Mystic Messenger x Reader One-Shots

✧ Loosen Up (Jumin Han)

You watched from the doorway, light from the hallway cutting around you in thick squares of pale yellow, as Jumin leaned back in his office chair, combing a hand through his hair for the fifth time in the past few minutes.

He hadn't left his desk for at least a few hours, and it was starting to get late. Everyone else had long since packed up and left, leaving the office quiet and deserted. You and Jumin were the only ones left.

"Hey," you said softly, shifting your weight from foot to foot, your heels aching from being on them all day. He looked up warily, his eyes dark and thick with creases, and shadows that made his cheeks look sunken and pale in comparison. "Don't you think you should finish up for the night?"

Jumin shook his head, lowering his eyes back to his laptop, his fingers tapping away in a slow, lethargic rhythm. "I'm fine."

"Well I think otherwise," you said firmly, shadows arching from your feet as you walked into the room, crossing over to his desk. You placed your palms flat against the table and leaned over it. "Jumin, it's late and you're getting tired. You won't get much more done like this anyway, so you might as well go home."

Jumin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I've still got an hour of energy left. Might as well use it," he said, giving you a firm look beneath his long, dark lashes. "Nothing's keeping you here. In fact your shift finished an hour ago. Go home [Y/N]."

"Director Han, I'm being serious," you asserted, using his official title for emphasis. "If you keep working like this, you're going to make yourself ill. Then the company will suffer too. I don't want either to happen." You met his gaze coolly. He may be your boss, but he was also your friend. You got on much better than Jumin did with his other colleagues, often meeting up outside work for a drink, or accompanying him to social events. You cared about him a lot. And seeing him work so hard, put so much pressure on himself, was difficult to merely sit by and watch.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Go home, [Y/N]." The sound of fingers tapping a keyboard resumed.

Baring your teeth in frustration, you marched around the desk - Jumin watching you with eyes now flashing with curiosity - and wheeled his chair back with such force it almost tippled over.

"[Y/N], what are you doing? This isn't the time for games," he muttered irritably, using his feet to propel himself back to the desk. But you didn't let him, keeping your hands planted firmly on the back of his chair, holding it in place. An active member of your local gym, the task was easy. "Seriously, [Y/N]. I need to finish this."

"In the morning," you said, swinging his chair around so that he was now facing you. Strips of [h/c] hair escaped from behind your ear as the chair swung round, tumbling over your face as you stared at the handsome man in front of you. "So? Are you leaving now?"

His hand went to the back of his head in an almost boyish gesture, running his eyes over your pursed lips and hard stare and the pieces of hair that still swung loosely over your face. "Okay, okay," he huffed finally, pulling absentmindedly at the tight collar of his blouse. With a faint smile, you grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Right, first we loosen this," you muttered, reaching up to undo the knot of his tie. He watched you the whole time, not saying a thing, just keeping those watery grey eyes on you. As the tie loosened, the top button of his shirt popped open, exposing a small patch of smooth, pale skin. "There, now you can actually breathe," you said, and stepped away, because being this close - close enough to smell the cologne on his skin and see the small cluster of freckles on his cheekbones that you'd never noticed before - had you feeling dizzy and all of a sudden shy.

You slowly lifted your eyes to his and saw he was smiling, grinning in fact. It made the lines around his eyes melt away and the shadows over his face recede; it made him look younger, more refreshed. He held your gaze for a long, long moment. Then, all of a sudden, he stepped forward and took your hands in his. The skin was soft and warm, enclosing around your hand like a clam around a pearl, gently, tentatively. "Uh, Jumin?"

"Thank you, [Y/N]," he murmured, keeping those lovely dark eyes on you. "Thank you for looking out for me."

You gave him a lopsided shrug, unable to draw your eyes away. "N-no need to thank me. It's what f-friends do, right?"

Even as you said it, you fumbled over the word 'friends', over the implication of being 'friends'.

Friends did not get embarrassed at holding each other's hands. Friends did not feel weak at the knees when their eyes met, when they were close enough to each other to smell their skin and notice the freckles on their cheeks they'd never seen before. Friends did not talk to each other in sweet, velvety tones, or give each other sweet, velvety looks.

"Yes, it is," Jumin agreed, almost indifferently. He seemed to have forgotten he was still holding your hand. Or perhaps he was reluctant to let go, just as you were reluctant to mention it. His lips remained parted, curved, as if he was about to say something else, before he changed his mind, patted your hands, and let go. "Right, let's be off. You're still coming to mine for a drink, aren't you?"

You didn't remember suggesting anything of the sort. But you had no intention of mentioning that either.