Chapter Text
The gala was hours away.
The kind of evening that loomed more than it approached - its arrival like a slow inhale waiting to break. Outside, the city glittered. Inside, everything waited.
Zen stood in front of the guest bathroom mirror in Jumin’s apartment, tying and untying the same damn tie for the third time.
It wasn’t nerves.
He just wanted it to look good.
That was all.
The door opened behind him.
"You’re early," Zen said without turning.
Jumin’s voice was calm. "I live here."
Zen scoffed, shaking his head, then turned to face him.
Jumin was already in his shirt and dress pants, sleeves rolled neatly up to the elbow, collar still open. A dark vest hung over his forearm. The jacket lay on the bed behind him. There was a calm in the room that felt intentional—constructed.
"You’re not dressed," Zen pointed out.
"I was waiting."
"For me?"
Jumin raised an eyebrow. "Would it be strange?"
Zen didn’t answer that. He just went back to the mirror.
After a pause, Jumin walked over and reached for Zen’s tie. "You’re doing it wrong."
"I know how to tie a tie."
"You’ve redone it three times."
Zen stepped back. "Are you watching me?"
"You were in front of the mirror. It’s not exactly covert."
Jumin took the silk fabric from his hands, and—without asking—began to fix it himself.
Zen didn’t move.
Jumin’s fingers were steady. Gentle.
He didn’t look at Zen while he worked, but Zen looked at him. Watched the little furrow between his brows. The slight tilt of his head. The way his hands didn’t shake.
"You’re really doing all this," Zen said quietly.
Jumin hummed. "Doing what?"
"The gala. The suit. The date. The... act."
Jumin didn’t stop tying. "It’s not an act."
Zen swallowed.
A long pause.
"Your pulse is faster," Jumin said.
Zen blinked. "Are you—measuring my pulse?"
"I’m standing right here. It’s observable."
Zen looked away. "Maybe I’m just irritated."
"Maybe."
He finished the knot, adjusted the collar gently.
Zen didn’t step back.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was... thick. Weighted.
Like something was hanging in the air between them, waiting to drop.
Zen spoke first.
"This is the part where I tell you not to make it weird."
Jumin met his gaze. "Are you planning to?"
Zen forced a laugh. "Please. You’re the one who makes eye contact like it’s foreplay."
Jumin tilted his head. "Would you like it to be?"
The room went very, very still.
Zen’s breath caught.
Then Jumin turned away.
"I’m going to finish getting dressed," he said.
Zen stared at the spot he’d just been standing in, heart thudding.
He told himself it was the suit. The nerves. The pressure.
It wasn’t anything else.
Couldn’t be.
The ride to the gala was quiet.
They sat in the back of Jumin’s car, the city lights flickering across their faces like passing thoughts. Zen stared out the window. Jumin watched him in the glass.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Something had changed.
It hadn’t broken.
Not yet.
But it was bending.
[RFA Chatroom – 6:52 PM]
Yoosung:
They’re LATE
I can’t believe they’re making an entrance
707:
they’re probably touching each other’s cufflinks right now 😏
Jaehee:
Please stop.
707:
no lol
Jaehee:
I swear if they make this gala about them I’m going to spike the champagne.
Yoosung:
Do it
707:
Do it for the lore
The car pulled up in front of the venue. Flashbulbs popped from a safe distance—no press inside, of course. Just elegance and noise and the weight of expectation.
Jumin stepped out first, offering a hand.
Zen hesitated.
Then took it.
For balance.
Nothing else.
Their fingers brushed longer than they needed to.
The cameras didn’t catch it.
But they felt it.
Inside, the ballroom was lit like starlight—white and gold and endless glass. Strings played in the corner. Laughter sparkled like champagne in the air.
Jumin moved like he belonged.
Zen moved like he didn’t care.
They walked together.
Side by side.
Two magnets still pretending not to notice they’re aligned.
They lingered at the edge of the room while servers passed with silver trays and tiny champagne flutes. Zen grabbed one, took a sip, barely tasted it.
Jumin was speaking to someone across the room—a potential investor, probably, all silk and strategy. Zen watched him with the practiced ease of someone who had spent a long time pretending not to.
Jumin’s smile was polite. Not warm. Not like before.
Zen looked away.
"You two make quite the pair tonight."
Zen turned. Jaehee was beside him, a glass in hand, looking far too amused.
"Don’t start," he said.
"I didn’t say anything."
"You looked something."
Jaehee smiled. "So. Is it still just practice?"
Zen didn’t answer.
Jaehee didn’t press.
But she stayed with him for the next ten minutes, standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the room like it was a battlefield.
When Jumin returned, she excused herself.
Zen raised his glass. "Have fun charming the sharks?"
"Necessary. Not enjoyable."
"Sounds like most of your life."
Jumin glanced at him. "And yet you showed up for it."
Zen didn’t smile. Not fully. "Guess I’m getting used to strange things."
They stood in the center of it all, the gala spinning around them, music and light and noise blurring at the edges.
Zen stepped closer. Barely.
Jumin noticed.
He always noticed.
Neither of them said anything else for a long time.
But something was waiting.
Tonight wouldn’t end clean.
Not for either of them.
Not anymore.
To be continued...