after office hours : sung hanbin
zb1 mlst
pairing — sung hanbin x f!reader
content — fluff, hanbin is an idiot and down bad, matt and taerae there just for the plot, it also takes hanbin 5.7K words to confess because he’s dumb, random ass 8turn minho feature (omg i hated writing that bby like this 😖), this is very long!
syn — hanbin never thought he’d fall for his colleague.
workplace romance hasn’t been hanbin’s thing.
however, that is not to say he is immune to the flirty charms of some of his female colleagues. one-night stands are about as far as he goes in the name of commitment, though the intimacy still eludes him. he doesn’t care much about relationships and romance. he doesn’t have a soft spot for his colleagues either.
he thinks his life is complicated enough as it is. he doesn’t need to worry about someone else’s emotional baggage.
so what if he is twenty-five and his mother is going absolutely nuts trying to convince him to settle down? he is happy where he is. with his glasses perched on and a bowl of instant noodles, the only thing he has been consuming aside from black coffee for months, he is content.
that is why he doesn’t bat an eye when he is introduced to a new intern in the logistics department. during the intern’s introduction, hanbin’s eyes are trained on his phone screen, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he scrolls through the group chat. seok matthew, the hr manager—aka gossip central—is blowing up his phone, talking about the relationship between the head of the finance department and his assistant, which hanbin knows for sure is a breach of company’s guidelines.
he couldn’t be less interested in interacting with new people, especially his juniors. he leaves as soon as the introductions are over, his eyes only flickering once towards the new intern, catching a glimpse of your soft features and round, wide eyes.
he doesn’t dwell much, even if those eyes are seared into his head. he doesn’t do love. doesn’t believe in softness. he’s too awkward for that. then again, he also doesn’t believe in overtime, wearing ties, or getting emotionally attached, and yet, here he is. three for three.
it isn’t until three weeks later, during lunchtime, that hanbin sees you—the new recruit—again. he catches glimpses of you in the past few days, sure. the soft pastels of your clothes, those flowy sundresses that move past him when he’s in the café down the road for his evening coffee.
however, he isn’t expecting you to be sitting at his table—in his and his friends’ place. matthew and taerae, like always, will be five or ten minutes late.
hanbin blinks, then reluctantly makes his way over to you. confusion and frustration line his face—confusion because he doesn’t expect to see you sitting where he and his friends have been eating lunch for years, frustration because he hasn’t been able to catch a break from seeing you and now he is forced to be social against his will.
amazing, isn’t it?
“you,” is the best greeting he can offer as a cynical asshole who doesn’t know how to approach softness.
hanbin watches as your head snaps up to look at him, your eyes wide and startled. he distantly notices the homemade bento box.
“you’re in my seat,” he says dryly, his voice gruff but not unkind. his dark eyes roam over your face for a brief second, and as shameful as it is to admit, he did check you out.
your lips part, though no sound escapes you. for a few seconds, you stare at each other in awkward silence, only the chatter of other employees bustling in and out of the place keeping you aware of everyone else’s presence.
then, abruptly, you are standing up, nervously closing your lunch box. hanbin, against his will, feels guilty for scaring you.
he is about to speak, but you beat him to it, your tone flustered: “i—i’m sorry. there weren't any empty seats today.”
and true, hanbin only now notices how full the cafeteria looks today, as if everyone from the building is suddenly cooped up in one place. he can also bet his life that it has something to do with the hr department and their weekly gossip meetings in random ass places.
he pinches the bridge of his nose. now, hanbin knows he is a cynical asshole, but he isn’t a heartless bastard. besides, he couldn't let a new intern eat alone—especially not with how unfamiliar the environment could be for someone new.
“no, wait—” he starts, raising his hand as if to touch your shoulder to stop you, but he catches himself and instead gestures at the seat awkwardly. “you can sit here,” he says reluctantly.
you blink up at him as if he had asked you to worship satan—or lick an anime character figurine, which he couldn’t even dream of asking anyone to do.
