In the Bed That I Dream of Us In | Business Proposal

Rewire A Dread, This Whirring Machine

A/N:Crossposted from AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38560830

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If there's anything I never thought I'd experience, it's being burned through with Cha Sung-hoon's eyes.

I don't know what exactly I did to warrant his stare, and it's taking everything in me not to glimpse at him in case we might make eye contact. And also because I've been fancying him for the longest time and I'll most likely turn red if that does happen.

In my peripheral, is him, in his glasses that look so damn good on his face. Although granted, it's probably because his face looks so damn good in the first place.

He's not beside President Kang or anyone else. He's just standing there, looking straight at me.

What does he want?

I sigh, and finally, decide to look back at him. But as soon as I do, he quickly turns away, red visible in his ears. I watch in amusement as he makes little head movements, trying to glance at me. And I catch my lips curling up.

I snap back to reality, straighten my face, and turn my head back to my computer to get back to work. But I always keep my peripheral focus on him.

He looks at me again, and I can blurrily see him fidgeting with his hands. His veiny hands. Are his arms bulging with veins as well?

Now I'm wondering how his arms look. I heard he works out.

Wait. Why am I fantasizing about him? Thirsty fuck.

I can't focus on work. He's still there, standing, his head in my direction.

We stay like that for a while. My shaking hands try their best to work as he continues staring at me, changing his stance every once in a while.

And then, finally, it's time for a lunch break. I throw my head back with my arms, stretching. I hang my pen in the pocket of my polo shirt, get up from my chair, and slowly turn my head in the direction Sung-hoon is in. He's power walking out of the room.

I shrug my head and walk to the bathroom. When I open the door, Cha Sung-hoon is there, arms on the sink, head down with sweat running down his head.

"Are you constipated?" I ask, closing the door behind me.

He flits his neck in my direction, a shocked expression on his face. He mutters my surname.

He knows who I am ? "Sorry, should I give you some privacy? I can totally leave—"

"No, no, wait." He grabs my arm before I could take a step back. I turn my eyes to him.

"Uhh..." I whisper.

He lets go of me. "I'm—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. I—"

"Are you okay?" Is he having a panic attack? "Should I get some help?" I ask, pointing my thumb at the door.

"NO! No. Um, I wanna talk to you about something." His hands are on both of my shoulders now.

I redirect my thumb to my chest. "Me?"

His hands jump from my shoulders to my cheeks. "Do you wanna have sex with me?"

A pause. My cheeks boil.

"Excuse me?!" I back to the door, reaching for the knob.

"Shit. Fuck." He steps towards me. "I didn't mean to ask it like that. I just haven't been getting sleep and that's the problem. That's what I wanted to talk to you about—"