Chapter 4: A Morning After
The chime of his phone was a dull throb against the pleasant haze in Donghae’s head. He fumbled for it on the nightstand, the screen’s light painful in the dim morning room. It was 8:17 AM.
A text from Hyukjae.
His heart performed a clumsy somersault. He tapped it open.
Hyukjae: Breakfast? I’m outside.
Donghae bolted upright. He scrambled to the window, peeling back the corner of the curtain. Parked at the curb was Hyukjae’s familiar sedan. Hyukjae himself was leaning against the driver’s side door, head down, looking at his phone. He wore a simple grey hoodie and jeans. The early Saturday sun gilded the edges of his hair.
Donghae’s fingers flew over the screen.
Donghae: Outside my building? Give me 2 minutes. Don’t leave.
He didn’t wait for a reply. He stumbled to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, finger-combed his hopeless hair, and threw on the first clean sweatshirt he found. He smelled the air in his apartment – it smelled of sleep and quiet. Nothing embarrassing. He took a steadying breath and went to the door.
Hyukjae was waiting in the hallway, holding a cardboard tray with two takeout coffees and a small, grease-spotted paper bag. The scent of fresh pastry and dark roast cut through the building’s generic smell. He looked up as the door opened, and a flicker of something vulnerable crossed his face before it settled into a soft smile.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Donghae hugged his arms around himself, suddenly aware of his bare feet and rumpled pajama pants beneath his sweats. “You’re… here.”
“I was driving. Ended up here.” Hyukjae shrugged, a single shoulder lifting. “I brought bribes.” He offered the tray.
Donghae stepped back to let him in. Hyukjae’s presence filled the small entryway, the scent of him—clean cotton and that morning-sharp edge of his cologne—mixing with the coffee smell. It was disarmingly domestic.
They moved to the kitchen. Donghae gestured vaguely. “Um, make yourself… you know.” He busied himself getting plates, his movements slightly too fast.
Hyukjae set the coffees on the island and unpacked the bag: two perfect, flaky almond croissants, still warm.
“I remembered you liked almonds,” Hyukjae said, not looking at him, focusing on arranging the pastries on the plates Donghae provided.
“From the cookie at the lesson.” Donghae remembered. The detail lodged itself in his chest, warm and sharp.
They sat at the small table by the window. Their knees brushed underneath it. Neither moved away.
Hyukjae took a long drink of his coffee. “I didn’t sleep much.”
“Oh.”
“Kept replaying it. The walk. The… everything.” He finally met Donghae’s eyes. “Wanted to make sure I didn’t dream the last part.”
The memory of the kiss, of Hyukjae’s hands on his face, flooded back with cinematic clarity. Donghae felt his scent sweeten, that omega response of pure happiness he could never fully control. He saw Hyukjae’s nostrils flare, just a little, and the alpha’s shoulders loosened an inch.
“Not a dream,” Donghae said, his voice quieter than he intended.
“Good.” Hyukjae picked at his croissant. “So. Today. Jisung is at a friend’s until four.”
The unspoken question hung between them. Donghae felt a thrill, but also a pang of something else. A date with just Hyukjae was one thing. It existed in a separate, new bubble. Bringing Jisung into it changed the geometry entirely.
“I have a student at one,” Donghae said. “Just an hour.”
Hyukjae nodded. He was silent for a long moment, studying the flaky layers of his pastry. “He asked about you this morning. Before he left.”
“He did?”
“Mhm. Wanted to know if Mr. Lee liked dinosaurs, because he has a book he thinks is too babyish for him now, but maybe a teacher would want it.” A fond, exasperated smile touched Hyukjae’s lips. “It’s his version of diplomacy.”
Donghae laughed, the sound easing the last of the morning’s tension. “I would be honored to receive his dinosaur book.”
Hyukjae’s smile faded into something more contemplative. He looked out the window at the sleepy street. “I was thinking. Maybe… this weekend. If you’re free. We could do something. The three of us.”
The words were careful, measured. They weren’t a casual suggestion. They were a test bridge, built over a canyon of past failures and fierce, protective love.
Donghae understood the weight of it. This wasn’t just an alpha asking an omega on a date. This was a father introducing a potential piece into the fragile, sacred puzzle of his son’s life. The trust implied was staggering.
He thought of Jisung’s serious little face concentrating on middle C. Of his bright, unguarded laugh. Of the way Hyukjae watched him, a universe of devotion in a single glance.
“What did you have in mind?” Donghae asked softly.
Hyukjae turned back to him, relief softening the tightness around his eyes. “There’s a good science museum. He’s been begging to go. Lots of buttons to push. Might be loud.”
“I like loud. When it’s the good kind of loud.”
“It’s a date, then,” Hyukjae said. Then he blinked. “A… trio date. A platonic outing with romantic undertones for two-thirds of the participants.”
Donghae choked on his coffee. “That’s the worst way I’ve ever heard that described.”
“I’m an architect. I define parameters.” Hyukjae’s grin was quick, a little crooked, and it made him look years younger. “It’s a thing. We’ll do the thing. Tomorrow. If that works.”
“It works.”
They finished their breakfast in a more comfortable quiet, the coffee warming them. The conversation drifted—Donghae’s student coming up, Hyukjae’s deadline on a commercial project. It was easy. It felt real.
When they were done, Hyukjae stood and took the plates to the sink. He washed them with an efficiency that spoke of single parenthood. Donghae watched him, the line of his back, the sure movements of his hands.
Drying his hands on a towel, Hyukjae turned. “I should let you get ready for your student.”
“Yeah.” Donghae didn’t move.
Hyukjae crossed the short distance. He didn’t reach for a kiss. Instead, he tucked a stray piece of Donghae’s hair behind his ear, his fingers lingering for a heartbeat on the curve of his jaw. The touch was so tender it stole Donghae’s breath.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at ten?” Hyukjae murmured.
“Okay.”
Hyukjae’s thumb swept once, gently, over Donghae’s cheekbone—a silent callback to the night before. Then he smiled, a small, private thing, and headed for the door.
“Hyukjae.”
He turned.
“Thank you for breakfast,” Donghae said. “For… driving here.”
Hyukjae just nodded, his eyes warm. “See you tomorrow.”
The door clicked shut. Donghae leaned against the kitchen island. The apartment was silent again, but different. It held the echo of a deep voice, the ghost of a touch on his face, the sweet, buttery scent of pastries and promise.
He looked at the now-empty table where their knees had touched. Tomorrow, there would be a third chair, figuratively and literally. The thought didn’t scare him. It felt like the first right chord in a piece of music he’d been trying to play by ear for years—a chord that finally told him where the melody was meant to go.