Ship/Member: Joshua/Minghao Major Tags: office au, boss/secretary Additional Tags: none but i'm sorry it came out so much sluttier than you asked for asasdafj Permission to remix: yes
***
Truthfully, Joshua hates events like this. It’s fine when he’s trailing along behind Minghao as he makes his rounds, nodding polite greetings and then hovering on the edge of the conversations that follow. But there’s always a point where he starts to feel like an imposition, just standing there smiling without contributing anything, and the moment he politely backs off the awkwardness always slams into him in a wave.
Tonight he’s hovering close to the bar, using it as cover even though he isn’t actually drinking, casting his eyes around the room to try to find his best option.
There’s always Mingyu — chatting cheerfully with a group of older women as he undoubtedly waits for Jeonghan’s signal, at which point he will swoop in with some excuse or other so Jeonghan can leave early. Joshua’s halfway through heaving out a sigh, thinking about how much of Mingyu’s inane chatter he’ll have to put up with only for Mingyu to inevitably ditch him, when one of the lawyers from the floor below sidles up with clear intent in his eye.
Joshua sighs again.
The Can I get you a drink? is as expected as it is unwelcome, and Joshua smiles blandly at him as he shakes his head in what he hopes is a manner that seems at least slightly apologetic.
“I’m not drinking tonight, sorry,” he says, polite but giving him nothing else, and that’s when it starts to get uncomfortable. The other man — over forty, flushed and stretched at the seams in the particular way that signals a life of excess — snorts, his feigned friendliness giving way to something uglier.
“Figures,” he says, and Joshua’s expression freezes on his face, a rigid plastic smile. “The kind of man who serves another man for a living….” he laughs as he trails off, clearly expecting Joshua to laugh along at a joke made at his own expense.
The worst part isn’t the look on his face, or the sound of his laughter.
The worst part is that Joshua does it, even as disgust washes over him — forces a smile, a few brittle “ha”s as discomfort washes over him in waves, wishing desperately he was almost anywhere else in the room. He should have just gone over to talk to Mingyu instead of being such a bitch about it — Mingyu would stand up for Joshua, no question, which makes Joshua feel a little shitty about how uncharitably he was just thinking about him.
Only a little, though.
Joshua’s still flustered, so focused on trying to think of an out that he doesn’t even notice Minghao’s presence until he’s right next to him, one hand touching lightly at Joshua’s back.
“What was that?”
Minghao’s question isn’t aggressive. There’s a challenging glint in his eye, though, even if there’s nothing but curiosity in his tone. If Joshua didn’t know better he might still think it was only that he didn’t hear the other man properly.
He does know better, though. A shiver runs down his spine before he can stop it.
The other man’s eyes flick to Minghao, then back to Joshua. A thrill of daring runs through Joshua and he holds the man’s stare, his earlier polite smile long gone, until the other man is forced to look away first.
Joshua’s shoulders straighten.
“Nothing,” the other man says to Minghao, another laugh accompanying his words — a little uneasier now, Joshua thinks, or maybe that’s just what he wants to hear.
“Figures,” Minghao says, smiling coolly. Joshua holds himself very still, waiting, but Minghao doesn’t say anything more, holding the smile until the other man excuses himself to walk away and then letting it drop immediately.
Joshua still doesn’t move, even as Minghao turns to look at him. Embarrassment starts to wash over him, making him feel sick and small. He doesn’t want to know what Minghao thinks of him.
Minghao, who’s still looking at him, gaze narrow and focused. Joshua hates when he does that — or, well. He hates that he doesn't hate it, not totally. There's something weirdly compelling about the idea that Minghao likes what he's seeing — Joshua likes being looked at, usually, when it's Minghao.
Sometimes he even lets himself look back.
He doesn’t like it now. He coughs a little, looking towards his feet, and Minghao makes a tiny sound — concern, maybe, or frustration. If Joshua could make himself check Minghao's face he'd be able to tell.
He can't, though. So.
“Let's go,” Minghao says quietly, finally, and that’s enough to shock Joshua into looking up. He blinks at Minghao for a moment, mouth parted, trying to figure out the look on his face. There's no irritation there, none at all, which only leaves concern.
Joshua's cheeks heat.
“You don't have to do that,” he says. “If you aren't ready — ”
“I'm ready,” Minghao cuts him off firmly. “There's nothing important for me here.”
Joshua honestly doesn't know what to say to that. If he was braver he would ask, maybe. Am I important? Am I important to you? But even the thought of it makes him cringe, ears burning to match his cheeks.
“Okay,” he forces out, proud of how steady his voice sounds. The two of them are still staring at each other. “Do you need me to call you a car?”
