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Junmyeon has never been adept at leaving things behind. The unnecessary realization of this particular trait of his greets him as he steps into his bedroom, after two months of being separated from it. We have left your room exactly as it was , his roommate had promised him over the phone, and he was precise to a fault. CDs that skip and ear-phones that stopped working two summers ago are lined up on his desk. There are dust-strewed boxes under his bed and a stolen jumper from an ex-lover past. He greets them warily, averting his eyes and instead choosing to focus on unlacing his worn-out running shoes.
The luggage in his hands are unceremoniously dumped alongside the artefacts of nostalgia when he hears his roommates calling for him downstairs.
“I made cheesecake,” Baekhyun announces excitedly, his dapper blue kitchen apron tied neatly around his waist, over which Jongdae had entangled his arms. In the seemingly short span of time that Junmyeon had been away, his roommates had been able to build up a stable relationship. Junmyeon was happy for them. You were the deadweight all along, some nasty portion of his brain quips up.
“How was Busan?”
The fluorescent cabinet light falls on Baekhyun’s kitchen knife-set and the gleam catches Junmyeon’s eyes, which subsequently catches Jongdae’s. Junmyeon looks away like a child caught red-handed, and Jongdae is quick to noisily shove the set under the counter.
“Good,” Junmyeon says, lying through his teeth, and accepts a thick slice of the cake that Baekhyun offers him. He knows his roommates can see through his lies, but they pry him no further. The brine water of his home-town had initially burned and stung the inside of his thighs, foreign from years of not visiting, but it was no worse than the words that had escaped the mouths of the people he happened to call his family. It would seem that during the last few days there, his wounds had become compatible with the salinity and had started to heal, but his head was still buzzing with those words.
“So, how did you both finally get together?” He guides the change in the subject of conversation.
Baekhyun beams, pleased. Junmyeon doesn’t miss the way his hands extend to hold Jongdae’s hand. It’s familiar and safe to hear Baekhyun launch into storytelling, he starts at the middle and mixes up the ending and the beginning, and throws in the climax somewhere in between, but it calms Junmyeon’s heart to know that it is the same Baekhyun that he had left two months earlier.
At almost midnight Junmyeon finally makes his way back to his room, feeling lighter after the drinks and dessert, when something falls out from under his bed-covers as he makes his bed ready for the night. He stares at the Swiss Army logo for a while before deciding to pick it up and set it upon his bedside cabinet. Then, for the better or the worse, he slides it into one of the drawers.
A flurry of texts come in through Junmyeon’s cell-phone early next morning, letting off a loud ping which succeeds in waking him up. It is an unnaturally hot day for such a month of the year, and the blankets soon feel suffocating to lie in, and he kicks them off, but the room is stuffy anyway, so Junmyeon forcefully pulls himself out of bed. He hears movement downstairs and he knows Jongdae is awake - being self-employed gives Baekhyun a free pass to wake up at any time he chooses to. He shuffles down the stairs and sure enough, Jongdae is there in his work clothes, sipping on a mug of something steaming
“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon murmurs, after Jongdae has him settled on the sofa with a cup of coffee he insisted was extra, made by mistake.“Baekhyun and you have a good thing going, I didn’t mean to come here and interrupt.” Jongdae’s face is indecipherable but he sets down his mug on the table to pull Junmyeon in closer by the shoulders. “Never say that, Junmyeon. We like having you as our roommate, and we like taking care of you. Besides, where would we both be without Baekhyun’s cooking?”
Junmyeon nods, that little portion of his brain still not entirely convinced. He accompanies Jongdae up to the door, promising to help Baekhyun around the house.
Baekhyun comes down some forty minutes later, his face endearingly swollen with sleep, hair mussed. Baekhyun had always been naturally cute, and Junmyeon remembers being a little bitter about it in college, about how everyone treated him so delicately like he was a kicked puppy. Baekhyun had never needed that kind of attention, but he had reveled in it anyway. But Junmyeon knows better now, and he’s not a hormonal, jealous young adult anymore, so he coos at Baekhyun who gives him the stink eye and makes a beeline for the coffee machine. Junmyeon accepts his second cup of coffee that morning, and he sips it silently as he watches Baekhyun bustle around.
“We planted these babies a month ago, but look at how much they’ve grown already!” Baekhyun fondly pats the top of his zebra plants, a new addition to the decor that Junmyeon had noticed last night.
“Did you name them?” Junmyeon chuckles, and Baekhyun’s eyes widen, then form pleasant half-moons at the sudden dig at his past habit of naming his plants back at the dorms. “That’s Jongdae and Baekhyun,” he says, decidedly, planting at the two pots snug against the kitchen sink, “and that’s Junmyeon.” Junmyeon’s eyes travel along with Baekhyun’s pointer finger to the smallest spider plant in the other corner of the room, and he laughs. “What about the one next to Junmyeon?”
“That’s Junmyeon's special someone.”
Junmyeon doesn’t say anything in reply, and Baekhyun frowns, stopping midway while whisking eggs. “With everything going on, maybe you need something new in your life.” It’s a suggestion Junmyeon has chosen to ignore previously, and expertly so, but with Baekhyun burning holes with his eyes at the side of his face, he is all but forced to respond.
“I don’t think romance has ever been my thing,” Junmyeon confesses quietly. There had been high-school crushes, a few flings and one serious relationship towards the very end of college - but none of them seemingly worked out in the way Junmyeon needed them to. “You are so damn clingy,” was how the so-called serious relationship fell apart in seconds, and Jongdae had claimed that the guy was a bastard from the very beginning. Junmyeon wishes he could have whole-heartedly believed his friends. “Maybe I’ll get a job instead,” he quips.
Baekhyun purses his lips, herding the eggshells with the edge of his palm into the trashcan below. “Only if you feel ready, Junmyeon. You don’t have to feel any kind of pressure to earn -”
“No, you’re right, I could do with a distraction. Plus, it would make me feel better.”
Baekhyun doesn’t look convinced, but he does not contest him either. He does, however, refuse to let Junmyeon do the dishes later, snatching them out of his hands before he can reach the washer.
Junmyeon puts on his white trainers and jogs down to the post office in the afternoon. It’s a small town, and even with his face mask sticking to his cheeks due to perspiration, Junmyeon feels like an open wound, and everyone seems to stare at him as he briskly walks past. There’s a new girl at the counter, which throws Junmyeon off. He had been hoping that he would catch the old woman, who had manned the office for ages, ever since they had moved in here, and on timid inquiry, the girl disappears inside to call for the owner.
He finds an odd sense of comfort in not having to face the unknown, childishly ignoring the new girl as he revels in the sense of comfort of speaking to the person he has known. How he had gotten through transferring from school to college, or to his previous job, Junmyeon hardly knew. He leafs through the job postings quietly, none catching his eye as such as she asks him about him being away, and supplies him equally with the ongoings of the town. “There’s a new gentleman around,” she says, lowering her voice as if it was a scandalous secret. Junmyeon looks up at her, fairly interested. “He’s an attorney. He said he needed a secretary of sorts, and if I found someone I should send them his way.”
Junmyeon pauses from turning to the next page. “Did he mention any qualifications?”
A secretarial job sounded pleasant. Junmyeon had interned for such positions before his hiatus of sorts, and he liked it more than the other possible postings on the battered notebook.
“He said preferably someone who was good at typing and such.” Junmyeon could do typing. Heck, he had even taken those overpriced professional typing courses on a whim a few years back. He gets the address and contact information of this mystery man written down on a piece of paper, and heads back home, content with his work for the day.
“There’s a new guy in town?” Baekhyun gasps, softly hitting Jongdae on the shoulder with his ladle as a reprimand for not letting him in on this piece of news. Jongdae sputters. “I did tell you! He renovated the Jeongs’ old house and took down the old stairs at the side of the house - the walls almost fell apart, remember?”
“Shame, I liked those stairs,” Baekhyun muses sadly. “We used to loiter on those steps and chat during high school lunches.” Junmyeon remembered those stairs too. He escaped to that patio when things got too rough at home, or he just needed a breath of fresh air. Sometimes the Jeongs would invite him in for homemade snacks.