“oh,” you breathe out, slowly sitting down again. hanbin notices that you are sitting on the edge of your seat, as if you are scared he’ll ask you to leave any second. “are you sure?”
a muscle in his jaw jumps when he sees you starting to stand up again. “i am sure,” he responds tightly, then takes a seat across from you. he forces himself to relax, not wanting to intimidate you more than he already has.
he places his coffee—as black as his clothes, and his self-proclaimed dark heart—and his lunch on the table, waiting for matthew and taerae. he notices something else about you—a keychain. a weird, stupid digimon keychain. he suppresses a scoff, because of course you’d have some weird quirks. a beauty like that doesn’t come with all sweetness; eccentric personality is a must.
hanbin, uninterested in watching you eat, glances towards the cafeteria door, wondering how long matthew and taerae will take. he knows your name, though he doesn’t want to interact with someone who is two years his junior.
but of course, you want to talk.
“what… if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” you ask, your voice soft, almost lost in the loud chatter.
hanbin wants to scoff. unbelievable. you don’t know him? who doesn’t know sung hanbin in this building? he is the head of editorial department, for fuck’s sake.
“hanbin. i work in the editorial department,” he responds, a hint of reluctant indulgence in his voice. he doesn’t want to tell you his occupation, so he simply skips it.
you nod, bringing a piece of chicken to your mouth and chewing it thoughtfully. hanbin’s gaze again lingers on that ugly digimon keychain, his eye twitching.
yeah, no. he hates it.
“my name’s y/n,” you say, as if hanbin hadn’t been present during your introduction. “i’m in logistics department. on the seventeenth floor.”
he bites his tongue to stop himself from uttering something rude. he knows everything you just told him. he has been working here for seven fucking years and knows the entire forty-floor building like the back of his hand.
however, as if to save him from making a fool of himself, matthew and taerae arrive, both holding their drinks and lunches. it is safe to say that neither hanbin nor his friends have had a taste of homemade food for a long time—not with their busy schedules and hectic daily lives.
as they notice you quietly munching on your homemade lunch, their eyes go round with surprise. however, matthew, ever the social butterfly, is quick to soften his expression and slide into the empty space beside you.
taerae, on the other hand, is a bit more reserved (or pretended to) as he settles beside hanbin, placing his lunch and hazelnut latte on the table.
“i’m matt!” the guy on your left chirps, effectively startling you.
hanbin watches with thinly veiled irritation. your wide eyes flick to matthew’s chopsticks frozen midair—like you’ve been caught sneaking into someone’s diary. noticing the awkwardness, taerae chimes in:
“kim taerae,” comes his junior’s nonchalant introduction. hanbin wants to scoff. the boy is acting as if he doesn’t cry watching titanic every. single. time.
despite meeting you for the first time, taerae and matthew surprisingly warm up to you faster than hanbin expected.
maybe hanbin really is emotionally constipated.
what hanbin thought would be a one-time thing with you sitting with them, turns into a daily routine. soon, you were a plus-one in their usual trio. matthew and taerae grew attached to you, and did everything they could to fill you in with the gossip.
by the second week, you were invited to their weekend movie nights. it didn’t bother hanbin, really.
he stopped being wary of you when you commented on his coffee, claiming that it would taste better if he added sugar and a little creamer. at the start of the third week, hanbin’s coffee started tasting a bit less bitter, and a little sweeter.
by the end of the third week, his kitchen cabinets were filled with your favorite snacks, your scent lingering on his couch cushions and the blanket you always wrap around yourself with during their movie nights. the start of the fourth week didn’t bring anything new, aside from hanbin becoming your reluctant driver. ever since he found out where you lived, he knew he couldn’t let you go alone—not with how shady your neighborhood is. though, it was expected that you’d live somewhere like this, considering that you are a young graduate who started working less than three months ago.
again, your scent lingers inside his car, clinging to the leather seats. even when another woman sits in his car, your sickly perfume can’t mask your scent.
it is like you have fucking imprinted yourself on him, and hanbin is helplessly drawn to you against his will. you were like a calm to his chaotic thoughts and awkwardness.
he finds himself smiling at your texts. his usually bitter coffee is slowly being replaced by your favorite drinks. when matthew commented about your homemade bento and expressed his desire for a home-cooked meal, there were three extra lunchboxes on their table the very next day.
against his will, hanbin’s walls soften around you, melting like they were never carved out of stone.
