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By the time the trauma center dinner finally began to die down, the entire restaurant looked like it had survived a minor natural disaster.
Empty plates were stacked crookedly at the edge of tables. Half-finished drinks sweated onto napkins nobody bothered to use. Someone’s white coat was hanging off the back of a chair like it had given up on life. Residents who had spent all week acting serious and sleep-deprived were now laughing too loudly at jokes that made no sense.
It was the first evening in weeks that none of them were running toward an emergency pager.
Naturally, everyone had overdone it.
Yang Jaewon leaned back in his seat and looked around the table with tired affection. This team exhausted him daily. He would probably still fight anyone else who insulted them.
Across from him, Baek Kanghyuk sat exactly as he had two hours ago.
Posture straight.
Shirt sleeves still buttoned.
Tie still neat.
Expression unreadable.
Only two things were different, the slight flush high on his cheekbones, and the fact that he had been staring at the same untouched peanut dish for five full minutes.
Jaewon narrowed his eyes.
“Professor.”
Kanghyuk glanced up lazily. “Hmm?”
“You’re drunk.”
“No.”
“You just asked the peanuts if they were on call tomorrow.”
“That was a private conversation.”
The nurses at the other end of the table burst into laughter.
Jaewon rubbed a hand over his face. “You are absolutely not driving.”
“I’m perfectly capable.”
“You called the soy sauce bottle ‘Chief.’”
“It carries authority.”
“That bottle has been empty for an hour.”
Kanghyuk considered this. “Then it retired with dignity.”
More laughter.
Jaewon tried not to smile and failed. “Keys.”
Kanghyuk looked at him for a long moment, then reached into his pocket and placed the car keys directly into Jaewon’s palm.
No argument.
No sarcasm.
Just trust, easy and thoughtless.
That simple gesture made Jaewon’s ears heat up in a way that was deeply annoying.
Someone wolf-whistled.
“Shut up,” Jaewon snapped at the table.
Getting everyone out of the restaurant took another twenty minutes.
There were goodbyes shouted too loudly, arguments about taxis, three separate promises to “hydrate properly,” and one resident who attempted to hug a lamp post.
Through all of it, Kanghyuk remained calm and composed beside Jaewon, coat buttoned, hands in pockets, looking more like a stern executive than a man who had definitely consumed too much soju.
He swayed once.
Very slightly.
Jaewon caught his elbow on instinct.
Kanghyuk looked down at the hand on his arm, then at Jaewon.
“You’re hovering.”
“You’re unstable.”
“I’m standing.”
“Barely.”
“Rude.”
Jaewon did not let go.
The drive to Jaewon’s apartment was quieter than the restaurant chaos had been.
Rain had started sometime during dinner. Nothing dramatic...just a soft steady drizzle that blurred the streetlights into gold smears across the windshield.
Jaewon drove carefully, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping nervous rhythms against his thigh.
Beside him, Kanghyuk sat with his head resting lightly against the seat, eyes half-lidded.
He looked… softer like this.
Not weak. Never that.
Just loosened around the edges.
As if the world had stopped demanding things from him for one evening.
Jaewon kept catching himself glancing over.
He also kept catching Kanghyuk noticing.
It was humiliating.
Then, without warning, Kanghyuk spoke.
“Are you sick of me?”
Jaewon jerked so hard he nearly hit a pothole.
“What?”
Kanghyuk didn’t move. “You heard me.”
“That is an insane question to ask while I’m driving.”
“You spend all day following me around.”
“I work with you.”
“You argue with me constantly.”
“Because you deserve it.”
“You sigh every time I enter a room.”
“That’s because trouble enters with you.”
A small pause.
Then Kanghyuk asked, quieter this time, “Would you like to be?”
Jaewon’s fingers tightened on the wheel.
Streetlights slid over the windshield in bands of light and shadow.
“No,” he said finally.
The answer came too quickly to be faked.
Kanghyuk’s mouth curved almost invisibly.
“I’m trying to tell you something.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I already said it before.”
“Then say it sober.”
Another beat.
“Coward,” Kanghyuk murmured.
Jaewon stared straight ahead and prayed the darkness hid how red he’d become.
His apartment building was old, slightly cramped, and far too familiar to the man walking beside him.
Not that anyone else knew that.
Jaewon unlocked the door and stepped inside first, flicking on the lights.
Warm yellow light spilled across the small apartment.
Everything was clean.
Everything was in place.
Everything still somehow felt messy the second Kanghyuk entered.
Kanghyuk slipped off his shoes neatly and looked around with sleepy calm.
Jaewon immediately began straightening things that did not need straightening.
He folded the throw blanket.
Adjusted two cushions.
Picked up a magazine from the table and put it back in the same spot.
“You’re fussing,” Kanghyuk said.
“I am not.”
“You aggressively folded fabric.”
“It was wrinkled.”
“It was a blanket.”
Jaewon glared and stalked into the bedroom.
“Sit down somewhere and be quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“That was obedience.”
Jaewon hated how easily this man could make him flustered.
