to reveal a flat stomach and that light trail of hair that he is so incredibly proud of.

Jongdae is only seventeen, speedily approaching eighteen, so he really doesn’t want to die. He wants to get to his father’s office and he wants to hug him like he usually does, inhaling the faint scent of cologne. But he doesn’t get what he wants; he gets a flying fist to the spine and crumbles to the ground with a yelp, briefcase toppling down and his Americano splashing all over him. He whines in pain and attempts to crawl away, but there is a weight on top of him, a thick leather boot pressing him harshly into the scratchy, uneven ground. The men circle him and laugh. He knows that he must be quite a pathetic sight, yet he still begins to cry, cacophonously.

A man leans down towards him, his breath tainted with alcohol and his eyes swollen and red. He sniggers meanly and grabs Jongdae’s ear, first pretending to rub it affectionately and then moving to jerk at it until the young man gasps and his tears stream down reddened cheeks.

Jongdae thinks that he is doomed when they all stoop down to get a closer look at him. He hears them fiddling with metal, likely dangerously sharp knives, and squeezes his eyes shut, body trembling in fear. He doesn’t move, mostly because he can’t. Even if they released him, his muscles would remain locked. So, he does all that he can; he waits.

‘You can get up now kid.’

One eye pops open wearily and then, upon seeing a relatively friendly face, the other jolts open too and Jongdae scrambles to his feet. He peers around cautiously. The men who had captured him are sprawled everywhere, bloody and beaten. One twitches strangely and Jongdae thinks that he might just be dead.

There is one man standing in front of him, arms crossed and head titled so that his messy, lengthy mop of dyed hair falls away from his forehead. He isn’t much taller than Jongdae, but he is much more intimidating. His hands are bandaged and painted red, warm blood oozing down his arms, and his black boots are lethally studded with legitimate blades. He wears tattered skinny jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, which he has rolled up to his elbows. Though all this suggests he is unsafe, his eyes are twinkling and friendly, taking in Jongdae’s appearance.

The stranger extends his hand and an eyebrow until Jongdae nervously accepts it, shaking slowly. ‘The name’s Handy Heechul.’

‘Somebody named their child Handy?’ Jongdae asks obliviously, the conks grinding in his head.

‘Sure’, Heechul responds as he rolls his eyes, ‘anyways, I’m scouting kids who look like they could use some training. You interested?’

Jongdae vigorously shakes his head, because even though he is almost an adult, he still follows the rules regarding strangers. Heechul shrugs and mutters a ‘your loss’, before sauntering off and disappearing.

Jongdae heaves a sigh and grabs his briefcase. He decides that time spent freaking out is time horribly wasted, and advances towards his father’s office once more. The skip in his step is gone, because his legs are wobbly and his body doesn’t feel like functioning properly, but he still musters up a kind smile whenever he spots a familiar face. Eventually he reaches his destination, stepping through the automatic double doors and letting the chilling conditioned air smack him in the face. The cool temperature makes his scuffed knees sting a bit. He doesn’t complain though, just thankful to be alive and well.

He jogs to catch the elevator, but the doors are quickly shutting on him. They are almost sealed when a hand shoots out and stops them, making them spring back open so that Jongdae can squeeze through. He opens his mouth to thank the gentleman who let him in, but freezes.

The man before him is extremely beautiful and young, maybe only a couple of years older. His eyes are widely rounded and his skin unbelievably fair, not a sign of acne in sight. He wears an impeccably well-ironed suit and has his silky black hair combed back, perfectly offering an uncovered view of his entire flawless face. Better yet, he is smiling genuinely at Jongdae, those sparkling doe-eyes crinkling cutely in the corners, his pretty pink lips upturning. And Jongdae is frozen, staring up at him like a complete idiot with his mouth fully agape.

There is a faint ding as the elevator rattles to a stop, doors peeling open to let out the dazzling man, who waves even though Jongdae is still motionless and shocked. He can barely close his mouth even once the older male is out of sight, because his mind has been swiftly filled with images and scenarios involving him. He slaps himself across the cheek. That was a terrible idea, because his face is apparently wounded after scraping along the jagged pavement. He groans and mutters incoherently to himself as he steps out of the elevator, legs obediently carrying him directly towards his father’s office.