“Have you met the guy?” he asks Jongdae, hopefully, trying to paint a caricature in his head of what an attorney moving to their small town would look, act like. He had been practicing his introduction for his meeting with his employer hopeful in front of the mirror all afternoon, trying to not come off as either too shy or too assertive.
"I did," Jongdae says, his mouth still half-full of food. "I saw him at the grocery shop a week ago, he was in the frozen food section." Unfortunately, he knew nothing more, so Baekhyun gives up on weaseling information out of him.
Do Kyungsoo nurses his hand in the Jeong’s old dining room, guilty of the newly formed dent in his still unwrapped oak table. “It’s been six months, she is not getting this house, that is final.” The line cuts off and he winces as the plastic of the frozen peas crinkle against the raw bruise on his knuckles. Perhaps he would have doubled over in pain for his brash decision if he had time, but there was an office to set up and secretaries to interview. He straightens his tie, letting his unwounded hand thrum on the tabletop.
His peripheral vision catches a new email coming in from a familiar ID. Do Kyungsoo clicks off the site. This was a brand new, fresh start.
Junmyeon shuffles his feet as he waits outside the office door, in a makeshift lobby. The walls still slightly reeked of fresh paint, and it felt like it had been ages since he had smelled this particular scent. Junmyeon chews on his bottom lip until the interviewee before him comes out of the closed doors and softly shuts the door behind her, offering him a soft smile. Junmyeon smiles back, letting her walk past before pushing the door open.
“Come in.” A voice rings through, crystal clear.
Junmyeon awkwardly shifts in the chair that was provided for him, avoiding eye contact as much as possible while introducing himself. Feeling underdressed due to the tidy gray blazer he spots from the corner of his eyes, he pulls his shirt down, fiddling with the hem. He knows the attorney notices, because he looks up from Junmyeon’s resume and clears his throat. Junmyeon lets go of the hem hastily, looking up at his interviewer through his bangs. He would remove them from his face, if not for his hands turning stone cold in his lap.
“Frankly, Mr. Kim,” Do Kyungsoo says,” You are overqualified for this job. A bachelor’s in Mass Communication - why would you want a secretarial position?”
Junmyeon blanked on every answer he had practiced in the private bubble of his bedroom. “A distraction,’ is the answer he settles on, cringing away at how painfully truthful he was being. By all standards, a horrible answer.
Mr. Do seemed amused, scribbling something on his notepad. “And why did you leave your previous job?”
“I was recommended to take a - retreat, for personal issues.” Junmyeon shakes his head to remove his bangs and notices his interviewer looking straight at him. “I see,” he says, not looking away from Junmyeon. Junmyeon is the first to glance away, looking around the office.
In many ways it was exactly what he had pictured, in many ways it surprised him. The little cactus behind the attorney catches his eyes. Mr. Do turns around to look behind himself.
“I see you have spotted James.”
“James?” Junmyeon laughs, forgetting the interview environment for a second. “My friend names his plants too.”
“It is a common practice within us plant parents, I think,” a smile curves it’s way into Do Kyungsoo’s face, and Junmyeon thinks it makes him look very attractive in an unconventional, mellow sort of way. His dark eyes travel down from Junmyeon’s eyes to his lips and his neck, and Junmyeon moves, making the attorney’s eyes flicker back guilty to the resume in front of him. “I must confess, it will be a dull job.” Junmyeon nods, understanding. “It will be a lot of setting up the office, typing my emails, answering calls - the works. Can you do that, Mr. Kim?”
“I believe so, sir.”
Junmyeon hopes he looks as confident as he thinks he sounds as the attorney’s eyes flit between him and the resume before handing the paper back to him. “Very well, you shall get a call from my side soon enough. It’s been a pleasure.” He accepts the extended hand and shakes it politely, unable to read the expression written on the other’s face.
It’s almost three days later when Junmyeon has his head resting on Baekhyun’s lap, letting his roommate mess around with long curls on the back of his scalp when he gets the call, phone vibrating in his front pockets.
“It’s Mr. Do,” he whisper shouts, pushing Baekhyun’s hands away from himself, who perks up immediately at the name. The new addition to their town was the talk of the streets, but it seemed that Baekhyun, and everybody else, knew nothing about him, apart from his professional credentials. Do Kyungsoo, much to everybody’s disappointment had turned out to be a private man.
“Good morning,’ Junmyeon chirps, full of corporate optimism. He almost blanks through the small talk that Mr. Do puts him through, and when he keeps the phone down, only one thing is embedded in his head.
“So?” Baekhyun asks, sitting on the edge of the couch when Junmyeon makes his return to the living room. “I got the job,” Junmyeon whispers, hardly able to believe his own words. stepping back instinctively as Baekhyun jumps up and wraps him in a hug. “It’s not a big deal, Baek,” he says as Baekhyun refuses to let go.
“It may not be, but you know that I am proud of you, right? And Jongdae will be too.” Even after years of living apart from his family, hearing those words make Junmyeon weak in the knees. “The next time your mom calls, tell her fair and square, yeah? You got the job on your own, so be proud of it.” Junmyeon nods, hoping that that wretched call never comes.
Junmyeon borrows semi-formal clothes from Jongdae on the Monday morning that he was supposed to start at Mr. Do’s. The shirt hangs a little loose, but Junmyeon is thankful that he can breathe freely. Jongdae drives him to the picturesque little house, and they joke about the three minute drive, but Jongdae insists that it anyway falls en route to his office in the city. Junmyeon realizes that he missed the wild rose clusters in the front when he came for the interview, probably due to jitters. They make pretty specks of pink and white around the otherwise bare yard.
Junmyeon goes in through the open front door to find the previously barren hall now filled with some furniture and a pile of cardboard boxes. He finds his boss bent over James the cactus who was now on his work desk, with a tiny syringe in his hand. Junmyeon knocks on the open door, averting his eyes.
“Mr. Kim, there you are.”
He pulls out a drawer and drops the syringe into it. “I am afraid the first few days will be dedicated to mostly moving things around, but there are a few business emails that need attending to. Let me show you around.” Junmyeon drops off his things into the smaller, half-furnished room that Mr. Do assigns as his workspace. There was a tiny copier room with a printer, several empty spaces, the bathrooms, and finally the hallway. Mr. Do frowns heavily at the state of chaos. “Looks like we will be starting from here. I would have called in people from the firm to help, but I don’t want to attract any attention. I already get too much publicity around here, don’t I?”
Junmyeon sputters as he tries to find an answer, hoping that it is a rhetoric and not an actual question, feeling embarrassed on behalf of his roommates. He instead busies himself with emptying the top-most box. “Mr. Kim, I need you to label each box as you take the things out of them, so we can have a record of them later on.” Junmyeon nods, quickly grabbing a marker from the office.
It’s hard work pulling the boxes around and making sure the right box has the right label, but with the attorney’s help, they both carefully go through most of the boxes without too many hiccups. After lunch break, Junmyeon’s hands instinctively slip into his pockets and he staggers when he realizes that the metallic coldness that he was expecting to feel was missing. He had forgotten it back at home. The absence makes him feel small and vulnerable all of a sudden, and it gets to his head. Disoriented, Junmyeon stubs his toe against the newly placed waiting chairs. Firm hands steady him, helping him regain his balance.
“Careful, Mr. Kim.”
The first thing that Junmyeon does when he gets home that day is slip the Swiss Army Knife out of the hidden drawer and into his work bag. Exhausted, he sleeps through dinner, and neither Baekhyun nor Jongdae have the heart to wake him up.
“I am very particular about things,” his employer announces, talking about the client emails that had to be sent out. Back in the main branch of the law firm, he had a team of people for the communications, but here, it was only Junmyeon - which meant that he had to be doubly careful, Mr. Do made it clear. “I expect you to run every client email by me before pressing the send button.”
