"How drunk am I expected to be for this disaster?"
Followed by a sticker of a raccoon in a party hat looking haunted.
Seungho stared at it, one eyebrow rising in shock, and felt his heart rate skyrocket, but not from excitement.
Then another message came in. From Hye-jin.
"Is this a joke? I was under the impression your assistant was coordinating something formal. I already ordered a hanbok delivery."
And then one from Ji-ho:
"You’re turning 36? You fossil. Also, someone told me drag queens are coming? Can I wear leather or will your CEO friends combust?"
Seungho’s thumb hovered over his phone.
Then, from the kitchen:
"Do you have any candles? Not the boring white kind. Like... the dramatic ones. Birthday-shaped or maybe sword-shaped. Or beeswax if you wanna go all ceremonial."
Seungho turned.
Haneul was halfway inside a cabinet, braid swinging, ass in the air, mumbling about party logistics like this was the most natural thing in the world.
He stared. For a long moment.
Then:
"Haneul," Seungho said, voice low, almost calm.
Haneul popped his head out. "Hm?"
Seungho held up the phone. “Did you… really do this?”
Haneul blinked. “Do what?”
Seungho’s jaw ticked. He scrolled once, tilted the phone so Haneul could see.
The message thread.
The raccoon sticker.
The drag queen inquiry.
“Oh,” Haneul said.
Seungho’s eyes narrowed. “You invited Hye-jin?”
“Yeah. She looked like your… I don’t know, elegant arm candy? That night in February. When I showed up here for the first time. She was holding your arm like you two were married.”
“Haneul—”
“She adds visual balance,” Haneul added quickly, grabbing a strawberry like it was a shield. “I thought it’d be weird if the guest list was just dudes who’d all seen you naked in a bathhouse or something.”
Seungho stared at him. The silence stretched.
His chest rose once, sharply. “You used my phone?”
“You never lock it. That’s practically an invitation.”