Jongdae’s father is a handsome man, who hasn’t really been impacted by the aging process just yet. He keeps fit and takes great care of his skin, so has far less blemishes than his own son and far more luck with attractive women (though Jongdae’s uality might also have something to do with this). He is sitting on his desk when Jongdae stumbles in, and seems truly stunned to see battered skin and dishevelled hair. Though hurting and entirely immersed in thought about the elevator man, Jongdae delivers the briefcase and manages to pull out a swivel chair for himself. He plants his bottom in it and unconsciously starts to twirl around, spinning and spinning until his father grabs the chair to stop him.

Despite trying to get information out of him, his father never finds out why his son is late or why he is completely covered in odd bruises. Instead, he is able to catch softly spoken words that sound something like ‘I must see him again.’

~~~

It is a little over four years later when Jongdae finishes his final year of college and decides to join his father’s business. He skips through those automatic double doors, that usual joyous grin plastered on his face. He isn’t a boy anymore though. His arms bulge beneath his tight button up shirt and there is a prominent bulge behind the material of his suit pants, one that he can’t seem to cover up unless he wears humungous winter sweaters. There are neatly styled black strands of hair, strands that have been dyed numerous experimental times over the years and have finally reverted back to their natural colour. And, he has grown into his severely sculpted face. Where his jaw once seemed too large for the rest of him, it is now considerably one of the most attractive parts about him, so sharp that many people make jokes about slicing their fingers on it. He laughs at these jokes, but he secretly knows that these are just a shy way of trying to compliment him and that he, if he may say so himself, is undoubtedly a very handsome young man.

Jongdae greets his new co-workers as he decides to take the stairs because they are a far healthier option and he is frustrated with himself for skipping out on his morning run. The burning in his calves is fantastically satisfying by the time he reaches the top of the winding ascent, and he hasn’t even broken a sweat, hair and suit still perfectly set in place. He is effortlessly able to draw in enough air to address the familiar faces he passes, and has enough energy to run to his father’s office.

He bursts in with a cheerful shout, expecting his father to return it. However, his father just chuckles and so does the man seated beside him, the man from the elevator with the big shining eyes and innocent features. Jongdae instantly wants to locate a rope and loop it around his neck, but his father urges him to come closer with a flick of his wrist. He loosens his tie and dawdles over, ensuring not to make eye contact with the other beautiful presence in the room, even though it’s blatantly obvious that this man’s eyes are focussed on him and him alone.

Jongdae jerks out a seat and thuds down. He stares as his father fiddles with some paperwork, bundling it together and heaving it off the desk to create space. It is as though he is making time or delaying something, and Jongdae can feel himself speedily starting to feel anxious. Just as he is about to snap from the overburdening tension in the air, his father rises to his feet and without a word, walks out of the room with a giant smirk on his face.

There is an unbearable silence for a few minutes. Jongdae plays with his fingers and notices that one nail is shorter than the rest. He bops his feet to an invisible beat and wriggles a little in his seat. Every so often he puckers his lips or alternates between eyebrows, raising one whilst the other is lowered. One thing he just can’t convince himself to do though, is to sneak a glance at the man beside him. Luckily, he doesn’t have to make the first move, because the beauty is not as pure as his sweet face seems to suggest.

Jongdae moans as smooth lips smash against his own and soft hands firmly grip his thighs, pulling at him until his swivel chair glides gracefully closer, knees colliding. There are fingers exploring his body and he isn’t sure how to react, but if the swelling sensation in his stomach is anything to go by, he definitely appears to enjoy the curious touches. When they break apart to regain their breaths, the older male ducks his head and plants a wet trail of kisses along Jongdae’s neck and then up and across his defined jawline. Gradually, his figure lowers and soon, he is on his knees and Jongdae’s pants are pooled around his ankles.

The two men compose themselves minutes later, just in time for Jongdae’s father to join them once more. He undoubtedly spots his employee’s swollen lips and the speck of white lingering there, and he definitely senses his son’s restlessness, but he doesn’t say anything. He drags out his papers again and gets straight back to work, all-knowing and trying desperately to wipe the smile off his face.

When his handsome employee clocks off, he turns to Jongdae and whispers in his ear. ‘His name is Luhan.’

