Work Text:
Choi Jongho was a man of routine. Every morning, he woke up at precisely 6:30 a.m., brewed a single cup of black coffee, and spent exactly 20 minutes reading the news before heading to his law firm. His evenings were equally predictable: a quiet dinner, a chapter or two of a book, and an early bedtime. He liked his life orderly, predictable, and, most importantly, free from unnecessary social interactions.
So, when his boss, Mr. Kim, handed him six VIP tickets to the city’s most prestigious orchestra concert, Jongho felt his carefully constructed world tilt on its axis.
“This is your chance to bond with the team, Jongho,” Mr. Kim said, his tone firm but not unkind. He clapped a hand on Jongho’s shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a weight than a reassurance. “Use these tickets wisely. Make connections. Show them you’re not just a legal robot.”
Jongho stared at the tickets in his hand, their glossy surfaces reflecting the fluorescent office lights. They looked innocuous enough, but to him, they might as well have been a ticking time bomb. The idea of spending an entire evening with his colleagues, trying to make awkward small talk and pretending to enjoy classical music, was his personal version of hell.
“Thank you, sir,” Jongho said, forcing a polite smile. “I’ll… make sure to use them.”
Mr. Kim nodded, seemingly satisfied, and walked away, leaving Jongho standing in the middle of the office, clutching the tickets like they might bite him.
---
That evening, Jongho rode the elevator down to his apartment, his mind racing. He couldn’t possibly take his colleagues to the concert. The thought alone made his palms sweat. But what was he supposed to do? Throw the tickets away? Sell them on some shady website? His boss would definitely find out, and then he’d be labeled not just a “legal robot” but also a fraud.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Jongho stepped inside, still lost in thought, and pressed the button for his floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot out, stopping them.
“Hold the elevator!” a cheerful voice called out.
Jongho looked up to see Kang Yeosang, his neighbor from across the hall, stepping into the elevator. Yeosang was the kind of person who seemed to radiate energy wherever he went. He was always impeccably dressed, his hair perfectly styled, and his smile so bright it could probably power a small city. Jongho, on the other hand, felt like a shadow in comparison—quiet, reserved, and perpetually awkward.
“Hey, neighbor!” Yeosang greeted, leaning casually against the elevator wall. “You look like you’ve just been sentenced to life in prison. What’s wrong?”
Jongho blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. “I… uh…”
Yeosang raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Come on, spill. You’re holding something. Is it a love letter? A death threat? A winning lottery ticket?”
Jongho glanced down at the orchestra tickets still clutched in his hand. “It’s… tickets. To the orchestra.”
Yeosang’s eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “Orchestra tickets? VIP? Do you know how hard those are to get? You’re seriously not going?”
Jongho shrugged, feeling increasingly self-conscious under Yeosang’s intense gaze. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”
“What about your coworkers? Friends? Family?”
“I… don’t really have anyone like that,” Jongho admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Yeosang tilted his head, studying Jongho for a moment. Then, without warning, he plucked one of the tickets from Jongho’s hand.
“Well, problem solved. I’ll go with you.”
Jongho stared at him, stunned. “What? No, you don’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” Yeosang interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “I love the orchestra. And besides, you look like you could use a night out. Consider it neighborly duty.”
Before Jongho could protest further, the elevator doors opened, and Yeosang strolled out, ticket in hand.
“It’s settled,” he called over his shoulder. “See you at the concert!”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Jongho standing in the elevator, staring after him in stunned silence.
---
The night of the orchestra concert was crisp and clear, the kind of evening that felt like it belonged in a movie. The city lights sparkled in the distance, and the grand concert hall stood like a beacon of culture and sophistication. Jongho, however, felt anything but sophisticated as he adjusted his tie for the fifth time, standing awkwardly outside the venue.
Yeosang, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped off a runway. He was wearing a tailored navy suit with a crisp white shirt, his hair perfectly styled, and his confidence radiating like a force field. He glanced at Jongho, who was fidgeting with his cufflinks, and chuckled.
“Relax, Jongho. You look great. Besides, it’s just music. No one’s going to bite you.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jongho muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the crowd. “You’re not the one who’s going to get fired if this goes wrong.”
Yeosang rolled his eyes but didn’t press further. Instead, he slung an arm around Jongho’s shoulders and steered him toward the entrance. “Come on, let’s get inside before you hyperventilate.”