“this is my pet,” you say, pointing towards a small… plant? of course, hanbin knew you were eccentric.
it’s week six of… whatever the hell this is. friendship? closeness? emotional sabotage? hanbin is sitting in your small, cozy apartment, his back leaning against the side of your bed.
for someone who lives in a thirty-story high-rise apartment building, your place is surprisingly well-kept, and your neighbors are nice—a detail hanbin couldn’t relate to. he lives in a condo, and his neighbors are stuck-up pricks at best.
his neighbor’s dog also pisses on his doormat because the dumb bitch just could.
in three months, he knew about you more than he should. you are eccentric. beneath those shy eyes, you are a fierce, sharp-tongued brat.
if he thought being your senior would earn him respect, he was terribly, terribly fucking mistaken. your sharp, out-of-pocket responses often leave him gaping. though taerae and matthew absolutely worship you and your homemade lunchboxes.
hanbin couldn’t believe those two dropped their loyalty to him because of your cooking.
traitors. he should’ve known his friends could be swayed by very little.
now, there are so many things he knows about you:
• you have a three "headed" pet cactus named dugtrio. best part is that it started as a single "head” called diglett. hanbin was admittedly impressed about the obvious reason to change its name. • you have a massive sweet tooth. • you cry during titanic, too. • you have a knack for collecting those creepy anime figurines and ridiculously large band t-shirts. • your favorite food is gyudon. • your favorite dresses to wear during summer are floral-print sundresses. • you love going on picnics. • you hate winter because you catch colds easily. • you are afraid of bugs. • you like three pumps of hazelnut in your coffee.
simple enough, except it is not. not for someone like hanbin, who is so used to preserving his peace and running away from getting deeply attached.
it’s another day at the office when hanbin sees you walking towards the elevators, your bag slung over your shoulder. you are wearing a white sundress with blue floral prints. the fabric looks light and soft, and the way it wraps around your body makes hanbin’s fingers itch.
now, he wouldn’t mind being holed up inside an elevator with you. he never takes the elevator with you—not when it’s only the two of you. however, he saw one of his colleagues—yang minho—and he knew he couldn’t let you deal with that guy’s strangeness alone.
he wasn’t a bad guy, but hanbin definitely does not want his grubby hands to even brush against you. so, he fastens his pace, slipping an arm between the elevator doors to stop them from closing.
thank god the doors didn’t close on his fucking arm. the last thing he needed was to have a witness while he loses his dignity.
he notices how your eyes widen before the corners of your lips curve into a bright smile. and, as shameful as it is to admit, hanbin couldn’t deny he had started developing a strange fondness for you.
“morning,” he grumbles, the back of his neck feeling far too hot for his liking.
beside him, you chirp out your greeting, “morning, hanbin!”
hanbin huffs, pressing the button for the seventeenth and thirty-first floors. from across him, minho offers him a sly smile, as if he knows something hanbin doesn’t.
“hanbin, how’s your hand?” your voice, tinged with barely hidden concern, pulls him out of his thoughts.
“hm?” he leans down slightly, brows furrowed in confusion before he realizes what you’re asking about. his hand—the one he burned after arrogantly claiming that he could cook—makes his ears turn red as the memory of him embarrassing himself in front of you surfaces.