“Yes, sir,” Junmyeon murmurs as he tries to log into Mr. Do’s work mail from his own laptop. “That doesn’t sound reassuring, Mr. Kim. And look at me while speaking.”
Junmyeon looks at him. “Yes sir,” he repeats, clearer this time. The attorney’s gaze seems to rip right through him, and Junmyeon freezes. The sound of Mr. Do’s ringtone rips through the silence, and they both look away in haste.
“Yes, yes, I had called you yesterday...”
Mr. Do’s voice trails away as he moves to another room, and Junmyeon returns his attention to the work at hand, albeit with other thoughts racing through his brains.
“I can’t believe you actually went and bought them,” Junmyeon beams in disbelief over the box of steaming hot little fish-shaped pastries. Mr. Do had asked him about places to eat within the town, and Junmyeon had mentioned his favorite little tuck shop, which sold the most heavenly bungeoppangs, the exact ones which now sat neatly in front of him now. “I am a man of my word, Mr. Kim,” he says in all seriousness, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes Junmyeon think otherwise. “Now grab one, we have an extremely busy day ahead of us.” Junmyeon tries to eat it all in one bite and inevitably starts coughing and tries to cover his mouth, pretending nothing had happened, but gets a water bottle slid towards him from across the desk.
“Better?” Junmyeon nods, sipping on the water slowly, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “ Mr. Do opens his mouth so as to say something, but then quickly stops himself.
“I’m thankful that I personally came over to set this one up,” Mr. Do says, surveying the now finished waiting halls and offices, which he let Junmyeon have a surprising amount of creative liberty on. They had talked about how his law firm had plans on extending to the West, and a lot of the main purpose of the visit was overlooking the set up of it, before his partners came over. “And also, a distraction,” the attorney had said. Something about the way he says it gives Junmyeon deja vu. He shivers.
“Don’t forget your coat tomorrow, Mr. Kim,” the man at the desk says, not even looking from the cactus in his hand. “And ask your roommate to drive carefully.” The drizzling outside didn’t seem to want to stop, and that, along with the rapidly dropping temperatures indicated that the coldest season of the year was at the threshold. Junmyeon had barely finished packing when he noticed Jongdae’s car coming to a stop outside. He shoves the rest of his things in, hands brushing against the solid steeliness. He startles himself a bit, he hadn’t needed to seek it’s familiar presence that day, or the day before.
“Goodbye, Mr. Do, see you on Monday,” he calls, swinging past his door, who turns his rotating chair towards the window to look out at Jongdae’s car and Jongdae, who was looking at the lit up screen of his phone. “Jongdae, isn’t it?” he asks and Junmyeon affirms that it was indeed.
“How was work?” Jongdae asks as Junmyeon slides into the passenger seat. “Good,” he says, meaning it.
Sunday is his day off.
Junmyeon wakes up in the morning to the drizzling intensifying to heavy rain and patterning against the concrete sidewalks viciously. He wakes up with that strange impression of being disassembled while he was asleep, and being put together into a sort of headspace that was not quite him. He groans.
An emptiness looms over him, the sense of not having anything to do, yet so much to do. He checks tasks off in his brain during breakfast that he would be doing if he was in the office, in the foreground of Mr. Do’s constant interjections, but that wouldn't be happening till the day after.
“Earth to Junmyeon,” Baekhyun calls.
Junmyeon offers to go grocery shopping for Baekhyun, succumbing to the guilt of lazing about the rest of the day. He gets through the meticulously prepared list Baekhyun provides him with much faster than he had expected. Deciding to treat himself, he pops into the cafe next door, occupying a corner table while waiting for his order. His name gets called out, and he makes his way to the counter to pick it up.
‘One caramel macchiato for Chanyeol,” the barista calls as Junmyeon moves away after picking up his own cold brew, and he does a double take at the name, swiveling his head a little too fast, eyes widening at the strangely familiar tall frame.
“Chanyeol? Park Chanyeol?” He waves at the hooded figure to get his attention, who hastily takes out his earphones. “Junmyeon!” The man grabs his caramel macchiato from the unimpressed barista and they move out of the way. They embrace awkwardly, cups in hand, but Junmyeon doesn’t mind.
“I have not seen you for years, wow,” Chanyeol says, twinkling down at Junmyeon. “You didn’t bother to keep in touch.” Junmyeon accuses, but he beams back, equally overjoyed.
“Well, good news for you then, I am moving back, my parents left me their house and I didn’t want to sell it off.”
They lapse into small talk, but it’s not of the difficult kind. “I’m working for a lawyer who just moved here.” The sense of self-accomplishment that saying it offers makes Junmyeon feel good, and Chanyeol congratulating him drives it home. He feels light.
“I missed having you around,” Chanyeol says after a bit of reminiscing, wrapping his long arms around Junmyeon’s torso, making the latter giggle, standing on his tip toe to press a quick kiss on Chanyeol’s warm cheek. Junmyeon lets himself down as he notices cropped hair and a pair of glasses through the side of his eyes.
“Hey, I think it’s Mr. Do -” but the blur of a form is gone before he can call out to him.
“Mr. Do - your boss?” Chanyeol asks.
“Yeah, but never mind, I think I saw something wrong.” Junmyeon frowns. ‘Do you want to come over for dinner?” Chanyeol shoots his paper cup towards the trash can, and it doesn’t miss. Junmyeon claps softly, more out of habit than awe.
“You know I would never say no to free food.”
Do Kyungsoo splashes water on his face, holding up his body on his arms on the sides of the basin. “You are an idiot,” he tells his blurry reflection, “a fucking idiot.” He replays his secretary leaning up to kiss some lucky guy at the local cafe.“A complete fucking idiot,” he reiterates.
That evening he finally opens that unread email from the divorce attorney, forehead already throbbing as he barely starts reading through its contents.
“Who’s this?” Junmyeon recognizes that conspiratorial look of Baekhyun’s face too well when he opens the door, so he is a little too quick to introduce Chanyeol. “Baek, this is Chanyeol, my best friend from high school. He moved back here. Chanyeol, this is -”
“Your bigger, badder, better replacement. Pleasure.” Baekhyun extends a hand, a smile playing on his lips, and Chanyeol bursts out laughing, “Where did you find him Junmyeon, he’s funny.” They shake hands, and Junmyeon is relieved to see them getting along. He introduces Jongdae to Chanyeol when they head inside.
“Junmyeon, come help me in the kitchen,” Baekhyun calls after Chanyeol settles down. “Chanyeol and I will get along fine,” Jongdae reassures him when he sees Junmyeon hesitating.
“You didn’t tell me we are having guests!” Baekhyun whines, scrambling around. “I just met him at the corner cafe, this wasn’t planned. Look, I'll help.” Junmyeon mindlessly picks up the knife near him and Baekhyun confiscates it from him immediately. “No, you go stir the broth.” Oh, right. He had almost forgotten. Junmyeon picks up the wooden ladle, slowly and carefully displacing the orange-ish liquid from one side to the other.
“So…” Baekhyun starts. Junmyeon looks at him quizzically. “So?”
“Did we finally get a name for our fourth plant?”
It takes a moment for Junmyeon to realize what Baekhyun was implying. “Baekhyun, it’s not like that!” Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, cutting through the carrots with finesse. “We are just friends. I used to have a crush on him in school - but it’s not like that. I don’t think I can do that right now.”
“I see.” Baekhyun bites his lips. “I’m sorry for assuming -”
“No it’s okay.” Junmyeon asserts, almost tipping over the pot and spilling some of the broth in the process. He steadies the pot quickly, Baekhyun reaching over to help him. There is quiet for a moment.
“I can still name the plant Chanyeol, can’t I? It’s a nice name.”
“Sure, you can ask him. I think he will love having a plant named after him.”
Junmyeon gets lost in the conversation at the dinner table. Chanyeol fits right into their little bubble, joking and laughing along with Baekhyun and Jongdae. It’s only when Junmyeon is alone in bed late into the night that he thinks about Mr. Do and his brief, strange appearance at the cafe.
Junmyeon hears unfamiliar voices coming from the main office when he arrives.