The VIP section was everything Jongho had feared and more. Plush velvet seats, champagne flutes on silver trays, and an air of exclusivity that made him feel like an imposter. He sank into his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible, while Yeosang chatted animatedly with the usher about the evening’s program.
When the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play, Jongho found himself surprisingly captivated. The music was beautiful, a sweeping symphony that seemed to fill the entire hall. For a moment, he forgot about his anxiety and simply allowed himself to enjoy the experience.
Yeosang, sitting beside him, leaned over occasionally to whisper tidbits about the composer or the history of the piece. Jongho found himself actually listening, intrigued by Yeosang’s knowledge and passion. It was a side of his neighbor he hadn’t seen before, and it made him wonder what else he didn’t know about the man.
---
The concert ended with a standing ovation, the audience erupting into applause as the conductor took his final bow. Jongho clapped politely, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. He’d survived the evening without any major disasters.
But as they made their way out of the venue, Jongho’s relief was short-lived.
“Jongho!” a familiar voice called out, cutting through the crowd.
Jongho froze, his heart sinking as he turned to see Mr. Kim making his way toward them. His boss was dressed in a sharp black suit, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.
“I thought you were going to bring the team,” Mr. Kim said, his eyes flicking to Yeosang. “Who’s this?”
Jongho opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His mind went completely blank, his carefully rehearsed excuses evaporating into thin air.
Before he could stammer out a response, Yeosang stepped forward with a dazzling smile.
“Hello, I’m Kang Yeosang, Jongho’s husband,” he said smoothly, extending a hand.
Jongho’s jaw dropped. Mr. Kim’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
“Husband?!” they both exclaimed in unison.
Jongho stared at Yeosang, his face turning red. Mr. Kim looked equally stunned.
“Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?” Mr. Kim asked, his tone a mix of confusion and hurt.
Yeosang sighed dramatically. “Oh, it was a very private ceremony. Just family and close friends. Jongho was so shy about it—he didn’t want to make a big fuss at work. You know how he is.”
Mr. Kim nodded slowly, still processing the information. Jongho, meanwhile, looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
---
As soon as Mr. Kim walked away, Jongho turned to Yeosang, his face a mixture of panic and disbelief.
“What was that?!” he hissed.
Yeosang shrugged, still grinning. “I saved your butt, didn’t I? Your boss thinks you’re a romantic now, not a psychopath.”
“But—husband?!” Jongho whispered furiously. “What happens when he finds out it’s not true?”
Yeosang patted his shoulder. “Relax, we’ll figure it out. For now, just play along. It’s not every day you get to be part of a dramatic love story.”
Jongho groaned, but deep down, he couldn’t help feeling a little grateful. Yeosang had a way of making even the most absurd situations seem manageable.
---
The next morning, Jongho arrived at the office, bracing himself for the inevitable fallout. But to his surprise, his colleagues greeted him with smiles and nods, some even offering congratulations.
“I had no idea you were married, Jongho!” one of his coworkers said, clapping him on the back. “You’ve been holding out on us!”
Jongho forced a smile, his mind racing. How had word spread so quickly?
When he finally made it to his desk, he found a note from Mr. Kim, inviting him to a meeting later that afternoon. Jongho’s stomach churned as he read the message, his anxiety reaching new heights.
The meeting was brief but nerve-wracking. Mr. Kim sat across from him, his expression unreadable.
“Jongho, I have to admit, I was surprised to hear about your… husband,” Mr. Kim began, his tone measured. “But I’m glad you’re opening up more. It’s important to have a work-life balance.”
Jongho nodded, his throat dry. “Thank you, sir.”
“That being said,” Mr. Kim continued, “I’d like to invite you and your husband to a company dinner next week. It’s a great opportunity to network and get to know the team better.”
Jongho’s heart sank. “I… uh…”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” Mr. Kim said firmly. “Consider it a chance to show everyone the real you.”
As Jongho left the meeting, he felt like he’d just been handed another ticking time bomb. He pulled out his phone and quickly texted Yeosang.
Jongho: We have a problem.
Yeosang: What’s up?
Jongho: My boss wants to meet my “husband” at a company dinner next week.
Yeosang: LOL. Sounds fun.
Jongho: This isn’t funny!
Yeosang: Relax, we’ll figure it out. Just play along for now.
Jongho sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He had a sinking feeling that this was only the beginning of his troubles.
---
That evening, Jongho found himself sitting on his couch, staring blankly at the TV. He couldn’t stop thinking about the dinner and the charade he’d somehow gotten himself into.