“i—it’s fine,” he responds, tugging at his tie to loosen it a little.
fuck, the accident wasn’t his fault. it had been completely yours. you were standing too close, the scent of your shampoo and sweet perfume was too distracting. then you had to go ahead and touch him, albeit innocently, but it had been enough to rattle his entire system.
hanbin truly hates the way you affect him. he couldn’t even remember when it started, but one day you were all around him. under his skin, on his couch, in his car—you’re choking him. you’ve had him in a chokehold since the day he saw you; he was just too much of an idiot to notice until it was too late.
as hanbin leans against the wall of the elevator, he feels your shoulder brushing against his arm. he is far too aware of your presence, his senses heightened by your proximity. but he doesn’t get to dwell on those straying thoughts when the doors of the elevator open on the sixth floor, and dozens of people enter.
hanbin and you are pushed to the very back, and minho ends up right in front of you. usually, he wouldn’t care for anyone else if they were being cornered in a crowded elevator. but it isn’t anyone else—it’s you. so, before minho’s filthy hands can touch you, excused as an accident, hanbin slips between them, pushing you further against the cool wall of the elevator.
his arm comes to rest above your head to keep himself from pressing his entire weight against you. hanbin watches you flinch, your speech stuttering, eyes wide like a fawn’s. he doesn’t comment, simply leaning his head down until his forehead presses against the crown of your head. the scent of your shampoo wafts in the air—sweet and floral, like meadows bathed in sunlight.
he sighs, his hand balled into a tight fist. god damn you, why do you have to make him feel like this? three months is not enough time to fall for someone—not for someone like him.
someone who doesn’t deserve this kind of sweetness in his life. and that thought terrifies him. he is unfamiliar with this sort of intimacy, where touch isn’t even required. just silent understanding and a presence that is too stubborn to move.
“you,” he breathes out, voice low enough only for you to hear, “what are you doing to me?”
it was a rhetorical question. hanbin knows exactly what you’re doing to him, even if you claim not to understand your effect on him.
it’s the alien intimacy, the urge to just… just be with you that terrifies him.
hanbin is used to fast-paced scenes. he’s used to bodies tangled in fleeting passion, quick and forgettable. he’s used to attraction, release as per his body’s need. but what he isn’t used to is gentleness. this foreign sweetness—that is so you.
you don’t make him want to take you to his bed. no. you make him want to just look at you, to understand you, be with you without touching you, as if you are a piece of art he’d ruin with a single hand.
he’s never cared to learn someone’s smallest quirks. never noticed how anyone speaks, or if they pause mid-sentence when they’re shy. but you? he memorizes everything. but here he is—doing everything he never saw himself doing. if someone told him that he’d fall for someone like you, he’d have punched them before asking the source of their nonsense.
“i…i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper, your voice so quiet and soft, and hanbin wants…
he could feel the warmth of your body, soft against the hard planes of his muscles, the gentle caress of your breath against his neck.
god fucking damn it.
“fuck it—” just as hanbin is about to do something reckless, like kiss you or lay his heart bare in a fucking elevator of all places, their small bubble is rudely popped by someone.
…yang fucking minho.
and then—minho taps his ass, as if that piece of shit hadn’t realized it’s hanbin he’s touching.
a goddamn cockblock. but hanbin is glad minho did that; otherwise, he’d have confessed in an elevator like some lovesick fool. or worse.
annoyed, hanbin pushes himself away from you, though the cramped space doesn’t allow him to go far. reaching behind, he grabs minho’s hand, a disappointing sigh leaving his lips.
“that’s my ass you’re touching,” hanbin deadpans, and suddenly the entire elevator falls dead silent. he slaps his hand away, rolling his eyes. “learn the difference between a man’s and a woman’s butt.”
minho’s face turns red in an instant, his eyes widening in horror as if he has now come to an abhorrent realization.
you, on the other hand, are still pressed against the elevator wall, your shoulders trembling as if the moment a few seconds ago never happened.
