Chaos Theory

It was 7 a.m. when Dunk stirred awake, a heavy, pounding headache throbbing at his temples. He sat up slowly, groaning, one hand on his forehead, the other supporting him on the bed.

His hoodie was slightly twisted from sleep, and the faint morning light pouring through the tall windows made him squint. "What the hell..." he muttered, trying to piece together how he got here.

Then his eyes shifted to the right-and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

Joong was asleep on the couch, one leg propped over the other, head leaned back, looking too calm for someone who'd apparently spent the night in a suit. Dunk blinked rapidly, confused and more than a little alarmed.

"Is this his room?" he whispered to himself, eyes widening.

Curious-and maybe a little petty-Dunk leaned closer and waved a hand in front of Joong's face. No reaction.

He smirked.

"I guess chivalry is dead," he mumbled, grabbing the nearest pillow.

With zero hesitation-whack!

The pillow smacked straight into Joong's face.

Joong jerked up like he'd been electrocuted, eyes wild, hair disheveled. "What the-?!"

Dunk stood there with arms folded, unbothered. "Oh good, Sleeping Beauty's awake."

Joong ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to tame it while sitting up straighter-clearly caught off guard but determined not to show it. He cleared his throat, feigning composure as if he hadn't just been assaulted with a pillow in his own penthouse.

"...Could've just said good morning, you know," he muttered, smoothing his hair with slow, deliberate strokes, eyes avoiding Dunk's for a moment. A faint pink bloomed on his cheeks-whether from sleep, embarrassment, or something else entirely, he wasn't sure.

Dunk just raised a brow, arms still crossed. "Didn't feel like you deserved it."

Joong finally looked at him-half smug, half flustered. "You're lucky you're cute when you're hungover."

Dunk groaned, clutching his pounding head.
Joong, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow.
"Who told you to drink that much?"
Dunk peeked through one eye and muttered,
"Your mom."
Joong blinked, then let out a short laugh-of course she did.

Joong glanced at Dunk, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the curiosity in his voice.
"Did she... say anything about me?"
A beat passed. Then softer-almost like he wasn't sure he wanted the answer-
"Or maybe... something about us?"

Dunk blinked, the question hitting deeper than he expected.
He felt his face flush, heart skipping for a reason he didn't want to name.
Instead of answering, he looked away, pretending to adjust the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Let's just go eat. My head's still killing me."
But inside, a single thought pulsed like a quiet drumbeat:
Does he... like me?

Dunk stepped out of the guest room, rubbing the back of his neck, still a bit groggy. But the moment his eyes swept across the rest of the penthouse, his jaw nearly hit the floor.

"You call this a dorm room?" he said, stunned.

He spun slowly, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the private pool shimmering in the morning light, and the sleek, modern furniture that looked like it belonged in a magazine.

"Why the hell is yours so different from ours?

Joong (casually): Well, because I'm the president.
Dunk (eyes wide, scoffs): Nepotism.
Joong (grinning): Jealousy doesn't look good on you.
Dunk (crosses arms): Privilege doesn't suit you either, but here we are.

As they walked down the quiet corridor, the soft morning light spilled through the tall windows, casting pale gold on the marble floor. Dunk walked ahead, still holding his head slightly-half from the hangover, half from confusion.

Behind him, Joong followed in silence. But his mind was anywhere but quiet.

Joong's memory, just an hour ago:

The bathroom door opened with a low creak, a wave of warm steam rolling out like fog. Dunk stepped into the room, barefoot, damp, with nothing but a white towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His wet hair clung to his forehead, a few drops trailing down the side of his neck. The room fell still.

Dunk (casually, not looking up):
"Joong... do you have an extra shirt by any chance?"

Joong, who had just turned a page in his book, froze. His fingers paused mid-air, his breath catching quietly.

Joong (clearing his throat):
"Yeah. Bottom drawer. Help yourself."

He didn't dare look too long. But the image had already imprinted itself in his brain like a scar that didn't want to heal.

Back in the hallway now:

Joong watched the way Dunk walked slightly ahead, clueless to the storm he'd left behind.

How the hell do you look like that without even trying... Joong thought, his chest tight and his gaze lingering.

Joong's eyes dropped for a second-just a second-drawn to the soft curve of Dunk's waistline, clearly visible beneath the thin white shirt he'd thrown on without a second thought. The fabric clung faintly to his damp skin, almost translucent under the morning light.

It wasn't intentional. Dunk wasn't trying to show anything off. But somehow, that made it worse. Or better-Joong wasn't sure.

He swallowed hard and looked away, stuffing one hand in his pocket, the other running through his hair to shake the thoughts loose.

Dunk turned his head slightly, catching Joong's gaze as it darted away.

Dunk (teasing, half-smiling):
"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Joong (clearing his throat):
"You should look in a mirror. You're the one haunting people in oversized shirts."

That was clearly a lie.....

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts-please leave a comment below. Stay healthy and take care!

<3