Chapter Text
When one sees a big red button that says ‘Do Not Press’. The most obvious thing to do is, of course, to press it.
And that was exactly what Yoo Joonghyuk did.
Then, explosions.
No count down. No warnings.
Only the unmistakable shock and heat rising through the floors which turned Kim Dokja's, allegedly, radioactive plague house into literal hell.
They stood by the curbside seconds later.
“I should’ve seen this coming.” Kim Dokja laughed dryly, as he watched the flame turn into a different colour occasionally.
Firetrucks lined the streets, blaring their sirens, pulling on onlookers that had gathered to watch the carnage.
No guilt crossed Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. If anything, it would seem as if it was deliberate on his part.
A crane rolled its neck somewhere.
The inspector started listing fines as if she were reading a bedtime story to two very special children. And in this case, adults.
“Unauthorised demolition. Hazardous material alert. Improper storage… We need to bring you in for questioning.”
“You can try,” Kim Dokja said pleasantly. “But your supervisor will call you back before you finish the paperwork. Tell him this is New Wave’s territory.”
The name threaded through the air and set people straighter. As it should.
The inspector bowed apologetically, and went away.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced sideways. “You’re not mad?”
“Hmm.” Kim Dokja watched another blackened pillar give way inside. The roof folded in protest, as if chastising Yoo Joonghyuk for its downfall. “I’m deciding.”
“Decide faster.”
“Why?”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t look away from the flames. He didn't answer either.
“Look, I'm in mourning, Joonghyuk.” Kim Dokja spread his arms wide, as if embracing the ruin. “Decades of achievement reduced to— oh look, that’s my fridge.”
It collapsed through the floor with what sounded like a ghost being exorcist. And another explosion shook the area.
“You can buy another one,” Yoo Joonghyuk said.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The point is you pressed a button clearly labeled Do Not Press. Do you even know what that means?”
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t so much as blink. “It means don’t be weak.”
Kim Dokja turned to him slowly. “...Sometimes I think you’re not real.”
“Then stop thinking.”
“Ha. If I stop thinking, I’ll end up like you. Broke, stubborn, and allergic to instructions.”
That earned him a sidelong glare sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m not broke.”
Kim Dokja scoffed. “Tell that to your tax bracket.”
“Don't you pay taxes?”
“I don’t. That’s how rich I am.”
Another part of the building groaned, collapsing inward.
The firefighters didn’t even bother hosing it anymore. They were just making sure the fire didn’t spread to the neighbors. A crowd whispered conspiracytheories behind yellow tape.
Kim Dokja pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
It connected right away.
“Prepare my room. I’ll be arriving in 30.”
And he turned it off.
“We’re going to Eden.”
Yoo Joonghyuk sighed long and hard.
Kim Dokja flicked him a look. Appalled by the absolute audacity of that sigh.
They were back in Kim Dokja’s suite in Eden. Crystal decanter and welcome dessert on the counter sat untouched. Silk drapes against tall glass windows. And the same absurdly large bed that he had used for years.
Kim Dokja sat right in the centre of it, laptop open, hair damp from the shower, dressed like someone who hadn’t just lost a house. The glow of the screen painted his face in sharp angles.
Across the room, Yoo Joonghyuk was sulking in the single chair by the wall. The 'cuck chair,' as Kim Dokja had so kindly labeled it.
He sat still in his chef’s uniform, apron neat, arms folded like he wanted to strangle someone.
Despite it being his day off, Kim Dokja had forced him into his work uniform as a small punishment.
Kim Dokja didn’t look up from the screen. “Don’t slouch. You’re supposed to look professional.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw ticked. “I'm not apologising.”
“Suit yourself.” Kim Dokja shrugged. “You’re on thin ice. Behave.”
The silence stretched, filled only by the quiet tapping of keys.
Kim Dokja sighed.
“No apartments,” he muttered.
Yoo Joonghyuk glanced over. “Why not? They’re fast.”
“Fast isn’t flexible. You can’t knock down the walls or add soundproofing in an apartment.”
“You need soundproofing?”
“You want people to hear your moans?”
Yoo Joonghyuk casted his gaze down, embarrassed.
Kim Dokja clicked through another listing and dismissed it with a scoff. “And no mansions. Too many eyes. Too many government dogs wondering why the rich eccentric recluse lives alone with his ‘import collection.’”
Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes. “Import collection?”
Kim Dokja finally looked up. Smiling flatly. “I had guns, Joonghyuk-ah. Do you know how hard it is to get proper firearms in Korea? They’re not like frying pans you can pick up at the store.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s frown deepened. “You’re upset.”