“s—sir!” minho sputters as the doors slide open on the seventeenth floor.
hanbin’s gaze flickers over to you, and he tilts his head to the side, gesturing for you to get out. you offer him a smile that’s far too cheerful for hanbin’s mood, but he doesn’t say anything and nods in acknowledgment. as you move past him, your hand brushes over the underside of his wrist. he knows it’s not an accident—he saw the way your fingers hesitated before making contact with his skin.
however, that doesn’t stop him from feeling his skin burn from that single touch. as you step out of the elevator and the doors close behind you, he is left to stare at the empty space, while a flustered minho stammers out apologies.
oh, what a fucking day.
as he gets off on the thirty-first floor, minho follows him like an obedient puppy, his dark hair only making the flush on his ears and cheeks stand out more. hanbin stops mid-step, and minho nearly crashes into his back.
“next time i see you pulling things like that,” hanbin starts, turning to face minho with a disapproving scowl, “i’ll put you through a door, understood?”
minho nods, keeping his head down to avoid hanbin’s hard gaze. the day hasn’t even started, and hanbin feels a headache growing just behind his eyes.
sighing, he rubs his forehead. “if you understand, then go finish your article and bring it to my office, okay?”
another nod, and minho scrambles like his ass is on fire.
hanbin watches him for a second, then turns to walk over to the huge glass windows, the city skyline as alive as ever. grey clouds move over the city like a blanket of smoke, and he wonders if it’ll rain. all he knows is that this is going to be a long, torturous day.
true to his speculation, hanbin never got the chance to have his lunch. matthew, taerae, and you texted him, but he hadn’t responded. some files and progress reports on the company’s products were missing, and despite it not being entirely hanbin’s responsibility, he knew the chief operating officer would come after his ass because he’s the head of the editorial department.
it’s close to six in the evening when he gets a text from matthew—a simple invitation: movie night at your place. hanbin pinches the bridge of his nose, grabs his coat from the small couch pushed against the wall beside the large windows, and leaves his office.
his fingers move across his keyboard, typing a message—not for matthew, but you. it sounds more like an order when hanbin sends it: meet me at the parking lot. we’re leaving together.
hanbin passes a very focused yang minho on his way to the elevator, who, upon seeing him, stands up hastily, almost knocking over his chair.
“sir—!” hanbin pauses, looking over his shoulder toward minho and raising a single, questioning eyebrow. “i arranged the files and informed our team to be ready for a presentation tomorrow!”
by the way minho is speaking—like a trained soldier—hanbin half expects him to throw a salute. instead of responding verbally, hanbin nods, amusement flashing in his dark eyes.
“you’re a good boy, aren’t you?” hanbin drawls, pressing the button for the elevator. his amusement mounts as minho grows visibly flustered and turns back around to fix his table nervously. shaking his head, hanbin looks back at the small screen as he waits. after a few seconds of silence, he adds, “you can take a day off, yeah?”
he doesn’t bother looking back at the flustered boy as the elevator doors slide open. hanbin steps inside and presses the button for the ground floor. he distantly catches a loud, albeit nervous, “really?!” as the doors close.
hanbin will have to text minho later to assure him. in all honesty, he only took minho in his team because the boy is easy to rile up. he is perhaps the same age as you, which really explains his efforts to make friends with you. hanbin just hopes he won’t pull anything weird, or he’d have to fire his ass.
as the elevator descends, hanbin slumps against the wall, exhausted, his head hanging low. the stiffness in his back nags at him—subtle but irritating. for someone used to standing strong—or at least pretending to—he’s been feeling a little too vulnerable lately. it’s a weakness he wouldn’t dare admit to himself, let alone anyone else.
the elevator halts at the ground floor with a soft ding, and hanbin steps out. his eyes scan the underground parking lot, searching for any sign of you. it doesn’t take him long to find you. you’re standing right in front of his black honda civic type-r, your hair pulled up, skin slightly dewy under the dim lights.
an irrational thought slips into his head, whispering a compliment he doesn’t dare to voice.
you’re ethereal. especially in that damned sundress.
you notice him before he can even speak, your gaze lifting to meet his as his footsteps falter to a stop in front of you.
