The morning in the apartment greeted them with the smell of the night's rain and the few drops that still slid down the glass. The city seemed to be asleep. Do-yoon woke up first. He lay for a few seconds, listening to the breathing next to him. Seungho usually slept lightly, but today he allowed himself to linger—his arm still rested on Do-yoon's waist, heavy and warm. Only when Do-yoon carefully lifted himself up did the Alpha stir slightly, without opening his eyes.
Wearing Seungho's shirt—too large, falling in folds over his shoulders—Do-yoon went to the kitchen. The cold floor touched his bare feet, and he shivered, but didn't go back for socks. The kitchen was quiet, only the clock ticked. He turned on the coffee maker, and the aroma of fresh coffee immediately filled the air. The sound of boiling water, the faint steam above the mug—simple, domestic details that felt surreal after the night they had shared.
He stood by the table, looking at the dark liquid, and at that moment, he felt it: hands wrapped around him from behind. Seungho's arms closed around his waist. His chin rested on Do-yoon's shoulder. Hot breath touched his skin. Lips slid to his neck, leaving a soft kiss.
— Good morning, - he murmured low, almost purring.
Do-yoon flinched slightly, but didn't pull away. The Alpha's hand slid under the shirt. First over his stomach, then higher, then down again. And finally, between his thighs. The movement was slow, lazy, but his body responded immediately with a shiver.
— You... - Do-yoon exhaled, but didn't finish the sentence.
Seungho chuckled and pulled away just as easily. He sat down at the table, unfolded a newspaper, as if nothing had happened.
— Coffee?
Do-yoon silently placed the mug in front of him. They sat opposite each other in the morning silence. Seungho drank slowly, looking over the rim of the mug at him.
— Today it's the warehouse-office, - Do-yoon broke the silence.
— We'll go together, - Seungho replied.
— Do you think that's wise? - caution sounded in Do-yoon's voice.
— I do, - Seungho put the mug down. - If there's something there that shouldn't fall into the wrong hands, it's better if we're together.
***
The warehouse-office met them with cold air and lights that were harsh on the eyes. The air smelled of paper, metal, and something sterile. At the administrator's desk, two employees were arguing about the schedule:
— I'm not covering the shift again, - one said irritably. — We all work hard here, - the other replied. - If you don't like it, quit.
Someone passing by tossed in:
— Customers don't notice who's at the bar and who's on the floor anyway. The main thing is to smile.
Do-yoon slowed his pace, listening. These ordinary phrases were like noise to hide behind. He pretended to examine the folders on a shelf, but in reality, he was catching every detail. Meanwhile, Seungho spoke to the manager, a tall man with thin glasses.
— Where is last month's report? — On your desk, Mr. Yoon, - the man replied and hastily retreated.
Do-yoon picked up one of the folders. It had a familiar logo on the cover. Too familiar. He squeezed it tighter, his fingers turning white.
— Find something interesting? - Seungho's voice sounded nearby, calm, but with an underlying steel.
Do-yoon turned, maintaining a neutral face.
— Just invoices.
Seungho held his gaze. Then he stepped closer. The glass partition reflected both of them, and they looked at each other as if in a distorting mirror: Alpha and waiter, owner and subordinate, partner and enemy.
— You look too closely at what others consider trash, - Seungho said quietly.
The air became thick, heavy. A wall of unspoken things rose between them.
— Everyone does their job, - Do-yoon stated.
— And is hiding things also part of the job? - Seungho asked lazily, but his gaze was burning.
The noise of the employees behind the glass continued—someone was discussing a short supply of bottles, someone was joking about customers. But here, in the small office, it was quiet, too quiet. Do-yoon and Seungho stood facing each other. And their silence was louder than any scream.
— Get a grip, - Seungho finally said.
He turned away first. But the chill that had appeared there wouldn't leave.