“We can just take a taxi,” Minghao says, the we throwing Joshua for another loop. He doesn't know what to do with any of this.
“Okay,” he says again, uselessly, before he takes a breath and forces himself together. “I'll get our coats.”
It's colder than he expected when they get outside and Joshua fights back a shiver as a gust of wind hits. His padded coat isn't formal so he's wearing a pea coat instead, suitable for the event but not the weather. Minghao looks over at him and frowns, hands pausing where they'd been fixing his own scarf.
“Is that all you wore?” he asks, nodding towards Joshua's coat. Joshua slides his freezing hands into his pockets and shrugs, offering Minghao a smile. The wind whips against his face, no doubt turning his nose an unattractive red.
“I'm fine,” he lies, just as another gust of wind hits and a shudder wracks through him. He tries to force his body still but he still feels shaky from the confrontation inside, embarrassingly, and it's harder than he'd like to hide it — especially from Minghao, whose sharp eyes seem to catch everything.
Sure enough —
“You’re cold,” Minghao says, frowning, craning his neck towards the road as though he can make a taxi materialize out of nowhere. “You’ll get sick.”
Joshua fights back a snort, coming closer to peer down the street along with Minghao. He hasn't gotten sick in years — not since before he even started working here, he's pretty sure. He takes all the herbal medicine his mom sends him and gets a flu shot every year, and he stopped drinking on work nights about three weeks after he took the job. Sure, he has a tension headache nearly every day and an anxiety stomachache every time he has to attend an event, but that’s nothing. Part of the job, that’s all.
There aren’t any taxis on the road.
“I’ll call one,” Joshua says, pulling out his phone and navigating to the app, putting in the request for Minghao’s apartment first without thinking about it. Minghao watches him do it, silent. “Seven minutes,” Joshua says, tilting the screen so he can see it better, switching the phone to one hand so he can slip the other one back into his pocket. It really is so cold.
“Here,” Minghao says suddenly, voice familiar and soft, and Joshua tears his eyes from the phone screen to find Minghao untying his scarf with brisk intention. An awkward laugh bubbles up from his throat, only a little panicked.
“You don’t have to — ” he tries, but Minghao shuts him down with a stern glare, softened by the little smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. Joshua laughs and shuts up, lets Minghao come closer and wrap the fabric around his neck. It’s soft, which he guesses he should expect, given what Minghao paid for it. Minghao’s hands are confident as he arranges the scarf to lie the way he wants, apparently just as comfortable fixing it for someone else as he is when he does it for himself.
He smells good, this close. Joshua tries very hard not to notice.
“You have to take care of yourself,” Minghao says as he finishes, offering one firm pat to Joshua’s chest before he pulls his hands back.
“Thanks,” Joshua says weakly, tearing his gaze away to look down at the phone in his hand just to give himself something to do. Four minutes.
Minghao doesn’t say anything else as they wait for the taxi, seemingly content to wait in silence. The inside of Joshua’s brain feels like a riot, thoughts flinging themselves against each other even as he holds his body perfectly still. He doesn’t quite understand where all this is coming from. It’s his job to worry about what Minghao does, obviously, and he knows he’s good at it — probably because he spends his entire life worrying about everything.
It’s only supposed to go one way, though. Minghao isn’t supposed to worry about him, too. Minghao isn’t supposed to leave the party for him, isn’t supposed to —
The taxi pulls up. Joshua opens the door to let Minghao slide in first, both of them silent as the car glides through one green light, and then another, and then —
“You don’t always have to be so polite,” Minghao says quietly, eyes focused out the window. Joshua’s stomach lurches and he doesn’t say anything. Minghao turns to him, then, their eyes meeting for a split second before Joshua’s drop to his knees.
“I mean it,” Minghao says as he reaches for Joshua’s kneecap, the touch impossible to ignore. “No one should ever say something like that about you. You don’t have to let them.”
I didn’t let him, Joshua opens his mouth to say, but it dies before he can force it out. Minghao would see through the lie, anyway.
I won’t do it again, Joshua could say, but Minghao would see through that, too. He keeps his mouth shut, instead, and doesn’t move Minghao’s hand from his knee.
The taxi driver takes a left at the next light — they’re almost there.
The air between them feels tight, nearly electric, as Joshua lets his knees open a little, until Minghao’s gripping his thigh for real. He can feel Minghao’s gaze, hot against the side of his face. His scarf is still warm around Joshua’s neck.
“Joshua,” Minghao says, very quietly, as the taxi pulls to a stop in front of the building. Joshua meets his eyes without flinching, knowing exactly what kind of man it makes him.
[FILLL] what’s wrong with secretary josh?