“oh,” the word leaves your lips in a soft breath, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of your mouth—sweet, yet knowing. it makes something twist deep in his chest. “you’re here.”
it’s a simple acknowledgment, but it lands heavier than it should. there’s something beneath it—a warmth, a familiarity—that coils through the silence between you. hanbin’s chest tightens, not from unease but from that slow, maddening spark that always seems to ignite when you’re near.
“yeah,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, adam’s apple dipping as he swallows hard. his eyes don’t leave yours. “i’m here.”
his gaze flickers away from you, a stubborn heat creeping up his neck. being this close feels too intimate, too much for his non-committing self.
hanbin steps back, tilting his head toward the car. “let’s go,” he mutters, clearing his throat with forced casualness. he hesitates for a heartbeat before moving to open the passenger door for you. his dark eyes catch a small, nearly invisible scratch on his car; his ears burn red with embarrassment.
fuck, why can’t he act normal?
once you slide inside, hanbin shuts the door gently and rounds the car to slip behind the wheel.
clicking his seatbelt into place, he starts the engine and glances at you. “do you need anything before we head home?” he asks, pulling the car out of the parking lot and onto the bustling night streets.
you hum thoughtfully, eyes flickering to the passing scenery, the city lights passing by in a fluorescent blur. “would you mind if we make a small stop at the bakery?” you turn to look back at him, and for a brief second, you think you saw his grip tightening around the steering wheel, leather creaking under his fingers.
after a second, he exhales, then shakes his head. “not at all,” he responds.
the drive to the bakery takes less than five minutes, the silence inside the car interrupted by the screeching of tires. hanbin gets out first, rounds the car to open your door before your fingers can even brush the handle. it startles you, but you step out with a warmth creeping on your cheeks.
inside the bakery, it’s warm. the sound of ceramic dishes clinking together fills the air, an old, eighties song playing over the brown radio placed on a wooden rack. the scent of sweets hits you as soon as you step inside, hanbin hovering behind you closely. he guides you towards the counter, a hand resting comfortably on the small of your back.
as you busy yourself with choosing the pastries, hanbin merely watches you, his expression soft. the exhaustion from earlier melted into something tender—adoration, and a sense of unease. he knows he shouldn’t feel stupidly jealous when someone tries to hit on you. you two weren’t even dating. hell, you probably don’t even like him like that, but fuck it—the second he saw a sleazy dude standing a little too close to comfort and murmuring something, he acted before thinking, and in a blink, he is squeezing into the small space between you and that guy, his back facing you as he glares at the dude. “she’s fine,” he grumbles, eyes narrowing, “you might wanna step back.”
that sleazy guy glared at him in return, but stepped back nonetheless. as the guy leaves, hanbin’s shoulders slump a little. he turns to look at you, his heart giving a treacherous leap when he finds you staring back at him.
“he…he didn’t touch you, right?” he asks, feeling his face heating up a little. you only offer him a nod, lips curving in a soft smile before you turn to place your order. when your order was packed, hanbin paid for it, claiming that it’d be his treat.
the drive back to your place is mostly silent—disturbed only by the song playing on the radio and your occasional humming. hanbin keeps stealing glances at you, his body relaxed and expressions serene. he almost forgets when was the last time he felt so…calm in someone else’s presence.
once in your apartment, you change into something comfortable—a loose t-shirt and cotton shorts. when you walk into the living room, you find hanbin taking out the snacks and blankets.
a text from taerae lit your phone, reading: we’ll be a little late. matt’s girlfriend is throwing a fit. literally.
you respond with a simple reassurance. you’ve met his girlfriend once, and she’s extremely kind—though she keeps matthew on his toes. she has joined you for movie nights, even offered to arrange them at her place, but her schedule leaves her little to no time.
