"I'm so sorry!"

Flustered, Jinki stared helplessly as the hot, dark coffee seeped into the meticulously ironed, bleached white button-down. 

It's probably expensive, he thought idly. Like all his other shirts.

"Lee Jinki-sshi, what is this...the third time? Fourth?" The question, ringing out in an ice-cold voice, cut through the silent office like a knife. 

"...Just the third..." Jinki muttered as he hung his head lower. 

"Look at me."

That was all the notice Jinki got before his wrists were caught by strong, calloused hands and given a sharp tug. He landed unceremoniously on Choi Minho's lap with a strangled yelp.

Choi Minho, his boss, the head of the South Korea’s intelligence agency—Seoul division.

"Look at me," Minho commanded again as he tilted Jinki's head up with a finger under his chin.

Oh my god. Oh. my. god, screamed Jinki internally. Because here he was, straddling Minho, one wrist still caught in his hand, staring right into the dark, mysterious pools of his abnormally large eyes. 

"Are you the spy?"

Jinki, mesmerized by Minho's eyes, didn't answer. His face felt flushed and he couldn't seem to hear anything. He almost felt dizzy.

Scratch that, he was dizzy, because his world was spinning, because Minho had dragged him up from the seat again and had slammed him roughly against his desk.

Jinki could feel the coolness of the laminated wood seeping into his back, but that somehow didn't seem to compensate for the fact that he was blanketed by Minho's body heat, Minho who had pinned him against the desk by his wrists and who towered above his own small frame.

"Are you the spy?" Minho repeated, voice laced with danger.

By some miracle, Jinki heard him this time. The smaller man's eyes widened and his shook his head frantically, soft brown hair splaying against the desk's hardened surface.

"Wh-what? No! I’m not—I don’t know—”

“I found you suspicious from the start, you know. We had just gotten word from our people that North Korea’s about to plant a mole in our division, and then you show up as the new secretary.”

A silent explain yourself hovered in the air.

“I-I...but I’m not,” Jinki protested, the denial ringing out in a helpless whimper.

Minho stared down hard at his new secretary. The man’s shirt had fallen askew from when he hit the desk, exposing a creamy neck and defined collarbones. His whole, small frame seemed to be quivering in fright beneath the shirt and his usual pale cheeks were colored by a panicked flush as teardrops pooled at the corner of his eyes.

After a few moments of tense silence, Minho smirked and gently swept a finger across Jinki’s soft cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“Never mind. They wouldn’t send someone as incompetent as you.”

With that, Minho released Jinki’s wrists and stood straight again.

“But if you spill coffee on me again, there will be punishment,” Minho said, staring straight into Jinki’s eyes curving his lips into a playful smile. 

And with that, the tall, formidable man strolled leisurely out of the office.

(Presumably to wash his shirt.)

Jinki lay immobile against the desk for a few more moments, before he too rose and sauntered to a corner of the office.

The corner that the security camera couldn’t quite catch.

With a few furtive glances at the door, Jinki whipped out his cell and quickly dialed the familiar number.

“Sir, this is Agent Onew reporting from Seoul...No, sir. He’s no longer suspicious...Yes, sir, you may be right—he’s probably gay.”

Agent Onew: 1. Choi Minho: 0.