“You are late.” Mr. Do comments as Junmyeon tries to stroll past the strangers in their domineering suits and ties, looking at the ground. Immediately, all pairs of eyes turn towards him. Junmyeon knows he got out of the car two minutes past the time he was supposed to reach, but Mr.Do had never minded before. Junmyeon wants to point that out, but he is acutely aware of the presence of the others.
“Sorry, sir,” is all he says instead. He stands there, not sure if he’s dismissed until Mr.Do stops staring him down and returns his attention to the people on the other side of the desk. Junmyeon briskly escapes, sighing as he takes off his jacket and discards it on top of his desk. There are messages waiting for him in the inbox and new shipments that came in that need arranging.
“Mr. Kim,” Mr. Do calls. The outsiders had left a few minutes ago - Junmyeon had heard the front door being opened and shut heavily, with a thud. He knocks before entering.
“Come in.” His boss says briskly. “I need you to file these.” He slides a folder of documents. Junmyeon nods, picking it up.
“One more thing.” Junmyeon looks up expectantly.
“I am disappointed in you, Mr. Kim. You are the representation of my work ethic and image. Displaying unscrupulous behavior in front of outsiders, like today, is just not acceptable. I am extremely disappointed in you.”
Junmyeon flushes, embarrassed. “I didn’t know they were coming today -” He stops at the look on Mr.Do’s face. “Irregardless, I expect my secretary to come on time. It is the least that you can do.That is your responsibility, Mr. Kim. I expected better from you.”
Junmyeon returns to his office, face flaming. He was doing so well last week, what happened? He paces around for a bit, debating whether to return and apologize to Mr. Do - but being a few minutes late was an acceptable tardy. Maybe he should ask about that - or would that make Mr.Do even angrier than he was? In the end Junmyeon chose to do neither, secretly fuming as he poured over the paperwork.
It was late when Junmyeon returned home that day, choosing to complete the entirety of the paperwork before going home, making Jongdae wait for a good hour and a half on the porch outside, hoping to redeem himself. However, Mr.Do didn’t even bat an eye when Junmyeon kept the papers on his desk, his full concentration on the phone call that he was on.
“Long day?’ Jongdae asks, starting up the engine as Junmyeon yawned, which made him yawn as well, laughing through it as he realizes that they set each other off. Junmyeon squeezes Jongdae’s hand as they pull out of the parking space. “Thank you for waiting for me today, Dae.”
Jongdae grins. “I did consider taking you off and leaving you to the sharks, but I happen to be an exceptionally kind friend.”
“You are,” Junmyeon reassures him, leaning forward to turn on the aux. Jongdae understands, he always does.
Jongdae leans back as he listens, eyebrows raised. “So you both just happened to bump into each other?”
“That is what I just said, yes,” Baekhyun verifies. “And now we got matching hoodies,” he reminds, tugging at the hoodie that he claims Chanyeol picked out for them at the local supermarket. Jongdae eyes it with disdain.
“The colors are gaudy,” he complains, making Junmyeon snort into his bowl of crackers. “I happen to like these colors, thank you very much,” Baekhyun says, grabbing the remote to unmute the movie they were watching, dismissing Jongdae’s unimpressed face. When Baekhyun gets up for a bathroom break, Junmyeon leans in and whispers, “He loves you, you know that right?”
Jongdae sighs, stealing a cracker from Junmyeon’s share. “I do know.”
Contrary to Junmyeon's belief, things do not get better the next day, or even the next. His boss gives him the cold shoulder the entire morning, only acknowledging his presence when he briefs him on the work to be done. This in turn unnerves Junmyeon, and more mistakes and oversights occur.
“Unacceptable, unacceptable, unacceptable,” Mr. Do fumes, and Junmyeon feels tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as he watches the letter that he typed out for the fourth time that day get slashed through with a marker. It was not a good day at the office.
“Where is the brief of the case?” Mr. Do demands, marking a giant circle over where the brief should have been inserted.
“You told me to only add the brief once the rest of the letter was finalized!” Junmyeon loses his temper at the injustice. His eyes feel prickly.
“This is not the first time I am reading through this, I expect you to have added the brief by now,” Mr. Do stands up, his cold, silent anger more terrifying than his raised voice a second ago. ‘This is a professional environment, Mr. Kim. I think I should be able to bank on both of us to act professionally.”
It is only when Junmyeon feels Mr. Do’s breath on his face that he becomes extremely conscious of how close they are like this. He takes a step backward, realizing he can’t move anymore due to the leg of the desk's constricting movement. Mr. Do seemed to have frozen at their proximity, not sure exactly what to do. Their eyes meet. “This is unprofessional, Mr. Do,” Junmyeon mumbles, hands shaking.
Mr. Do pushes the leg of the chair near him away, walking away, turning his back towards Junmyeon. “You are dismissed for the day. Good night.”
As Junmyeon walks out, he buries his face in his hands.
The only good thing that happens within the next few days is that Baekhyun buys Jongdae the same hoodie Chanyeol bought for him, and Jongdae caves in and wears it everywhere and around the house, not seeming to mind the gaudy colors anymore.
It is finally on Thursday that Mr. Do storms into Junmyeon’s office, eyes ablazing. Junmyeon had broken a vase and had hurried past Mr. Do without explaining anything. He sucks at the red mark a particularly sharp shard had left. “All the new letters have multiple typing errors, and now you have -” he eyes the pieces on the floor, “- broken something. Where is your head at, Mr. Kim?”
Junmyeon winces instead of answering, immediately regretting taking the pressure off the cut, watching as the blood immediately flows out. It’s all too familiar, yet a stranger feeling with someone watching on. Mr. Do follows his gaze towards the wound.
“My office, now,” he commands, marching off.
Junmyeon timidly peeks into his office to see Mr.Do waiting with bandaids and a bottle of antiseptic. He beckons Junmyeon forward, and pushes his hand away when Junmyeon feels that it is safe enough to to enter and tries to help himself. “I think you have helped enough. Stay still, Mr.Kim.” Junmyeon almost sniffles at the berating, feeling like a misbehaving child being reprimanded.
Soon enough Junmyeon’s finger is cleaned and wrapped up, although stinging a little. “It’s a good thing I keep these incase of any accidents with James,” he hears Mr. Do say to himself as he packs the first-aid kit away, and Junmyeon hangs his head low, awkwardly standing, awaiting instructions. He finally turns around, and Junmyeon can’t bring himself to look up.
‘Mr. Kim, your behavior recently has been…”
“What about my behavior?” Junmyeon asks, flaring up as he recalls Mr.Do’s own behavior over the past few days, still refusing to look up.
“It’s been very bad. Look at me.”
Junmyeon looks. The file that he stayed back and typed out for two hours is slid to him. “I want to read out what you have written here aloud to me.” Junmyeon takes the file in hand, his palms feeling clammy. Opening the binder, he clears his throat to read and spots an error in the very first line. Shit.
Mr. Do takes the file from his hand, understanding what the hesitation is about. “What should we do about this, Mr. Kim? How many times in the past week have I talked to you about these things?” Junmyeon wants to make excuses. He doesn’t.
“Many,” he replies, obediently.
‘Correct.” It’s an unreadable tone. “You are a bad secretary, Mr. Kim. You deserve to be punished. Do you want to be punished?”
“I -I do not understand,” Junmyeon says, eyes wide at the deep voice and equally deep gaze, and it goes directly to places unseen.
“I said, do you want to be punished, Mr. Kim? Clearly, words have no effect on you.” Junmyeon knows Mr. Do is affected too, he hears it in his heavy breathing.
“Mr. Kim,” he calls again, “Do you trust me?”
A million threads unravel themselves in Junmyeon’s finite brain, but he physically, mentally cannot sort through them at that given moment. He slowly, but surely, nods. Mr. Do walks over, laying a hand down on the table, besides where Junmyeon was gripping to steady himself.
“Bend over,” is whispered against the shell of his ears. Junmyeon follows.
