BBK Ch 2

“…Is this guy crazy?”

Minho let out a hollow laugh and lightly kicked Gyuoh’s shin with the tip of his shoe. Though the kick wasn’t particularly forceful, Gyuoh crumpled his large frame and let out exaggerated groans. Even amidst his theatrics, he never let go of his slippery, foam-covered hands.

“Ouch, that hurts.”

“You keep calling me an idiot, and now you’re just picking the dumbest things to do.”

“Where else can you find an idiot this good-looking? Anyway, come over here, wash your hands, and eat, okay?”

He dragged Minho straight to the small sink where Gyuoh had just been standing. Minho, being fairly tall and broad himself, found it a bit awkward, but he still stood close behind Gyuoh, overlapping their hands. The distinct sensation of Minho’s prominent knuckles pressed clearly against Gyuoh’s palms.

“You’re not letting go?”

Even as Minho shook one shoulder in an attempt to pull away, Gyuoh stubbornly held him from behind. In an awkward stance, he hurriedly moved his soapy hands.

“Can you stop squirming?”

As the foam gradually dissolved, Gyuoh playfully raised the end of his sentence and lifted the faucet lever. With a whoosh, lukewarm water poured out, wetting both their hands. Soon, the bubbles that had clung stickily between their entwined fingers were washed away.

“I’ll wash them, so just—”

Minho’s stern voice cut through the sound of the water and reached Gyuoh’s ears. When Gyuoh glanced up, their eyes met briefly in the mirror before sliding past each other. Minho’s face showed not just irritation and annoyance but also a fleeting hint of discomfort. Only then did the smirk tugging at Gyuoh’s lips slowly fade.

‘Oh, right. This guy likes men.’

It hit him that his casual actions might have made Minho uncomfortable. Suddenly, he became hyper-aware of their overly close bodies. Letting go now might make things even more awkward. After a quick, fake cough, he hurriedly shoved his hands back under the stream of water.

“Fine, I get it. Let’s just finish this and part ways.”

The foam was washing off, but the gaze lingering in the mirror showed no sign of breaking away. An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. Minho, with his usual indifferent expression, wiped his hands with a towel and sauntered over to the sofa to take a seat.

“If this tastes bad, you’re dead. Absolutely dead.”

Thankfully, the awkward tension had completely dissipated along with the bubbles.

They sat across from each other with a pizza between them, chatting as usual. The brief moment of unease was gone without a trace.

“Someone with that much education probably planned their backup with some brains.”

“I’m checking it out, but I think we need to look into the girlfriend’s driver too. They’ve been exchanging suspicious emails pretty often.”

The topic shifted to a civil servant they’d just finished dealing with today. They needed to double-check that no documents tied to them remained. Erasing call logs and messages would take a few days, but it was a relief to wrap it up before diving into the next job.

“So, we’re moving straight to the next case starting tomorrow?”

Minho, who’d been munching on pizza with a bored expression, nodded. As always, his eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were chapped. He used to be pretty bulky back in the day—not as much as Gyuoh—but since he’d stopped doing physical work, he’d slimmed down a bit. Still, occasional workouts kept him toned.

Gyuoh’s jaw, which had been moving at a steady pace, slowed as he scanned Minho across the table.

“Did you ride your motorcycle again?”

Minho’s sharp question snapped Gyuoh out of his absentminded observation. He reflexively shook his head in denial, remembering how Minho always nagged him about the bike.

“No, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? That’s a motorcycle key right there.”

Looking down, he saw the motorcycle key with a mandarin keychain dangling from it. There was no denying it—everyone had seen him attach that keychain the moment he got it as a gift. He’d even left his helmet at the door to avoid a lecture, but the keychain had given him away.

“You’re quick. Guess you’ll have to pay with your life.”

Minho swatted Gyuoh’s hand away as he mimicked shooting a gun with his index and middle fingers.

“Does your head need to get smashed before you wise up?”

“Cars are a hassle to clean up after. And I rode alone, so what’s the big deal? I didn’t even give anyone a ride.”

Gyuoh rattled off a string of supposedly valid excuses for riding the bike. As expected, Minho didn’t look remotely convinced.