~~~

It has been a week since the office incident and Jongdae is on his way to work, a briefcase grasped in his fingers and a grumbling in his stomach that demands caffeine. He makes a beeline for the café adjacent to the office building, grateful to see that the line of customers waiting for drinks is virtually non-existent. There are a few women seated at the back of the café, but they converse quietly and sip at their steaming teas. They do look at Jongdae as he enters and they giggle when he turns his back, admiring the definition of his bottom. Otherwise, they are not bothersome and stick to their own business.

The employee behind the counter is a cute young man, taller than Jongdae but possessing much softer features. His hair dangles over his eyebrows and clings to thick eyelashes, the silky pink strands accentuating the attractiveness of his sun-kissed skin. As Jongdae approaches, he seems to shrink in on himself a little, obviously enticed by the older man in a simple white button up and flatteringly fitted pants.

Jongdae orders and plays with his phone while he waits, so he doesn’t see Luhan sauntering over to stand beside him or the way that his gaze alerts the young café employee to keep his distance. By the time his Americano is handed to him, Luhan has strategically placed himself behind Jongdae and therefore avoids being seen as his boss’ son strolls out of the café, immediately breaking into a gleeful skip. Luhan smiles uncontrollably.

They run into one another later in the later, literally. Jongdae has just filled up a glass with water and rounds a corner, only to crash into a slender figure and drop it. The glass shatters and shards spring out everywhere and his shirt is so drenched that erect s are on sight for the whole office building to see. He is incredibly embarrassed, but the man he has bumped in to is incredibly .

Seconds later, Jongdae is being held up against a wall, his legs wrapping around Luhan’s slim waist and his fingers tangled with the beautiful man’s soft hair. They are simply rutting against one another because anything else is dangerous and time is of the essence. Jongdae comes in his pants and Luhan leaves him there, breathless and dazed with a very obvious stain. He spends the rest of the day darting around the office to avoid being seen and only responds to people calling out at him if he has something in his hands to block the humiliating wetness. Mostly, he paces around and around in the bathroom, and completes assigned work in a locked cubicle where nobody will bother him. By the time he leaves, the splotch on his pants is dry and crusty, blending in a little better so that it can hardly be noticed as he walks home in the darkness.

As he strolls along, swinging his briefcase back and forth absent-mindedly, he sees a man a few paces ahead of him. His build is slender and perfect and all too recognisable. The hands shoved into pockets are the same hands that traced the outline of his body, the same hands that Jongdae wants to viciously snap the fingers off of.

He dashes forward, brings up his knee and strikes Luhan directly up the . Without a word, he sprints off and chuckles as he hears the older male’s obscenities pouring out unstoppably. Luhan’s voice doesn’t dampen, because he chases after Jongdae, whose legs are much shorter and cannot carry him along as quickly as he would like. He is hastily caught in Luhan’s arms and swung around, thrashing and squealing, before he is dragged away from the direction in which his apartment is located.

They stumble through an alleyway, one that Jongdae vaguely recognises. ‘I don’t think we should be here.’

‘Why? Are you scared of the dark?’ Luhan retaliates, making mocking pouty faces as he walks farther ahead.

Jongdae opens his mouth to respond, but the words catch in his throat as Luhan is yanked backwards, fading into the eerie blackness of the night. He stands still for a moment, his eyes wavering, searching for signs of movement. Seconds pass and yet his co-worker doesn’t materialise before him again, so he slowly, warily tiptoes forward with his hands outstretched. His heart thumps rapidly against his ribs, threatening to break free at any moment, and his lungs feel as though they are on the verge of collapsing.

Suddenly, Luhan pounces up from his crouched position on the ground, emitting a monstrous screech. Jongdae screams and flails backwards, falling onto his bottom and immediately peering up at the older man through hurt, watering eyes. He doesn’t wait for Luhan to offer him his hand and pushes himself back up, knocking against Luhan’s shoulder and storming off. He hopes that the other man won’t follow him, but knows that such thoughts are futile. Luhan remains close the entire way back to Jongdae’s apartment and even lets himself inside, in spite of silent protests.