He hears it before he feels it, and it echoes against the stillness of the cream-colored walls surrounding them. A whimper escapes Junmyeon’s mouth, squeezing his eyes shut as Mr.Do curses from behind him. Initially he is engulfed by numbness, and then the heat courses through his backside, down to the back of his upper thighs. Another sound follows and the cycle repeats. Junmyeon extends his little finger to brush against the side of his boss’s hand, who realizes what he is looking for and lifts up his hand to envelope Junmyeon’s slightly smaller, coarser one in his. Junmyeon’s eyes flutter, awaiting another one, but nothing happens apart from the feeling of a ghost of a kiss being pressed against the back of his head, and a hand on Junmyeon’s belly, nudging him to stand up back straight again.
“I- I think that’s quite enough for the first time.” The first time. The promise of several other times to come to linger in the winter air. They stay like that for a few minutes, quietly huddled together.
Junmyeon stops by the washroom before leaving the premises. Without thinking too much about it, he drags down his black trousers, and then his underwear, in front of the decently sized mirror at the entrance. Red and pink bruises have religiously bloomed in contrast to his pale skin, and they sting a fair amount when Junmyeon traces a finger along them. He squeezes his thighs together, spending an inappropriate amount of time looking at the mirror.
In bed, Junmyeon gets himself off to the imprinted picture of the bruises in his head, incredibly thankful that his roommates were away on a date night. He comes twice consecutively with the attorney’s name on his lips, staining his favorite gray sweatpants and the bedsheets.
Eyes falling on his lit-up cell phone, he considers messaging a picture of his satiated self to the man who was responsible for it, but only manages to send a “good night!’. The reply comes in later in the night, the phone vibrating against Junmyeon’s exhausted, sleeping face.
Good night, Mr.Kim.
“You’re a sick man, with your sick fantasies,” she had said, pointer finger on his chest. Do Kyungsoo had felt cornered and weak.
Heavy bile rises in his throat as he thinks of that eventful day. He claps a hand over his mouth, walking briskly to the washbasin, letting it all out. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead, glistening vapidly against his skin. “The judge will not care what I do in my personal life, consensually. You have cheated on me multiple times, Yuna.”
“Maybe the judge will not, but your clients will.”
That day Kyungsoo signed over the rights to the Jeju Island property to her.
The cursor blinks rapidly.
Dear Mr. Kim, the message reads, I am sorry. I don’t know why I am like this. Are you disgusted by me?
He backspaces the paragraph till the text box is devoid of all text. Just then, a notification comes through, vibrating the phone in his hand. Do Kyungsoo hides his smile of relief against his pillows as he replies to the message.
“Mr. Kim, if we are to go about this arrangement of sorts, I expect to be very frank with you.” Mr. Do swivels in his desk, covering his little star cactus in its plastic container - to help retain moisture, he had done his research and found this little tip, he claimed - diverting Junmyeon’s attention towards him.
Junmyeon stops typing and listens - these days he prefers working in Mr. Do’s office rather than his own little private nook. It was far more convenient, for one.
‘Yes?”
‘I have been withholding this information from this town in fear of the gossipmonger’s scrutiny, but I am a divorced man.”
“I know,” Junmyeon proclaims, going back to typing.
“You know?”
“I know.”
“How do you know?” Junmyeon grins inwardly at Mr.Do’s baffled tone.
“I regularly go through your inbox, I can see any email that comes in,” he shrugs, feeling the stare that he receives from his employer against his skin. “So why did you divorce her?” While Junmyeon enjoys the advancement in their relationship, he knows that if Mr. Do keeps staring him down, none of them will get any work done. Changing the topic was the most feasible option, and it seems to work as Mr. Do groans.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Junmyeon consoles him, afraid he might have overstepped the boundaries.
“No, no.” He follows it by the thrum of his fingers on the tabletop, collecting himself before continuing. “It was a sham marriage really. A publicity stunt from both families to garner attention towards our firms and companies.”
Junmyeon grimaces. “Did that work out ?”
Mr.Do looks at him. “For our families and for the publicity, yes. For us, not hardly. I couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled the plug. I cannot live my whole life knowing that this is just a made up fantasy, only to please others.” It seemed like there was more he wanted to say, but he restrained himself, straightening his tie instead.
Junmyeon reaches out to hold his hand. Mr.Do accepts it, intertwining their fingers lightly.
Junmyeon stares at the glistening metal with mixed emotions in his chest.
“Junmyeon! We brought food!” The sound of the door being unlocked and Baekhyun’s voice startles him, and he shoves the knife back from where it came from. “Coming!” he calls back, sliding his already socked feet into his slippers. Winter was coming in strong and steady this year.
He pads down softly to find the three of them seated around the table - Junmyeon does a double-take. “Chanyeol?”
“Hey, Jun,” the vast silhouette of padded coats waves back to him with a gloved hand, struggling to get himself out of them. Junmyeon graciously helps, pulling them off Chanyeol with a little more effort than he had anticipated would be needed.
“We keep running into this guy, so we invited him over to dinner, again,” Jongdae says, all cozy in front of the lively fire with his legs spread out , the one that they got going in the living room. “More like you both keep running into me,” Chanyeol retorts, but it’s all said in good fun as they banter over it childishly.
“We do all have matching hoodies now, so I would say it’s only destiny,” Baekhyun trills, and Junmyeon is hyper aware of how he keeps playing footsies underneath the small table with both Jongdae and Chanyeol, but he keeps it to himself for the time being. He prods his feet right in between, making Baekhyun scowl and Chanyeol laugh, and he nudges his foot against Junmyeon instead.
“How’s that job going, Junmyeon?” Chanyeol asks as Jongdae piles more food on his plate, unnoticed. Baekhyun looks on approvingly.
“Good, yeah, good.” Junmyeon flushes. Good, if your boss making you come in your pants in his office almost every day was considered good. Then, exceptionally good. Chanyeol nods, not noticing anything out of the ordinary.
“You need to go outdoors more, Jun, you look awfully pale right now,” Jongdae says, passing him the soju. Junmyeon accepts the proposition dutifully, happy that his flushed face was being chalked up to Vitamin D deficiency, and not nothing more or less.
“Junmyeon, you’re awake,” Baekhyun says groggily, still in his sleeping clothes. “It’s so early, but I have a wedding cake to decorate.”
The clock shows that it’s seven, barely “so early” by most standards, but Junmyeon lets Baekhyun have his peace of mind. Jongdae was already in the shower. Junmyeon gulps down his breakfast, making idle conversation with Baekhyun who had taken over the dining table with his blueprints and sketches of the cake’s design. It looks interesting, but Junmyeon has his head somewhere else entirely.
Baekhyun eventually wanders off towards the kitchen, looking for this and that, and Junmyeon is left all alone, waiting for Jongdae to finish getting ready.
“Hey, Jun?” Junmyeon looks towards the direction of the pantry. “Hm?”
“Can you move the bigger one away from Junmyeon? I think it’s blocking too much of the light, that’s why the poor baby is not growing nearly as well as the others. It needs more sunlight.”
It takes a moment for it to click in Junmyeon’s mind. “Oh, right, the plants.” Junmyeon walks over to the corner the two plants rest in, centering the smaller one right at the center of the window, pushing away the bigger spider plant.
“Baek, where do I keep this one?” Baekhyun peeks out of the kitchen to see what Junmyeon was referring to, purple buttercream already staining his apron and gloves.
“Beside the other two should be good. The window is larger there, anyway.” Junmyeon carefully puts down the terracotta pot where instructed, creating a little makeshift circle with the three pots.
Stepping back, he admires his little handiwork.
“Pull your pants down,” Mr. Do orders, hand seemly on the small of Junmyeon’s back. He has Junmyeon cornered against his table, his cock hard and leaking in his pants. “Underwear too.” Junmyeon obliges, puckering his lips up, asking for a kiss, which he receives. It’s entirely too filthy and spit-slicked, and Mr. Do finally pulls back after a good minute, tapping Junmyeon on his ass, indicating to him to turn around.