“I’ve decided that I'm furious, yes.” Kim Dokja said, shutting the laptop with a snap. “My safe house can burn. My fridge can melt into goo. But my guns—” He exhaled, as if physically restraining the words. “Let’s just say you’ll be replacing every one of them, since you pressed the button.”
The chef’s uniform rustled as Yoo Joonghyuk sat up straighter, scowling. “I don’t know how to buy guns.”
“Oh, you won't.” Kim Dokja said. “I'm putting you back into debt.”
Yoo Joonghyuk rose to his feet in protest, but one look from Kim Dokja forced him back down.
Kim Dokja leaned back against the headboard, fingers drumming lazily against the closed laptop.
“So. No apartments. No mansions. Guns gone. Head chef demoted to a cuck chair.” His smile tilted, razor-thin. “Now what?”
Yoo Joonghyuk averted his eyes.
Kim Dokja watched as Yoo Joonghyuk squirmed under his stare.
“You look ridiculous sitting over there.”
He shot Kim Dokja a glare.
“Come here,” Kim Dokja said, patting the space beside him on the bed. “Sit.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stiffened. “No.”
He glared at Kim Dokja for a long moment, jaw tight, but eventually stood. His footsteps were heavy with reluctance as he crossed the suite and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress, like it might collapse under his weight.
“Relax. It was a joke.” Kim Dokja murmured, leaning back against the pillows.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s head snapped toward him. “Which one?”
He studied Yoo Joonghyuk’s stubborn profile, then let a mischievous smile slip.
Before he could retreat, Kim Dokja reached out and pulled him into the bed.
“Doesn’t matter,” Kim Dokja said. He lifted a hand and patted the top of Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. His hair was still faintly damp from the shower, soft beneath his fingers.
With a soft exhale, Yoo Joonghyuk gave in, shifting into a hug.
The tension in Yoo Joonghyuk’s body eased by degrees. His eyes lowered, his breathing slowed, and when Kim Dokja locked him in, he didn’t resist.
“You can always pay with your body,” Kim Dokja said quietly.
The suite fell into a hush.
Kim Dokja let his eyes drift half-shut, a faint, content smile tugging at his lips as Yoo Joonghyuk stiffened in his clutch.
They stayed tangled up to each other, the absurdity of the fire gone, but not forgotten.
Around dinner time, the service trolley rolled in. Food at the bottom, contracts stacked precariously on top like dessert.
Bihyung shot a shit-eating grin at Yoo Joonghyuk, as he happily shoved paper after paper towards Kim Dokja.
Yoo Joonghyuk narrowed his eyes. “What's with the paperwork?”
Bihyung beamed, pulling out a pen like a magician revealing his final trick. “Ah, that! See, Kim Dokja already owns this exclusive suite, VVIP rights and all. But tonight, he decided he wanted the entire floor.”
Yoo Joonghyuk froze. “The what.”
“The floor,” Bihyung repeated cheerfully, shoving another folder at him. “All exclusive suites, private elevators, infinity swimming pool, rooftop bar—poof! Gone. His now. Just a little paperwork between friends.”
Yoo Joonghyuk turned slowly to stare at Kim Dokja, who was signing the papers. “Why.”
Kim Dokja didn’t look up. “Walking distance to your workplace.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw clenched. “It’s the same building.”
“Exactly,” Kim Dokja said smoothly, tossing the pen from Bihyung. “At least it is convenient for one of us.”
Yoo Joonghyuk pinched the bridge of his nose. “How is that even possible?”
“Money,” Kim Dokja shrugged.
“Money,” Bihyung agreed, already scribbling something down with the enthusiasm of a man drunk on commission.
“People don’t just—” Yoo Joonghyuk gestured at the ceiling helplessly. “—buy floors of a hotel.”
“They do if they’re Kim Dokja,” Bihyung said. “God bless capitalism.”
Bihyung hummed happily, gathering the signed contracts like a dragon hoarding gold. “Congratulations, Mr. Kim! You now officially own the entire top floor of Eden. Our sincerest thanks for your continued patronage.”
Yoo Joonghyuk was still glaring holes into Kim Dokja. “You’re insane.”
Kim Dokja finally looked up, smiling faintly. “Insane? Says the one who set my house on fire.”
Bihyung cackled, before heading out the door. “This is Eden, baby. And you—” he pointed at Yoo Joonghyuk with a wicked grin, “—will now have to cook for the owner of the whole damn floor.”