He pulled fresh sheets tight across the bed mostly to give his hands something to do.
He could feel Kanghyuk’s gaze from the doorway.
Heavy.
Steady.
Unapologetic.
Finally Jaewon spun around, clutching a pillow to his chest.
“What?”
Kanghyuk leaned against the frame, watching him.
Nothing in his expression gave anything away.
So Jaewon did what he always did when nervous.
He teased first.
“What are you staring at?” he demanded. “Do you like pretty boys?”
Silence.
Jaewon’s pulse jumped.
He should stop there.
He did not.
“With pretty voices?” he added, fluffing the pillow far too hard. “Is that your problem?”
Still silence.
Then Kanghyuk pushed off the doorway and stepped closer.
“Yes.”
Jaewon forgot how breathing worked.
Kanghyuk took the pillow from his hands and set it aside.
“Yes to both.”
Jaewon opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Kanghyuk looked mildly pleased by this.
Jaewon fled to the kitchen under the excuse of getting water.
He stood there gripping a glass and internally screaming.
After one full minute, he returned.
Kanghyuk was seated on the edge of the bed, coat off now, sleeves rolled once at the forearms. He looked unfairly handsome for someone who was technically tipsy.
Jaewon handed him the water.
“Drink.”
Kanghyuk took the glass, set it on the bedside table untouched, and held out one hand.
“Come here.”
“No.”
“Jaewon.”
“That tone doesn’t work outside the hospital.”
“It works everywhere.”
It absolutely did.
Jaewon hated that too.
He stepped closer on stubborn legs.
The moment he was within reach, Kanghyuk caught his wrist lightly and tugged once.
Jaewon stumbled forward, ending up between his knees.
Neither of them moved after that.
Rain tapped softly at the window.
The apartment felt suddenly very small.
“You dragged me here,” Kanghyuk said.
“You were too drunk to drive.”
“And if I say I would have come anyway?”
“You’re impossible.”
“And if I ask for one kiss before the night ends?”
Jaewon stared down at him.
“You ask a lot for someone staying one night.”
Kanghyuk’s thumb brushed once over the inside of his wrist.
“Do I?”
Jaewon’s throat felt dry.
He tried for sarcasm and got honesty instead.
“Things like this burn fast.”
Kanghyuk’s gaze didn’t leave his face.
“Only if handled carelessly.”
“And if it leaves nothing?”
“Then stay.”
The softness of the answer hit harder than any flirtation could have.
Jaewon swallowed.
“Why offer me a kiss?”
Kanghyuk tilted his head, as if considering how much truth Jaewon could survive.
“Such a foolish question.”
“Answer it.”
A pause.
Then, low and simple:
“I just wanted to kiss you.”
That was it.
No dramatic speech.
No game.
Just sincerity.
Jaewon made a helpless sound, grabbed the front of Kanghyuk’s shirt, and kissed him first.
It was warm.
That was the first thing.
Warm and familiar and devastatingly gentle.
Jaewon kissed like he loved too much to hide it. Kanghyuk answered by sliding one hand to his waist and drawing him closer without taking control, letting Jaewon set the pace.
Their mouths parted and met again.
Slow.
Soft.
Smiling once when Jaewon accidentally bumped noses with him.
When they finally separated, Jaewon stayed close enough to feel Kanghyuk’s breath against his chin.
Neither spoke.
The record player in the corner clicked softly where the vinyl had ended.
Jaewon glanced at it, embarrassed by the domestic intimacy of the sound, then crossed the room and flipped it over.
When he returned, Kanghyuk held out a hand.
“Come here.”
“I was just there.”
“Closer.”
Jaewon sat beside him.
Kanghyuk looked unimpressed.
With a muttered curse, Jaewon finally tucked himself against Kanghyuk’s side.
“Better,” Kanghyuk said.
They stayed there in the dim room while the rain continued outside.
Jaewon traced circles over Kanghyuk’s wrist.
Kanghyuk pressed absent kisses into his hair.
Nothing urgent.
Nothing dramatic.
Just the kind of quiet affection that feels bigger than grand gestures.
Eventually Jaewon murmured, “You can stay. Just for tonight.”
Kanghyuk was silent for a suspiciously long time.
Then he reached into his pocket and placed something small into Jaewon’s palm.
A silver ring.
Jaewon stared at it.
His ring.
The one he’d lost three days ago.
The inside engraving caught the light—the date of their first anniversary.
Kanghyuk’s voice was calm and unbearably smug.
“You left it in my bathroom.”
Jaewon turned slowly.
“You knew this whole time.”
“I live here half the week.”
“You let me panic.”
“You accused the laundry basket.”
“You dramatic bastard.”
Kanghyuk took the ring back, slid it onto Jaewon’s finger, then kissed the knuckle where it rested.
“Happy one year,” he said.
Jaewon launched himself at him so hard they both fell sideways onto the bed.
From the hallway outside, a neighbor banged on the wall.
Jaewon, face buried in Kanghyuk’s shoulder, started laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Kanghyuk only held him tighter and smiled into his hair.