“Alone or not, take care of yourself. How long do you think you’ll stay young? At your age, it takes twice as long for your bones to heal—twice.”

The same old lecture he’d heard over a hundred times resumed. Gyuoh quietly grabbed another slice of pizza and responded half-heartedly.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Why the hell did Sungmoo buy you that damn thing?”

As usual, the blame shifted to the guy who’d bought the motorcycle—Wuwon’s executive director, where they both worked. He’d gotten it for Gyuoh for job-related reasons, only to catch flak for years. Gyuoh, conveniently omitting how he’d egged the guy on to pick a nice one, just nodded along to Minho’s rant.

“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. It’s always that guy’s fault.”

“…”

Minho, wiping his mouth with a tissue, shot him a cold glare. The piercing look made Gyuoh silently take a bite of his pizza. Silence followed. Minho didn’t tell him to shut up or stay quiet, but the vibe suggested it was best to comply.

By the time Gyuoh reached for his third slice, Minho stood up and headed to the sink. Apparently, after just two slices, he was done.

“Already finished?”

“Yeah. I ate some bread earlier.”

Instead of digesting, Minho only wiped the grease off his hands, shook off the water, and headed to his desk. He applied hand cream out of habit, then sat back in the same spot, with the same posture and expression, staring at the same documents.

If left alone, he’d probably stay like that all day, minus bathroom breaks and meals. No wonder his eyes were shot and he was always exhausted.

“…”

Gyuoh’s lips parted a few times, but he ultimately swallowed his concern. He didn’t want to meddle in Minho’s choices—that was the biggest reason. Besides, if it got too bad, others would step in to stop him.

That’s how it had always been between Gyuoh and Minho. Close like family or brothers, but not entirely casual. Maybe it worked because Gyuoh never crossed the line Minho had drawn around himself.

After finishing the last slice of pizza, Gyuoh tidied up. Knowing he’d get scolded if he didn’t sort the trash properly, he even made a trip to the break room down the hall. As he wiped the table with a wet wipe, Minho let out a low sigh and muttered under his breath.

“I’m tired.”

Gyuoh, always attuned to Minho, never missed even the smallest self-directed comment.

“Then rest a bit. Is today the only day you’ve got? There’s tomorrow, and the day after.”

“Don’t you know tomorrow brings its own work?”

“Then worry about that tomorrow.”

Sure, taking on another job right away would keep them busy, but they could rest until dawn at least. Finishing the cleanup, Gyuoh approached the desk. He knocked lightly a few times, and Minho, who’d been staring at his phone, shifted his gaze.

“Hyung, let’s head out together.”

“Hmm.”

Minho took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling. He lingered like that for a while, as if mulling something over, then shook his head.

“I’ve got plans.”

“This late?”

Plans? From a guy who’d been buried in paperwork like he was about to die? Gyuoh furrowed his brow and started prying, but Minho brushed him off with a lazy tone and a wave of his hand.

“Yeah.”

“It’s almost midnight. What kind of plans? You can’t even drink.”

“Thanks to you, I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Even then, he could barely handle a few drinks before passing out, becoming dead weight more than once. When Gyuoh narrowed his eyes, Minho seemed to realize how absurd he sounded and let out a dry chuckle.

“I’d rather die working than because of that motorcycle.”

“Then take your car. And who are you meeting at this hour?”

When Gyuoh finally asked the question he was most curious about, he couldn’t even meet Minho’s eyes. No answer came. Minho just turned off his laptop, neatly stacked his papers, and grabbed his jacket.

He’s definitely going to meet some weirdo again.

“I’m heading home, right? I’ll drop you off on the way.”

“…”

There it was again—that sudden surge of unease. They’d lived like family all this time without overstepping or asking pointless questions. Yet, despite choking down his worries earlier, Minho’s brief silence or even a single breath was enough to stir Gyuoh up, igniting his concern.

This unnecessary fixation had started a couple of months ago, when he’d learned Minho’s secret: he was seeing a guy.

Even though they saw each other almost daily, Minho had never given the slightest hint. Gyuoh hadn’t even suspected it. Naturally, Minho probably hadn’t intended to tell him either.

But then an ex—or not quite an ex—had shown up at the office, causing a scene, and the truth had come spilling out whether they liked it or not.