A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts. He opened it to find Yeosang standing there, holding a bottle of wine and a mischievous grin.
“Thought you could use some moral support,” Yeosang said, holding up the bottle.
Jongho hesitated but then stepped aside to let him in. As they sat on the couch, Yeosang poured them each a glass of wine and leaned back, his expression thoughtful.
“So, tell me more about this dinner,” he said.
Jongho sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a company thing. My boss wants to meet you—well, my ‘husband.’ He thinks we’re married.”
Yeosang chuckled. “Well, we’ll just have to give him a show, won’t we?”
Jongho groaned, burying his face in his hands. “This is a disaster.”
Yeosang reached over and patted his shoulder. “Relax, Jongho. We’ll get through this together. Just trust me.”
As Jongho looked at Yeosang, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of reassurance. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.
---
The days leading up to the company dinner were a whirlwind of chaos, and Jongho found himself caught in the eye of the storm. Yeosang, ever the mastermind, had taken the charade to a whole new level. What had started as a simple lie to save face in front of Mr. Kim had spiraled into an elaborate production, complete with staged photos, fabricated stories, and even matching outfits.
It began with the photos.
“We need evidence,” Yeosang declared one evening, barging into Jongho’s apartment with a bag full of props.
“Evidence of what?” Jongho asked, bewildered, as Yeosang dumped the contents of the bag onto the coffee table. Out spilled fake flowers, a cheap veil, and a disposable camera.
“Evidence of our marriage,” Yeosang said matter-of-factly, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “If your boss or coworkers start digging, we need to have something to show them. Trust me, people love photos.”
Jongho stared at the pile of props, his mind racing. “You want to stage wedding photos?”
“Exactly!” Yeosang said, clapping his hands together. “Now, put this on.” He tossed the veil at Jongho, who caught it reflexively but looked at it like it was a live grenade.
“I’m not wearing this,” Jongho said flatly.
Yeosang sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “Do you want your boss to believe we’re married or not?”
Jongho opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it. He had no rebuttal. Reluctantly, he draped the veil over his head, feeling utterly ridiculous.
Yeosang, on the other hand, looked thrilled. He grabbed the fake flowers and struck a dramatic pose. “Okay, now stand next to me and look like you’re in love.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Jongho muttered, his face burning.
“Just… think of something happy,” Yeosang said, his tone softening. “Like… I don’t know, puppies or ice cream or something.”
Jongho sighed but complied, standing stiffly next to Yeosang as he held up the disposable camera.
“Say cheese!” Yeosang chirped, snapping a photo before Jongho could protest.
They spent the next hour taking increasingly absurd photos—Yeosang feeding Jongho a piece of cake, the two of them holding hands under a photoshopped sunset, and even one where Yeosang pretended to carry Jongho over a threshold (which ended with both of them collapsing in a heap on the floor, laughing uncontrollably).
By the end of the session, Jongho was exhausted but oddly… happy. He hadn’t laughed that much in years.
---
The next day, Yeosang showed up at Jongho’s apartment with two matching sweaters.
“What are these?” Jongho asked, holding up one of the sweaters. It was an obnoxiously bright shade of yellow, with the words “Mr. Right” embroidered on the front.
“Our couple sweaters,” Yeosang said, holding up the other one, which read “Mr. Always Right.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jongho said, staring at the sweater in disbelief.
“Nope,” Yeosang said, popping the ‘p.’ “We’re wearing these to the grocery store. Your boss shops there on Saturdays, right?”
Jongho groaned. “How do you even know that?”
Yeosang shrugged. “I pay attention. Now, put it on. We’ve got a performance to nail.”
Reluctantly, Jongho pulled the sweater over his head, feeling like a walking billboard for bad fashion choices. Yeosang, of course, looked effortlessly stylish, as if the sweater had been designed specifically for him.
At the grocery store, they ran into Mr. Kim exactly as Yeosang had predicted.
“Jongho!” Mr. Kim called out, his eyes lighting up when he saw them. “And… Yeosang, right? Nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too,” Yeosang said, flashing his trademark smile. He slung an arm around Jongho’s shoulders, pulling him close. “We’re just picking up some ingredients for dinner. Jongho’s been craving my famous kimchi stew.”
Jongho forced a smile, his face burning under Mr. Kim’s gaze.
“That’s wonderful,” Mr. Kim said, his tone warm. “It’s so nice to see you two together. You make a lovely couple.”
“Thank you,” Yeosang said, his voice dripping with sincerity. “We’re very happy.”
