Trope: Opposites attract | Office AU
Pairing: Jo (the fun) × Harua (the cold)

Prequel: Before the incident

Harua's the department's calm, cool-headed project coordinator.
Perfect suits. Tidy desk. Quiet voice that somehow still gets everyone to shut up and listen.

Jo is the social media strategist — creative, loud, always bursting into the break room with iced coffee orders for half the floor and jokes that don't quite land.

Everyone knows them as opposites.
Jo's scatterbrained sticky notes all over the shared whiteboard.
Harua's neat bullet-point printouts.
Jo bringing cupcakes on Monday mornings.
Harua politely declining but always eating one when no one's looking.

But there's something else, too.

The way Jo's eyes soften when he catches Harua scolding interns.
The way Harua always seems to walk by Jo's desk right when Jo's having a meltdown over a campaign deadline.

Everyone says Harua's "tolerating" Jo.
Jo jokes that he's "warming up the iceberg."

But Harua?
Sometimes he watches Jo's hands when Jo talks, eyes flicking down like he doesn't mean to.
Sometimes he lingers at the coffee machine a little too long, listening to Jo's laugh from across the office.

Neither of them says it.
Neither of them risks it.

Because office romances are messy, and they're both a little too proud (and a little too scared) to be the first to fall.

It starts with a jolt

They're only supposed to be heading to the 10th floor.
Nothing dramatic. On their way up to the client's floor.

Jo's humming some off-key pop song, Harua's scrolling on his phone, trying to look uninterested in Jo's bouncing energy.

Then —
Thunk.

The lights flicker.
The elevator shudders to a stop between floors.

Harua's head snaps up.

"Tell me you didn't press something weird."

Jo puts both hands up.

"I only pushed ten! I swear."

Harua sighs, leans back against the mirrored wall, muttering under his breath.

"Of course. Trapped. With you."

Jo makes a joke about horror movies. Harua doesn't laugh.
They're close. Too close. Jo smells like citrus hand sanitizer and vanilla. Harua keeps stealing glances.

Silence gets awkward

At first they try ignoring each other.
Harua checks for signal. Zero bars.

Jo paces the tiny space, muttering possibilities:

"Maybe it's a power surge. Maybe the cables snapped—"

"Stop it," Harua grits out. "Stop catastrophizing."

Jo stops pacing. Bites his lip.
Fidgets.

Harua sighs again, softer this time.

"Sorry. I'm just... not great in small spaces."

What slips out

It gets quiet again. Too quiet.

So quiet that Jo's brain fills in every heartbeat.
Every tiny shuffle Harua makes.
Every soft exhale.

Finally, because he can't take it anymore:

"I used to hope we'd get stuck somewhere together."

Harua blinks.

"...Why?"

Jo looks away, cheeks going pink.

"Because it'd be the only way you'd actually talk to me. Without all your careful exits."

Harua's mouth opens. Closes. His eyes flicker down.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Jo whispers, voice thin.
"You're always half here. I keep... waiting for you to actually see me."

The confession slips

Harua's jaw clenches. Then he pushes off the wall, steps right into Jo's space.

"You think I don't see you? You're all I see. That's the problem."

Jo's breath catches.

"Then why—?"

Harua's hand comes up to Jo's neck. Not rough, just grounding.

"Because if I let myself want this, want you — there's no going back."

Stuck but found

Jo's eyes shine. His voice drops to a whisper.

"Maybe I don't want to go back."

And that's it. That's all it takes.

Harua pulls him in. Their lips meet — not gentle, but desperate, mouths moving like they're trying to make up for all the stolen looks and half-swallowed words.

Jo's hands bunch into Harua's shirt. Harua's thumb strokes under Jo's jaw, like he's trying to memorize how this feels.

They break apart only when the elevator jolts again — starting to move.

Both of them breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.

Tiny post-elevator scene

They end up back in the break room, late after everyone's left, takeout containers open on the floor.

Jo tries to pick noodles out of the carton with a tiny plastic fork.

"Can't believe our first real kiss was in a stuck metal box."

Harua covers his face, mortified.

"Stop talking about it."

"No, no — I'm documenting it. Our future wedding vows will absolutely reference your panicked expression when I pulled you in."

Harua groans. But his smile is soft, hidden behind his hand.

Jo leans closer, whispers,

"I'm glad it was you. And me. Even if it took getting stuck to do it."

Harua pulls Jo in by the collar, kisses him slow.

"Just shut up and eat your noodles."

💬 Final image

Two grown men in suits, sitting cross-legged on an office break room floor at 10 p.m., sharing takeout and grinning at each other like idiots.

Because somehow — finally — they both stopped waiting.