“taerae said they’d be a little late,” you tell hanbin, walking over to help him puff up the pillows.
hanbin offers you a small nod of acknowledgment. his tie is already loose, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suit jacket hung neatly on the hanger as if it’s always belonged there. the two of you move around the kitchen, preparing snacks and a light dinner in easy silence.
under the butterscotch glow of the kitchen light, you’re plating kimbap rolls while hanbin arranges the desserts. the quiet stretches until you speak, voice low and teasing.
“you were weirdly heroic,” you say, noticing the subtle clench of his jaw, the twitch of a muscle in his cheek. “back at the bakery, y’know?”
“are you sick, hanbin?” taerae asks, and from the corner of his eye, hanbin notices you turn to look at him too. “your face is all red.”
before he can respond, matthew’s girlfriend chimes in from where she’s perched on his lap. “he’s probably frying in shame. you know how easily he embarrasses himself.”
hanbin bristles, narrowing his eyes at her.
she giggles, slumping further into matthew’s hold. she’s like a wildcat, and hanbin can’t help but wonder what matthew even sees in her.
as the room quiets, broken only by the movie’s dialogue, hanbin shifts closer to you—subtly. or at least, he tries to be subtle. his hand brushes against yours, and for the first time, he doesn’t pull away. instead, he threads his fingers through yours, holding on softly but sure.
hours slip by, the laughter fading until the room is bathed in the pale glow of the ending credits. hanbin leans back against the couch, eyelids heavy, but when you glance over, his gaze is already on you.
the silence between you feels different now—not tense or uncertain, but easy, full of something neither of you can name.
your friends are already half-asleep—taerae curled up in a fetal position with a baby blue blanket wrapped around him, while matthew and his girlfriend are doze off, tangled together on the couch.
you rise from the floor, gathering empty dishes and snack wrappers to carry into the kitchen. hanbin stays behind for a moment, pulling a blanket over matthew and his girlfriend, ever aware of his friend’s fragile immune system. then he joins you.
neither of you speak as you work side by side—you washing the dishes, him drying and stacking them neatly on the rack. the silence is comfortable, filled only with the low hum of the tv and the distant sounds of the night city.
“about earlier,” you say quietly, and you can feel him tense beside you.
the dish slips a little in your soapy hands; you rinse it, setting it gently on the rack before looking over at him. hanbin’s still holding the towel, frozen mid-motion, eyes fixed on the sink as if it can save him.
you take a small breath, voice barely above a whisper. “i like you too, if you’ve been wondering.”
he blinks, shoulders relaxing as the words sink in. the corner of his mouth curves up slowly, almost shyly, before a soft laugh leaves him—relieved and disbelieving. he sets the towel down and leans against the counter, watching you with that boyish grin you haven’t seen in a while.
“yeah?” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “then maybe i can finally ask—go out with me? a real date this time. a picnic and dinner, not just takeout and friends.”
you smile, the warmth of his words sinking deep. “i’d like that.”
for a moment, neither of you move. the city hums beyond the window, the faint flicker of the tv painting both your faces in blue light. hanbin lets out a quiet sigh and reaches over to wipe soap that had somehow managed to get on your cheek.
“saturday, then,” he says, voice low and certain.
you nod, heart light. “saturday.”
he lingers a little longer before stepping back, turning off the kitchen light. the two of you head toward the living room, the soft glow of the screen guiding your way. taerae’s already snoring, matthew and his girlfriend murmuring in their sleep, the smell of butter and sugar still hanging in the air.
as you settle down to sleep in the living room, surrounded by the people you’ve come to cherish, you couldn’t help the smile curving on your lips. it’s idiotic at best, but you couldn’t help it—and by the looks of it, neither can he.
when you fall asleep, huddled by the foot of the couch, hanbin’s hand finds yours under the blanket. before you could fully go out, you feel the warmth of his lips on your temple.
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