For the first time, Luhan has the desire to hold Jongdae as though the smaller male belongs to him. He follows Jongdae up a set of stairs and to a tiny, plain bedroom, with dirty blinds and minimal closet space. There is a poster on the wall, but the room is otherwise entirely barren, lacking a welcoming vibe. An alarm clock sits on a wobbly bedside table, and the bed itself creaks as Jongdae lowers himself down onto it. Luhan pads over and faces him, before placing his knees on either side of him and pressing forward. Jongdae falls back and lets Luhan’s weight become his blanket for the night.

~~~

The two spend many nights like this, which is how Luhan finds out about Jongdae’s distaste for thunderstorms. The day commences as a bright, sunny one, but Jongdae sees looming clouds in the distance and feels dreadful for the remainder of his time at the office. By the time he arrives home, it has started to rain. Both he and Luhan are drenched, so they eagerly tear off clothes and jump under the sheets, cuddling up to one another. Jongdae is affectionate and touchy at first, but his mannerisms change the moment he hears booming thunder. He jumps, startled, and scoots further beneath the sheets. Soon, even his whole face is underneath the light layer and he is quivering like a dog with its tail in between its legs.

Luhan sidles up against him and tangles their legs, drapes an arm around his neck and nuzzles into hair that has recently been washed with a lime scented shampoo. He can feel how tense Jongdae is, because his muscles are not relaxed but permanently flexed, his entire body rigid and scared. He has one thought to poke fun of Jongdae for being such a scaredy-cat, but that is quickly eradicated and replaced with an overflow of thoughts that jumble together. Ultimately, his brain is telling him to help Jongdae and his heart is backing it up, urging him to provide comfort. Luhan is finally the more confused of the two, but he still tries, fingers tenderly caressing Jongdae’s sharp cheekbones and toes running up and down his bare calf. Jongdae’s fingers clutch at the older man’s shirt and as the seconds pass, they become numb, grasp loosening as he tumbles into a deep slumber, Luhan’s presence more soothing than anything else could ever be.

~~~

A year has passed by the time Luhan approaches Jongdae’s father and tells him that he’s completely, whole-heartedly in love with his son. The boss, stress lines now prominent on his face, is not surprised or angry as Luhan had expected him to be. Instead, he breaks into one of the largest smiles that Luhan has ever seen, one that widens even more as Jongdae enters the room.

Jongdae’s smile is, if at all possible, more beautiful when he hears the words for himself. He lets Luhan cup his cheeks and press their noses together. He sighs contently as those hands slide down, wrapping around his waist and tugging him in closer. He feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders as he says the words right back. He is the happiest he has ever been, as Luhan’s mouth meets his, fitting there perfectly.

~~~

Years later, Jongdae hums happily, a smoking hot Americano in one hand and a heavy briefcase in the other, as he skips through the street. He smiles sweetly at all those he passes, naturally upturned lips stretching even further across his face. Sometimes he stops to politely tip his head, bowing to the elderly with hard lines etched into their features, careful not to let his beverage spill. He waves awkwardly at small children and they wave back with enthusiasm, and when nobody is looking, he bends to coo at dogs wandering throughout the city.

The weather has just started to cool down and his breath spans out in thick white clouds, so he puffs out with extra force and watches the fog drift off in the breeze. He is wearing a knitted sweater, one he snatched from his fiancé’s closet before he left, tugging it on over a thin white t-shirt and laughing when he saw that it was far too small. He thinks it makes him look cute and that his muscular figure is made to seem even larger, seeming he has been attending to it for quite some time. He often visits the gym, careful not to let things like books and videogames distract him from what’s really important.

With a giddy jump, Jongdae takes a turn and paces down an alleyway. He takes this route every day. It saves him time and there are no crowds to fight through. There are overflowing trashcans lining the sides and no more homeless people, because Jongdae finally earned enough money to donate to them. He thinks that their smiles were worth much more than his pay.

Today, there seems to be a figure standing towards the end. Jongdae stops and grins, before dropping his suitcase and sprinting into Luhan’s open arms.