“What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

Doojoon ran a hand through his hair, letting out an irritated sight. “Then why do it?”

“Well we didn’t technically  do it, you came and stopped us before we di—” Yoseob started, eyes on his hands but Doojoon quickly interrupted him.

“You think I forgot? Trust me, I won’t. I have had that image burned into my ing brain...” He grumbled and Yoseob let out a sigh before narrowing his eyes.

“Why are you so pissed off? It’s not even like we are in a relationship, Doojoon—we just have casual and cuddle, we are seeing each other, like you have stated countless times because you are literally drooling over Gina noona’s .” Yoseob quickly retorted, looking up at him, eyes narrowing more.

“It doesn’t ing matter!”

“But it ing does, Doojoon!” He shouted at him, standing up and grabbing his plate off the table before putting it in the dishwasher. “ this, I’m going out.”

“Before you leave,” Doojoon began quietly, turning to look at him, peeling his gaze away from the window. “You’re not allowed to go to that gallery, not allowed Yong Junhyung.” He stated and Yoseob opened his mouth but Doojoon quickly cut him off. “It’s either me or him, Yoseobbie. Who will it be?”

‘He expected an answer now?’

There was a long silence, Doojoon’s eyes on Yoseob, waiting patiently for his answer.

Yoseob had to think it through rather quickly. There was nothing with Junhyung—they got drunk and nearly had . Also, the man pretty much hates him. And to top it off, he was a rich spoiled brat while Yoseob was a struggling artist? What interest would Junhyung have in little old him? None—well, maybe he found amusement in the poor soul, but amusement comes and goes.

And where would he live and sleep and eat if he left Doojoon?

But with Yoon Doojoon, it was different. He knew the other cared for him, even if they weren’t in a proper relationship. He knew that Doojoon would help him all the time and make everything safe and comforting for the other. A future with Doojoon was more realistic, he had more comfort, he had someone.

“You.” Yoseob mumbled quietly before walking away to shower, knowing—almost feeling Doojoon’s smug expression as he did so.

It had been a few weeks. Few horribly boring weeks for Junhyung. New artists coming and going, no one interesting, good, or just... different. They all seem to have been mushed into one, blending colours and souls and just, a complete and utter cluster. Yong Junhyung didn’t like it. Nor did Yong Senior. No one liked it. But Yong Junhyung didn’t like it the most.

The only thing that Yong Junhyung liked was Yang Yoseob’s paintings and drawings and that smile and cute button nose and oh—don’t forget those adorable cheeks and elf-like ears. And his bright eyes scrunching into perfect crescents—skills. Yeah, his skills. That’s what he liked, just his skills and skills and those eyes—skills.  

Yong Junhyung sighed, shaking his head quickly and running a hand through his hair, blocking any thoughts of Yoseob and how delicious his lips were away. Or the thoughts of how his moans drove him crazy and his whimpers just made him want to hold him close in his arms and kiss him over and over again. Push those thoughts of how perfect Yoseob’s back was arching under Junhyung’s touch and how even through the dim lighting of the room, his skin looked like it was shining, like fragile diamonds, fragile, delicate diamonds.

“.” Junhyung let out a groan and leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands just as his secretary, Hyuna, walked inside with a fresh stack of portfolios.

“These have just been collected, Mr. Yong. The team await your approval, they are not too interested in this selection; they all seem to be looking for something specific for this exhibition.” She explained, placing the portfolios on the desk and stepping back. “I’m going out to grab some lunch, would you like me to pick up anything, Mr. Yong?”

“I’m fine, Hyuna. I’ll be getting my own lunch today, it’s okay.” He mumbled quietly, pulling his hands away and turning his head to the left, lazily looking out.

But just as his eyes looked through the glass and onto the bustling busy street, filled with workers going for their lunch break, his breath caught in his throat and he quickly jumped out of his seat and ran straight towards the window.

He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or if it really really really was Yoseob out there on the bench, sketchpad in hand, Starbucks coffee by his side.

He wasn’t sure not because he couldn’t see properly because , he could—he could see every single crinkle in his forehead as he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. It was the fact that Yoseob’s hair was now bright orange and he looked so delicious and so young and so... so wonderful.

“Mr. Yong?” Hyuna asked, blinking a few times at her boss who had his face pressed against the window, eyes wide, before letting out a slight yelp of surprise when Junhyung quickly grabbed his phone and wallet and made his way out of the office.

“I’m going for lunch!” He shouted, running down the steps, almost slipping on the marble floors in his Georgio Armani shoes but managing to catch himself with the help of the door. Literally ripping it open, he ran outside, eyes wild and frantic as he ran towards the bench where he had seen Yoseob, the same bench where he had met him.

But instead he wasn’t met with the now orange-haired boy, or with even a loud insult from him. Instead, he was met with an empty Starbucks cup with a note taped to it. Picking it up, he frowned darkly, reading over the neat scribble.

‘I’m afraid that our meetings will have to come to an end due to reasons which I cannot explain. I’m sorry, Yong Junhyung, but this is for the best anyway. I will also stop sending my work to the gallery. Good luck with your future. I wish you the best.

Yang Yoseob.’

Junhyung threw the cup into the bin, holding the note in his hand and folding it carefully before going to his chest pocket of his jacket, pulling out something. It was a delicate gold necklace, simple and adorable, just like Yoseob. He was going to give it to him today, as an apology for trying to take advantage of him the other night at the club as well as a gift for him along with the simple question if he’d want to go have dinner with him.

But now he couldn’t.

Instead he wrapped the delicate chain around the note carefully, making sure that it won’t break before putting it back into its small black box and slipping it back into his pocket. Hands shoved back into his pants, he made his way down the street to grab his lunch.