Major Tags: office au, boss/secretary
Additional Tags: none but i'm sorry it came out so much sluttier than you asked for asasdafj
Permission to remix: yes
***
Truthfully, Joshua hates events like this. It’s fine when he’s trailing along behind Minghao as he makes his rounds, nodding polite greetings and then hovering on the edge of the conversations that follow. But there’s always a point where he starts to feel like an imposition, just standing there smiling without contributing anything, and the moment he politely backs off the awkwardness always slams into him in a wave.
Tonight he’s hovering close to the bar, using it as cover even though he isn’t actually drinking, casting his eyes around the room to try to find his best option.
There’s always Mingyu — chatting cheerfully with a group of older women as he undoubtedly waits for Jeonghan’s signal, at which point he will swoop in with some excuse or other so Jeonghan can leave early. Joshua’s halfway through heaving out a sigh, thinking about how much of Mingyu’s inane chatter he’ll have to put up with only for Mingyu to inevitably ditch him, when one of the lawyers from the floor below sidles up with clear intent in his eye.
Joshua sighs again.
The Can I get you a drink? is as expected as it is unwelcome, and Joshua smiles blandly at him as he shakes his head in what he hopes is a manner that seems at least slightly apologetic.
“I’m not drinking tonight, sorry,” he says, polite but giving him nothing else, and that’s when it starts to get uncomfortable. The other man — over forty, flushed and stretched at the seams in the particular way that signals a life of excess — snorts, his feigned friendliness giving way to something uglier.
“Figures,” he says, and Joshua’s expression freezes on his face, a rigid plastic smile. “The kind of man who serves another man for a living….” he laughs as he trails off, clearly expecting Joshua to laugh along at a joke made at his own expense.
The worst part isn’t the look on his face, or the sound of his laughter.
The worst part is that Joshua does it, even as disgust washes over him — forces a smile, a few brittle “ha”s as discomfort washes over him in waves, wishing desperately he was almost anywhere else in the room. He should have just gone over to talk to Mingyu instead of being such a bitch about it — Mingyu would stand up for Joshua, no question, which makes Joshua feel a little shitty about how uncharitably he was just thinking about him.
Only a little, though.
Joshua’s still flustered, so focused on trying to think of an out that he doesn’t even notice Minghao’s presence until he’s right next to him, one hand touching lightly at Joshua’s back.
“What was that?”
Minghao’s question isn’t aggressive. There’s a challenging glint in his eye, though, even if there’s nothing but curiosity in his tone. If Joshua didn’t know better he might still think it was only that he didn’t hear the other man properly.
He does know better, though. A shiver runs down his spine before he can stop it.
The other man’s eyes flick to Minghao, then back to Joshua. A thrill of daring runs through Joshua and he holds the man’s stare, his earlier polite smile long gone, until the other man is forced to look away first.
Joshua’s shoulders straighten.
“Nothing,” the other man says to Minghao, another laugh accompanying his words — a little uneasier now, Joshua thinks, or maybe that’s just what he wants to hear.
“Figures,” Minghao says, smiling coolly. Joshua holds himself very still, waiting, but Minghao doesn’t say anything more, holding the smile until the other man excuses himself to walk away and then letting it drop immediately.
Joshua still doesn’t move, even as Minghao turns to look at him. Embarrassment starts to wash over him, making him feel sick and small. He doesn’t want to know what Minghao thinks of him.
Minghao, who’s still looking at him, gaze narrow and focused. Joshua hates when he does that — or, well. He hates that he doesn't hate it, not totally. There's something weirdly compelling about the idea that Minghao likes what he's seeing — Joshua likes being looked at, usually, when it's Minghao.
Sometimes he even lets himself look back.
He doesn’t like it now. He coughs a little, looking towards his feet, and Minghao makes a tiny sound — concern, maybe, or frustration. If Joshua could make himself check Minghao's face he'd be able to tell.
He can't, though. So.
“Let's go,” Minghao says quietly, finally, and that’s enough to shock Joshua into looking up. He blinks at Minghao for a moment, mouth parted, trying to figure out the look on his face. There's no irritation there, none at all, which only leaves concern.
Joshua's cheeks heat.
“You don't have to do that,” he says. “If you aren't ready — ”
“I'm ready,” Minghao cuts him off firmly. “There's nothing important for me here.”
Joshua honestly doesn't know what to say to that. If he was braver he would ask, maybe. Am I important? Am I important to you? But even the thought of it makes him cringe, ears burning to match his cheeks.
“Okay,” he forces out, proud of how steady his voice sounds. The two of them are still staring at each other. “Do you need me to call you a car?”