Junmyeon bends over. It has quickly become their favorite position to fuck, and Junmyeon is aware it is more or less fuelled by a mutual consumption of porn stereotypes. He hears the unzipping of pants, and he wants to turn his head around, wants to look at the other’s cock, but the hand beneath his chin restricts him. He whines, protesting.
“Shush.”
Junmyeon doesn’t feel anything against his skin, so he keens, confused, but the sounds that follow soon after clarifying his doubts. Mr. Do jerks himself off behind him, merely to the sight of Junmyeon’s bare ass on his office desk. Junmyeon feels his already red cock grow impossibly harder at this discernment. He tries to grind himself against the cold wood of the desk, but the hand under his chin snakes down to his waist and pulls him back.
For a while, there is silence, apart from the obscene sound of skin against skin and their contained grunts, and then, all of a sudden, Junmyeon feels liquid trickling down his back, as Mr. Do grunts loudly. And just like that, he is coming too, without any simulation, just to someone coming on his ass. Junmyeon buries his face on the table, beyond ashamed, yet extremely turned on. Fingers run themselves along his backside, slowly yet intentionally spreading the hot liquid all over him. They nudge his thighs apart, and then they - stop.
Junmyeon does not quite understand - and then he understands all too well. He snaps his thighs shut far too mechanically, a cold wave of dread rushing through his chest, turning around instantaneously.
He thinks you are unattractive. Why would anyone want damaged, discarded, second-hand goods? Hell, he thinks you are disgusting. He sees what you really are, a raw wound. And just like that, it is back, the horrible, nasty corner of his mind, after a few days of almost total reprieve, and he pushes his thighs as closely as together as possible, bottom lip trembling.
Mr. Do seemed to get over his initial shock quite quickly. “Oh, baby,” he whispers, pulling Junmyeon into an embrace. “My poor baby.”
Then and there, the dam breaks. Junmyeon sobs, full-bodied, strangled sobs. Mr.Do pulls them onto his chair, letting Junmyeon rest his head on his shoulder. The realization of what he has been doing, and the implication of it, all become far too clear to Junmyeon. Half an hour in and he manages to compose himself in some sort of way, focusing on the hand running through his hair, and the sobs become quieter.
Mr. Do puts on his pants and then helps Junmyeon in doing so too, buckling up his belt for him. They stay like that for a very long time.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you hate me now? Are you disgusted by me?” Junmyeon must know, he needs to know. He clutches on to Mr.Do’s collar, almost begging for an answer, any answer.
“No, I don’t. Absolutely not.” Junmyeon is pulled in impossibly closer, their hearts in front of each other. Mr. Do removes Junmyeon’s bangs from his face, and Junmyeon’s chest feels minutely lighter.
Mr. Do repeats his initial question. Junmyeon considers it. “A little,” he consents.
“Are they recent?” Junmyeon shakes his head to indicate no. A warm kiss is pressed to the side of his head.
“Has this been going on for long?” Junmyeon nods. “Is this why you were recommended to leave your job and go on that retreat?” Junmyeon nods again. “You have been so strong, baby.” Another kiss. Junmyeon’s breathing recuperates.
“Will you listen to me?”
Junmyeon tilts his head. It's a depends.
“Will you walk back home and come here walking in the morning, and tell your roommate to stop picking you up? It is a very short distance, after all.” Junmyeon can do that. After all, the sun would only do him good. “And would you,” Mr.Do clears his throat, clearly nervous about what he is about to say, “try and promise me that you will try to resist from doing this again?”
Junmyeon blinks back his tears. “I will try.”
“I really will.”
-
The pond swirls, calm and steady, and swallows the steely glimmer within its watery fathoms. An uncanny sadness grips Junmyon’s chest, even though he knows that this was the correct, the proper thing to do. He had promised, promised to try, and this was him trying. Nevertheless, he sinks to his knees on the low bridge, letting the tears fall, grieving for his fallen adversary.
The bottom compartment of Junmyeon’s bedside cabinet is left empty, and the Swiss Army knife takes its new place at the bottom of the pond of their little town.
It wasn’t cold enough in the mornings to not walk outside. He had told Jongdae that he needn’t be his chauffeur now, and although Baekhyun had worried, Jongdae had assured his boyfriend that Junmyeon could very well take care of himself. The sun shines high in the sky, and Junmyeon basks in its snug heat. He likes how it blurs the outlines of the world, and he melts right into it. People, known and unknown walk past, and sometimes they look up at him, and sometimes they are entirely too absorbed in their own bubble, and Junmyeon wonders if that is how he often looks to other people on the streets. Junmyeon observes that their little town has never truly changed, and the view in front of him now was not that very different from the sun-drenched landscape that was his childhood. But Mr.Do was a force to be reckoned with, and with him, he brought changes, a breather from the tediousness that was this town.
The sunshine filters in sweetly through the windows, and the little spider plant, now without an obstruction, seems to turn its head towards the light.
“Stop!” Junmyeon giggles, swatting the hands away from him.
Junmyeon had somehow ended up back on Mr. Do’s broad thighs, rutting against each other’s hard-ons like horny teenagers. They had resorted to this method after noticing that there were no lube or condoms in the office - why would there be - and that there was too much work that needed to be done. Mr. Do had just grabbed Junmyeon’s hips to grind harder when the office phone rang. Junmyeon groaned, reaching for the phone and picking it up. His boss ignores it, instead choosing to untuck Junmyeon’s shirt from his trousers, lifting it up to bare his pearly stomach.
Stop, it’s a client, Junmyeon mouths, pulling the receiver away from his face. I don’t care, is mouthed back, prompting Junmyeon to raise an eyebrow in contempt. He decides ignoring Mr. Do’s advances may make him behave, so he removes his hands from the other’s shoulder. Mr. Do swivels the chair and pushes it forward, Junmyeon’s naked back hitting against the table, almost making him moan. He claps a hand on his mouth, just quick enough, and glares. ‘
“Yes, sir, I will get Mr. Do for you,” he mumbles into the speaker, holding it out as if to offer it to his boss, urging him to take the call, who whispers, “I am not here, Mr. Kim.” It’s shiver-inducing, taking Junmyeon back to his early days where he had to be instructed how to decline a call on behalf of his boss. He lets out a frustrated sigh, a feat in itself as butterfly-like kisses are splattered on his stomach.
“Mr. Do is busy with some other work, but I would be happy to take down a message for him!” he chirps, hoping the client doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, how Junmyeon’s breath labors as Mr. Do pushes his shirt even higher, above his nipples, and latches to one, tongue swirling deliciously in all the right ways. Junmyeon presses down his crotch firmly in pleasure, forcing even more pressure on his cock, as he at the same time tries to register what is being said to him from the other side of the phone. Normally, he would write it down, but right now, he can’t, as he grabs onto the short hair in front of him trying to not fall off the chair as quiet bites mark the sensitive skin around his nipples, and the cold saliva does little to soothe it.
It seems like after ages that he finally keeps down the phone and Mr. Do finally unzips their pants, jerking them off together, side by side until they reach their climax.
“You aren’t going home?”
It’s hours past his working time, but Junmyeon still has a pile of records on his desk, pouring over them as thoroughly and speedily as he can.
“We need to get this done before the client comes in tomorrow, so I need to finish it.”
Mr. Do frowns. “Why wasn’t this done earlier, then?”
“Because someone insisted on fucking the entire afternoon.” For the first time, Junmyeon sees the expression on Mr. Do’s face to be something akin to a blush, somewhat a little bit ashamed. He scratches his head. "I am afraid you are going to have severe back pains if you keep sitting like that, Mr. Kim. We can go over to my house across the street and work more comfortably if you’d like.”
This was definitely a big leap in their relationship - arrangement - but Junmyeon tries to not read too much into it. It was his boss’s fault ultimately, he decided that they had to stay back so late, so it was common courtesy for him to offer help in little ways.
“Okay, we can do that,” he agrees, getting up from the chair and stretching his arms, wincing at his knotted shoulders.
