JoongDunk Short Stories

Short Story 1: Angel Baby

 

The office always smelled like faint coffee and photocopier toner, a sterile blend Dunk had learned to associate with safety. He didn’t mind the routine anymore—not after the past few years, not after the heartbreaks and silences that had weathered him more than he'd ever admit.

He was good at this—at staying focused, keeping his tone level, answering emails with perfect punctuation, laughing at the right moments during meetings. On the outside, he was every bit the composed department lead.

But Joong saw through it. Always had.

Joong never said much. In fact, for the first six months Dunk had worked here, he thought Joong didn’t talk at all. But then he’d heard him speak in the break room once—low and careful, Turkish-accented Thai—and realized Joong just chose his words sparingly. Some people filled silence because they feared it. Joong lived in it like it was air.

They’d worked together for five years now, and Dunk still didn’t know everything about him. But he knew the important things. Joong never left anyone behind after meetings, always waited until the last intern packed up. He always made an extra cup of coffee on Thursdays when Dunk had to present quarterly reports, and he always pretended like it was an accident when he left it on Dunk’s desk.

Little things. Quiet things. Constant things.

That’s how Dunk fell in love.

Not with sparks—but with steadiness.

It started like any other Wednesday. Rain-heavy clouds hung over Bangkok like unspoken thoughts, and Joong was already seated when Dunk walked in—black button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, typing something with that half-furrowed brow.

He looked up when Dunk entered. Just a glance.

Dunk's heart twisted. How stupid, to feel breathless from a look like that. But he did.

“Morning,” Joong said, his voice low, smooth.

Dunk nodded. “You’re early.”

Joong smiled faintly. “You’re late.”

That was the closest thing to a joke Joong ever told. Dunk smiled back, dropped his bag beside his desk, and tried not to think too hard about how good Joong looked today. Or how he always did.

They didn’t talk much through the day, but they didn’t have to. Joong passed him a USB before the team meeting. Dunk handed him a stapler during a printer jam. Their desks faced the same direction but were separated by a shared file cabinet, like a line between what was professional and what Dunk had never dared cross.

He didn’t know when it started getting worse. The wanting. The quiet need to just… lean his head on Joong’s shoulder after a long meeting. Or grab his wrist and hold it just to feel something steady when everything else spun.

They’d gone to drinks once. It was a team gathering, and everyone got loud except them. Dunk had found himself watching Joong out of the corner of his eye, and Joong had found himself watching Dunk when he thought he wasn’t looking. Their fingers brushed once under the table. Neither of them moved away.

But then Joong disappeared for a week. Claimed he was sick. Came back with darker circles under his eyes and a tighter posture than before.

Dunk didn’t ask. He wanted to. But he didn’t.

He hadn’t earned that right. Not yet.

By the time the sky darkened and the office emptied, Dunk was still typing out end-of-month reports. Joong was still there too, of course, tapping away at budget revisions.