“We can just take a taxi,” Minghao says, the we throwing Joshua for another loop. He doesn't know what to do with any of this.
“Okay,” he says again, uselessly, before he takes a breath and forces himself together. “I'll get our coats.”
It's colder than he expected when they get outside and Joshua fights back a shiver as a gust of wind hits. His padded coat isn't formal so he's wearing a pea coat instead, suitable for the event but not the weather. Minghao looks over at him and frowns, hands pausing where they'd been fixing his own scarf.
“Is that all you wore?” he asks, nodding towards Joshua's coat. Joshua slides his freezing hands into his pockets and shrugs, offering Minghao a smile. The wind whips against his face, no doubt turning his nose an unattractive red.
“I'm fine,” he lies, just as another gust of wind hits and a shudder wracks through him. He tries to force his body still but he still feels shaky from the confrontation inside, embarrassingly, and it's harder than he'd like to hide it — especially from Minghao, whose sharp eyes seem to catch everything.
Sure enough —
“You’re cold,” Minghao says, frowning, craning his neck towards the road as though he can make a taxi materialize out of nowhere. “You’ll get sick.”
Joshua fights back a snort, coming closer to peer down the street along with Minghao. He hasn't gotten sick in years — not since before he even started working here, he's pretty sure. He takes all the herbal medicine his mom sends him and gets a flu shot every year, and he stopped drinking on work nights about three weeks after he took the job. Sure, he has a tension headache nearly every day and an anxiety stomachache every time he has to attend an event, but that’s nothing. Part of the job, that’s all.
There aren’t any taxis on the road.
“I’ll call one,” Joshua says, pulling out his phone and navigating to the app, putting in the request for Minghao’s apartment first without thinking about it. Minghao watches him do it, silent. “Seven minutes,” Joshua says, tilting the screen so he can see it better, switching the phone to one hand so he can slip the other one back into his pocket. It really is so cold.
“Here,” Minghao says suddenly, voice familiar and soft, and Joshua tears his eyes from the phone screen to find Minghao untying his scarf with brisk intention. An awkward laugh bubbles up from his throat, only a little panicked.
“You don’t have to — ” he tries, but Minghao shuts him down with a stern glare, softened by the little smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. Joshua laughs and shuts up, lets Minghao come closer and wrap the fabric around his neck. It’s soft, which he guesses he should expect, given what Minghao paid for it. Minghao’s hands are confident as he arranges the scarf to lie the way he wants, apparently just as comfortable fixing it for someone else as he is when he does it for himself.
He smells good, this close. Joshua tries very hard not to notice.
“You have to take care of yourself,” Minghao says as he finishes, offering one firm pat to Joshua’s chest before he pulls his hands back.
“Thanks,” Joshua says weakly, tearing his gaze away to look down at the phone in his hand just to give himself something to do. Four minutes.
Minghao doesn’t say anything else as they wait for the taxi, seemingly content to wait in silence. The inside of Joshua’s brain feels like a riot, thoughts flinging themselves against each other even as he holds his body perfectly still. He doesn’t quite understand where all this is coming from. It’s his job to worry about what Minghao does, obviously, and he knows he’s good at it — probably because he spends his entire life worrying about everything.
It’s only supposed to go one way, though. Minghao isn’t supposed to worry about him, too. Minghao isn’t supposed to leave the party for him, isn’t supposed to —
The taxi pulls up. Joshua opens the door to let Minghao slide in first, both of them silent as the car glides through one green light, and then another, and then —
“You don’t always have to be so polite,” Minghao says quietly, eyes focused out the window. Joshua’s stomach lurches and he doesn’t say anything. Minghao turns to him, then, their eyes meeting for a split second before Joshua’s drop to his knees.
“I mean it,” Minghao says as he reaches for Joshua’s kneecap, the touch impossible to ignore. “No one should ever say something like that about you. You don’t have to let them.”
I didn’t let him, Joshua opens his mouth to say, but it dies before he can force it out. Minghao would see through the lie, anyway.
I won’t do it again, Joshua could say, but Minghao would see through that, too. He keeps his mouth shut, instead, and doesn’t move Minghao’s hand from his knee.
The taxi driver takes a left at the next light — they’re almost there.
The air between them feels tight, nearly electric, as Joshua lets his knees open a little, until Minghao’s gripping his thigh for real. He can feel Minghao’s gaze, hot against the side of his face. His scarf is still warm around Joshua’s neck.
“Joshua,” Minghao says, very quietly, as the taxi pulls to a stop in front of the building. Joshua meets his eyes without flinching, knowing exactly what kind of man it makes him.
“Aren’t you going to invite me up?”