They lock up the office together, collecting their things and the files that they need to work on, and cross the road in the sheer chilly breeze that prickles any bare part of their body. Mr. Do struggles on opening the door for a bit before Junmyeon offers to do it for him. He still hadn’t got the hang of it, is his excuse, and Junmyeon laughs.
The interior is what Junmyeon had expected - meticulous and minimalist, all beige and wood, obviously not having transformed into a home, yet. James sat atop the kitchen counter, having been shifted into the safety of the warm house earlier that week for intensive care due to the unprecedented cold. Junmyeon takes off his jacket by the door, hanging it alongside his boss’s, extremely thankful for the running thermostat keeping the hall warm indoors. It suddenly clicks in his brain, and Junmyeon hurriedly sends a message to Baekhyun’s number, knowing that he will worry till he drives himself insane if Junmyeon doesn’t show up at home soon.
Staying over at the office, won’t come home today
He gets an almost immediate reply.
Are you sleeping at the office?
Junmyeon presses the power button, making his screen turn off as he notices Mr. Do approaching, back from his washroom detour. He wraps a hand around Junmyeon’s waist, squeezing. “Welcome to my humble abode.” Junmyeon teasingly places caresses on the arms around him, diverting Mr. Do’s attention enough to step out of them.
“We need to get this done tonight. No distractions please.”
Mr. Do doesn’t look like he agrees with that notion, but he nods anyway. “You can go take over the living room, I’ll try and get us some dinner in the meantime.” The living room was definitely more comfortable to work in than the rigid office chairs, and Junmyeon lifts his legs up, folding them together, using his lap as a table for the files. He goes through his phone one last time before focusing on the work and remembers that he never got back to replying to Baekhyun.
No, I’m sleeping over at my boss’s
Baekhyun doesn’t know what is going on between Junmyeon and his boss, and neither does anyone else, for that matter. It is still early days, and Junmyeon does not want to jinx anything, just yet.
Junmyeon gasps at the steaming food placed in front of him. There were at least five different dishes in the bowl that was prepared for him, giving out all types of heavenly scents.
“I didn’t know you could cook!” he accuses, accepting the bowl into his hands at the same time - it was hot enough to sting against his palm initially, but not hot enough to be painful. Just the right amount of heat.
“I did not exactly keep it a secret, you just never asked.” Mr. Do says, sitting down next to Junmyeon on the couch, which has him tutting. “I said no distractions tonight!”
“You think so lowly of me,” the other says, grinning, grabbing the record on top of the pile. “I’ll help you, we will finish much sooner.” Junmyeon narrows his eyes, but lets him be. There are a few looks exchanged, but otherwise. Mr. Do stays true to his words. It is nearly three in the morning when the last paper is filed and corrected, and Junmyeon lets out a groan of victory, throwing his hands up and slumping back down against the back cushions. Mr. Do takes his reading glasses off to rub his eyes drowsily.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, “you can take the bed.”
Junmyeon shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, I’m fine without the bed -” He is shushed with a peck on his cheek. “I can’t let my guest sleep on the couch. Upstairs, second room to the left, go.”
Junmyeon makes a dramatic show of being forced to sleep in the bedroom against his will, but the moment his head hits the pillows, he is out like a light, curled up under the blankets in his work clothes. When Mr. Do comes upstairs to check on him, he finds him like that. Smiling, he adjusts the blankets so it covers his entire curled-up body properly and switches off the night lights.
“Good night,” he says in a low voice so as to not wake the other up before he trudges downstairs and drifts off on his couch.
More records of clients are mailed by the firm in the next few days, and they pile up on Junmyeon’s desk and every other empty plain surface, till he makes the executive decision to just carry them home and sort them out there, in peace. He quickly understands his fatal mistake when he realizes that there is hardly any space in his own bedroom. His desk is cluttered with the things that he never had the courage to leave behind.
It is an impromptu decision, but he grabs a box from under his bed, not bothering to dust it before he piles the mementos of his past into them. The broken earphones go in first, and so does the old jumper, which had started to come apart. He considers keeping the CDs, but then he throws them in there too for good measure.
Jongdae watches him from in front of the lit fireplace as he dumps the entire box into the trash can outside that would be emptied within a few hours.
“Cleaning out your room?” he asks as Junmyeon walks past, dusting his hands on his pajamas.
“Yeah, needed to get rid of those, they kept hoarding the place to keep new stuff.”
Jongdae nods, understanding.
The landline rings in the living room, startling Junmyeon who was beginning to doze off, warm and cozy near the fire. Baekhyun extends his hand from the other side to pick it up. “Must be Jongdae’s workplace, he gave them this number when he first started working there and they still keep calling.”
He puts the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”
Junmyeon sees the exact second as the blood drains from Baekhyun’s face, and he scrambles up, holding his hand over the speaker.
“It’s your Ma."
Junmyeon stills. His hands visibly shake as he takes the phone in his hands, and Junmyeon squeezes his shoulder in consolidation, leaving the room to give him privacy. He wishes he had the courage to ask Baekhyun to stay, to hold his hand through the process, but he doesn’t, and the phone hangs limply far too long in hand, something that he would definitely get rebuked for.
“Ma?”
“Junmyeon, did you change your phone number again? I called so many times!” Junmyeon opens his phone’s main screen and notes the expected lack of any missed calls. “No, Ma, I didn’t change my number.”
“Either way, when are you coming back to Busan? You are not planning to stay there , right?” Never. Junmyeon is never going back, but he can’t say that, not to his mother’s face.
She drones on, and Junmyeon blocks it out, he doesn’t need to hear any of it. She doesn’t understand, no matter how many times he explains it or how he does it. What more can he possibly say to enable her to understand the depth of his emotions? He doesn’t want to hear how well his siblings are doing in life, or that the neighbors are concerned about him, or how she is so disappointed in his apathy about their family.
“So, have you been doing that again?”
“What Ma?”
“You know, the thing.” Junmyeon can’t help but roll his eyes at her half-assed attempt to try and care for her own son, understanding anyway what she was trying to imply. “No.”
“See, I had told you Junmyeon, it was just a phase. A few days in Busan, and all of that is gone -” He slams the phone down as soon as he understands the gist of what she was about to say. A watered-down version of the words he heard every day for two months, and it all caught up to him. He knew Baekhyun was right around the corner, probably waiting for him, but he didn’t want to cause a scene, so Junmyeon ran up the stairs, locking himself in his room, the words playing through like a broken record player.
It was just a phase. It was just a -
The hopeless intensity of it all floods his mind. He has learned better now to pay attention to anything that comes out of that mouth, but yet it affects him more than he can ever confess with his pride still intact, more than words can ever say. Out of habit, Junmyeon kicks the bottom drawer open, he remembers that the Swiss Army knife is gone. Why is it gone? He kept Mr. Do’s promise. He would try his best to resist. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t.
Junmyeon curls himself into a ball, piling the cushions and blankets on top of himself, urging himself to breathe steadily through their cold embrace. He opens his phone, hunts down her number, and blocks it forever and ever. Switching tabs, he presses the call button next to his boss’s saved contact.
It rings, but no one picks up. He calls again, and it keeps on ringing. Junmyeon picks up his coat and walks out of the front door.
The doorbell is far too pitchy and it rings virulently through his aching head. The door swings open and Junmyeon steps forward, but it’s not Mr. Do.
“Who are you?”
It’s a woman, looking down at him. Junmyeon knows exactly who it is, but this makes him even more confused as to how to respond. “I - I am -”
Fortunately, Mr. Do comes to the door right as on cue, his stoic expression slipping when he sees Junmyeon, but only for a second. He regains his composure, clearing his throat to notify the woman of his presence. She turns to look at him questioningly.
“Kyungsoo, who is this?”
“No one.” He replies, stumbling through his words. “I mean, this is Mr. Kim, my new secretary.” Junmyeon feels her eyes on him, scanning him through and through. He shifts uncomfortably, cold from the air and uncomfortable due to her piercing stare. She folds her arms against her chest. “And what is your new secretary doing here, now ?”
