It was a Saturday night at The Spice.



It was a date night at The Spice and it was absolutely packed to the brim, reservations were constantly made over the phone and there was a short line for walk-in customers in front of the receptionist desk. Tables were mostly occupied with couples; The Spice was there to impress a date, a partner, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a fiancé, a fiancée, a wife, a husband. It was the perfect place to make an impression, except for Hyunseung, because this was almost like second home. 



Hyunseung twirled his wine glass slowly, observing the red liquid swirled elegantly, while a large bouquet of blood-red roses lay conspicuously at the far right of the table. He sipped his drink, smiling at the man sitting across him who was all wide grin and happiness.



“Yah, Kwon Jiyong, stop grinning. You look a thousand times more retarded than you already are normally,” Hyunseung placed his wine glass back on the table and frowned at Jiyong.



The grin, rather than disappeared, widened at the comment, “What do you think about this French restaurant, Hyunseungah?” 



Hyunseung looked around The Spice and raised an eyebrow at Jiyong (“Are you ing kidding me? This is like second home), yet he smiled at him, “This place is nice, it’s your favourite?”



“Yeah,” Jiyong mused, “the Chef here is a total genius.” Jiyong smiled and took Hyunseung’s hand across the table, “Thank you for being a nice date tonight and like, not trying to kill me or push me out of the car in the middle of the road. I enjoy your company tremendously. I promise next time will be better.” 



Hyunseung retracted his hand from the elder’s grip, “This is just dinner that I agreed to,” he glanced at the roses, “and the roses are totally unnecessary.” Jiyong face fell slightly on the comment, before Hyunseung continued with a teasing grin, “I prefer ice cream.” 



The older man chuckled, eyes forming crescent moons, “I’ll keep that in mind.”




It was not as if Hyunseung went out on a date with Jiyong, it was just a dinner that he owed the older man for all of his performances, a gesture of gratitude in a purely business manner, a nice little meet up with Jiyong as a friend, as someone that Hyunseung knew and worked with, a great way to strengthen their friendship and business relation. 



And anyways, Junhyung was out of the country for yet another conference where he was one of the speakers; sharing experiences, tips to success, encouragements, and just be there to reinstate his status as one of the most successful young chefs in Korea. 



So Hyunseung was bored out of his wits. 



But Jiyong proved to be more than an enjoyable company; he was funny, entertaining, pleasantly straightforward, sweet, understanding, kind. He knew the limit of probing for personal information, when Hyunseung showed a slightest bit of discomfort, he would immediately retrace his curiosity a step back. 



Insisting on meeting the chef and complimenting him, Jiyong motioned a waiter for the bill and requested to see the chef-in-charge. So Hyunseung took out his phone to ask how was Junhyung doing, was he eating right, was he pissing of some of the guests, was he ruining the world-class conference and embarrassing himself. 



Hyunseung was too engrossed fiddling with his phone, he did not realise a pair of feet had arrived at their table, did not realise when Jiyong took a breath in surprise, did not realise when Jiyong whispered “Yong Junhyung”, did not realise when Jiyong stood up to bow politely to Junhyung.



He only realised it when – 



“Yah, Jang Hyunseung, what did I tell you about dinner and phone? No phone touching on the dinner table.”



Hyunseung froze; his eyes widened, he looked up immediately only to find a pair of eyes travelling from Jiyong to the bouquet of roses to Hyunseung and back to Jiyong and the bouquet of roses. 



And the pair of eyes settled on him for the longest time, “Especially not during a date. That is just plain rude.” 



Junhyung was not wearing his chef uniform. Instead he wore casual shirt and jeans under his apron and a pair of comfortable sneakers. Hyunseung was shocked, he is not supposed to be here, he is not supposed to be here, none of them is supposed to be here at all, not Junhyung and Hyunseung and Jiyong. 



“Yong Junhyung,” Jiyong said, amused, “I won’t know that you are a French cuisine chef when I tasted your jap chae and ginseng rice.” Jiyong chuckled and shook his head in amazement, “Genius shows itself in every occasion, I believe.”



But none of the men listened to any of Jiyong’s compliments. Junhyung’s stare did not change, it was not accusing, it was not sad, it was not disappointed, it was not hurt, it was not disapproving. It was as if Junhyung expected this, expected to see Hyunseung with Jiyong, and he was not shocked, was not surprised to see Hyunseung and Jiyong and a bouquet of roses. His expressions did not change, did not waver. 



And Hyunseung hated it, so he decided to wait for Junhyung to finish up his work and go home together, he decided to be the last one sitting in the restaurant, with lights dimmed and chairs upturned, he decided to wait for Junhyung and drive home together, he decided to talk to him during the drive, he decided to ask him a few questions that had been nagging at the back of his mind later on.



But before Hyunseung could do any decision making, Junhyung decided for him, he decided that Jiyong should take Hyunseung home after the date (“He always goes to his club during weekends, but please drive him home tonight, Jiyong-shi, he looks tired”), he decided that he would stay over at one of Doojoon’s suites because he needed to prepare early for the sudden birthday occasion of the minister’s daughter (and this was the sole reason he came back early), he decided that they would talk afterwards, he decided that they should not go home together.




Junhyung almost decided that they should stop being together.






It was eighteen minutes past midnight when the doorbell rang loud and clear in Junhyung’s suite. He staggered to the door and opened it in one swift motion.



“Junhyung-ah, I received your message –“ It was cut off when Junhyung crushed his lips into the other’s, when Junhyung pulled the other’s waist with one arm, when Junhyung shove the other into the wall, when Junhyung grabbed the other’s hair to expose a creamy neck, when Junhyung started biting on the other’s shoulder, when Junhyung started cupping the other’s cheeks, when Junhyung started undressing the other, when Junhyung started pulling the other through hallways and mini bar and pushed the other onto the soft fluffy bed. 



“Hyunseung-ah..” 



Junhyung whimpered as Hara felt wetness on her neck and shoulder where Junhyung’s face was buried into. 



“Hyunseung-ah..” 



Hara felt Junhyung’s shoulders started to shake, started to tremble, started to shudder, and Hara tightened her hold on Junhyung, shushing him, comforting him, patting his back, his hair, whispering words of “everything is gonna be okay”. She could smell strong alcohol odour from Junhyung as she continued soothing him. The ual intention had long dissipated before it even started between the two. 



“Hyunseung-ah..”



She let him crush her small body under his on the bed, she let him tighten his hold on her petite figure, she let him soak her shoulder with tears, she let him call her some other man’s name. She let Junhyung did every of that, as long as she can offer her help to a best friend. 



Junhyung’s breathing started to even out, it started to become steadier, his hold started to loosen, his tears started to dry, and Hara knew that the man had fallen asleep out of exhaustion, out of frustration. So she carefully rolled him over to his side and pulled the blanket over him. 



She took out Junhyung’s phone and sent a message out.