As they walked away, Jongho couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, he was mortified by the entire situation. On the other hand, there was something oddly comforting about the way Yeosang had seamlessly slipped into the role of his “husband.”
---
The day of the company dinner arrived, and Jongho felt like he was walking to his own execution. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what felt like the hundredth time, his hands trembling slightly. Yeosang, ever the picture of calm, leaned against the doorframe, watching him with an amused smile.
“You’re going to strangle yourself if you keep pulling on that tie,” Yeosang said, his tone light.
Jongho glared at him through the mirror. “This is your fault, you know. If you hadn’t told my boss we were married, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Yeosang pushed off the doorframe and walked over, gently swatting Jongho’s hands away from his tie. “Relax, Jongho. We’ve got this. Just follow my lead, and everything will be fine.”
Jongho wanted to argue, but the warmth of Yeosang’s hands as he fixed his tie made the words die in his throat. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest.
---
The dinner was held at a fancy restaurant downtown, the kind of place Jongho would never set foot in on his own. The room was filled with his colleagues, all dressed to the nines, chatting and laughing over glasses of wine. Jongho felt out of place, like a stray cat that had wandered into a dog show.
Yeosang, on the other hand, looked like he belonged there. He greeted Jongho’s coworkers with ease, his charm and charisma winning them over instantly. Jongho trailed behind him, feeling like a shadow in comparison.
“Jongho!” Mr. Kim called out, waving them over to a table near the center of the room. “There you are. And this must be Yeosang.”
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Kim,” Yeosang said, shaking his hand with a confident smile.
“Please, call me Sangho,” Mr. Kim said, his tone warm. “We’re all friends here.”
Jongho forced a smile, his stomach churning as they took their seats. The dinner began, and Yeosang quickly became the center of attention, regaling the table with stories of their “romance.”
“So, how did you two meet?” one of Jongho’s coworkers asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Yeosang grinned, leaning back in his chair. “It’s actually a funny story. We met at a coffee shop. Jongho here spilled his latte all over my shirt, and instead of apologizing, he just stood there, staring at me like a deer in headlights.”
The table erupted into laughter, and Jongho felt his face heat up. “It wasn’t that bad,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.
“And then what happened?” another coworker asked, clearly invested in the story.
Yeosang’s eyes softened as he glanced at Jongho. “Well, I could tell he was mortified, so I invited him to sit down and have a coffee with me. We ended up talking for hours. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
The table cooed in unison, and Jongho felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. He knew it was all part of the act, but there was something about the way Yeosang told the story that made it feel… real.
---
As the dinner progressed, the questions became more personal.
“So, who proposed?” someone asked.
Yeosang chuckled, reaching under the table to squeeze Jongho’s hand. “I did. It was during a weekend getaway to the countryside. I planned this whole romantic picnic under the stars, and when I got down on one knee, Jongho started crying before I could even finish the question.”
The table laughed, and Jongho felt his face burn. “I did not cry,” he protested, though the memory of Yeosang’s improvised proposal during their photoshoot flashed in his mind.
“You totally did,” Yeosang teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
The conversation continued, with Yeosang effortlessly weaving tales of their life together. Jongho found himself getting caught up in the stories, almost forgetting that none of it was real.
---
Then came the moment Jongho had been dreading.
“You two are so cute together,” one of his coworkers said, her voice tinged with excitement. “I think you should kiss!”
The table erupted into cheers, and Jongho felt his heart stop. He glanced at Yeosang, panic written all over his face.
Yeosang, however, didn’t miss a beat. He turned to Jongho, his expression soft but unreadable. “Well, I guess we can’t disappoint our audience,” he said, his voice low.
The kiss was like a breath of fresh air after being trapped in a stuffy room for too long. It was sudden, yet inevitable, as if the universe had been holding its breath, waiting for this moment to exhale. Their lips met, and everything else faded—the noise, the chaos, the weight of the world. It was just them, suspended in a single, perfect instant.
In that moment, a silent salute echoed in their minds, a triumphant acknowledgment of what had been building between them. It was as if every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every hesitant touch had been leading to this. The salute wasn’t loud or brash; it was quiet, reverent, a private celebration of something profound.
And then came the awareness, sharp and undeniable. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a revelation. Feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface, ignored or pushed aside, now rose like a tide, impossible to deny. It was as if the kiss had flipped a switch, illuminating everything that had been hidden in the shadows. They pulled away, breathless, eyes wide with the sudden clarity of what they meant to each other.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was the beginning of everything.