“I came to ask Mr. Do for the office keys, I needed to fetch something from the office.” Growing up in a disciplinarian household had taught Junmyeon a number of survival skills, and coming up with lies on spot during dire situations was, thankfully, one of them. Mr. Do studies him, and Junmyeon knows that he has been caught lying red-handed, but thankfully, he decides to play along. He disappears within the darkness of the house for a moment to go fetch the keys.
Junmyeon taps his shoes against the ground and quickly stops when he realizes that he has company. He looks up to make direct eye contact with his boss’s divorcee.
“Secretary, huh? I thought you were his newest boy toy. Nothing like that going between the two of you, is there?”
“No, no.” Junmyeon exhales, pieces falling into place in his head. It hits him, finally, and when it does it hits him hard.
Her face remains illegible.
He can’t look up at Mr. Do’s face when he is handed the keys. “You can take the keys home with you, Mr. Kim, I have an extra copy.” Junmyeon nods in acknowledgment, walking back down the front yard before he even hears a goodbye.
Just like that, the office is back to its former despondency and ear-shattering silence. Kyungsoo’s heart clenches at the way Junmyeon recoils when he tries to approach him. He knows that it was a reaction to something she had said to him, but Junmyeon won’t even look at him, let alone talk to him.
“Please, let us talk,” he almost begs on the unbearable fourth day of this void. The silence is an insinuation, an inference and it tips Kyungsoo over the very edge. It’s almost a weight taken off his chest when Junmyeon acknowledges him, almost.
“What is there to talk about, Mr. Do?”
“Junmyeon, please -” Junmyeon flinches at his name.
“Is that what I really am to you, Mr. Do? Nothing? Just your next boy toy, easily replaceable? I think I trusted you too much, Mr. Do.”
“Did she tell you that? It’s not true, you know.” Mr. Do takes two steps forward, offering his hand to Junmyeon. Junmyeon takes a step back. He cannot afford to do this anymore. Sometimes open wounds never close back up. To be so vulnerable to someone who can let go of him so easily when not needed anymore, to open up his heart and his chest so that someone can get inside him and mess him up. He fears that when he is ripped open, they will find him unsightly. It’s been done before, and he had not come out of it unscathed. He can’t blame Mr. Do, after all, no promises had been traded between them. In all aspects, this was probably equally as much as Junmyeon’s fault as well, he had willingly offered himself in the excitement of the moment, a complete fool to not think of the consequences moving forward. Maybe Mr. Do was just one of those things of the past that he needed to leave behind.
“I think we should just remain professional, Sir.”
Mr. Do reaches out hesitatingly, cupping Junmyeon’s face. “I think I love you,” he admits quietly. Junmyeon takes his hand. and with a tenderness that cannot be named, responds, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I am sorry, I do - I can’t change that.”
Junmyeon hands in his resignation papers a few hours later. The last few dying petals on the wild rose bushes watch on, silent spectators to his struggle as they fight their own personal battles against the cold.
“You can’t stay in bed all week, Jun,” Baekhyun knocks against the door and says, an obligatory routine that he follows every single waking hour. Junmyeon obligatorily ignores him, burying himself further within the blankets. He hates behaving in this way to his roommates, who have been nothing but supportive and wonderful to him, but it’s far easier than talking to anyone or even facing them.
Sometimes he goes down for meals, and Jongdae and Baekhyun let him eat, worried that he won’t if they try and bring up everything else. On days he feels somewhat of a human being, on others he feels more like a sound. He touches the world not as himself but as an echo of who he was. He carries the little spider plant up to his room for the trivial sake of companionship. He hears Baekhyun saying that it won’t survive for wrong, it had too much water and too little light in its time, but the little thing did not seem to want to give up even in a world that was too harsh to its fragile soul.
Chanyeol drops by one day, and he connives his way into the room through the promise of bungeoppangs from that one tuck shop that Junmyeon loves. Junmyeon cries a little at the reminder, deep inside the crevices in his chest, yet bites into them starvedly. They taste like the xylene marker-scented office air and Mr.Do’s pine aftershave, and he hates it and cherishes it all at the same time. Chanyeol holds him from behind, waiting patiently until the yellow box is empty of everything and crumbs.
“Talk to me,” he demands once Junmyeon gets rid of the stickiness of the red beans from his hands in his attached washroom and splashes some cold water on his face.
It is perhaps the comfort of knowing no matter what he possibly says, kind-hearted, gentle Chanyeol would never hold it against him that gives him voice. It comes rushing out, most of it not making much sense but Chanyeol hears him out either way, and Junmyeon is grateful for that very thing. He skips over details that are meant for his and Mr. Do ears only, like their first afternoon in his office. Chanyeol holds him tighter through some of the bad parts, but all in all, he listens.
“Do you feel lighter?” he says as Junmyeon finishes with the last part, of how he quit. It does, vaguely yet surely, so Junmyeon nods.
And somehow, through his magical honeyed words, he coerces Junmyeon to follow him downstairs. Baekhyun and Jongdae look up from the coffee table book that they were flipping as they enter the main living area.
“Hello,” Junmyeon says sheepishly, taking a place in one corner. Chanyeol squeezes his shoulders.
He notices a package on the table with his name written on it and reaches to pick it up. Baekhyun purses his lips. “It came in the mail a few days ago, but we didn’t want to disturb you so…” he trails off, Junmyeon’s hands already picking at the outer packaging. Chanyeol moves out of the way of the light and takes a seat between the couple.
When the top of the package finally rips open, papers fall out. Junmyeon recognizes them immediately. Tens of typed pages, all marked with red marker pen from the expensive brand that he has only seen one person ever use in this town. Words are crossed out, lines are underlines, typing errors are cycled. A little note sits right at the bottom, a piece torn from a notepad with the name of a law firm.
Dear Junmyeon, I will never regret you. Sincerely, Kyungsoo.
“Is that his address?” Chanyeol suddenly asks, leaning forward, squinting at the discarded orange packaging on the couch as Jongdae and Baekhyun exchange glances of confusion.
Junmyeon replies in the affirmative.
“Junmyeon, I saw moving trucks in front of that house on my way here.” The words whir senselessly in Junmyeon's brain for a moment before they fall into place.
“I think I need to go there, now,” Junmyeon says, getting up, making a beeline for his padded coat next to the front door. Regret is a heinous word. Baekhyun nudges Jongdae with his elbow, who gets up too in a hurry, “I’ll drive you Jun, wait up!” but Junmyeon is already out of the door, shouting back, “I can walk!”
Junmyeon could not believe he missed the first snow of the season. The heel of his shoes crunched over the silvery substance as the afternoon sun tried to beat down on it, attempting to melt them. He half-ran, half walked over to the little block. The office was locked up, and there were no lights within it, so he turned towards the Jeong’s old house. There was no truck there in front of it anymore, so he ran up to knock on the door right as it flew open.
“Mr. Kim?” Junmyeon can see suitcases and packed boxes behind him. Mr. Do smiles, almost not a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
Another one of those smiles is thrown at Junmyeon and he doesn’t want to see them ever, anymore. “I am afraid I need to leave soon, but,” he checks his watch, “I think I can easily spare a few minutes. Come on in, it’s freezing outside.”
The house still has most of the furniture, but all traces of the lawyer are gone from its interior. Junmyeon can't spot James anywhere. The kitchen was empty, and no folders were untidily piled on top of the dining table, waiting to be handed to Junmyeon the next day. There would be no next day for them. “So,” Mr. Do says, “what did you want to talk to me about?” Junmyeon breathes, he had never really planned what he wanted to talk about. He wasn’t even sure if there was anything left to be talked about, yet words spilled out of his mouth. “I think I want to give us a chance.” It is barely a whisper, but he knows Mr. Do can hear it because of the way his face twitches.
“I think you made the right choice earlier,” he says, and Junmyeon feels lost. “I have a train in half an hour. I don’t think this place is for me, anyway, it’s too… quaint, do you know what I mean? One of my partners will be taking over here, I think he’d enjoy it better here.”
And Junmyeon just can’t shake off the feeling that the gravity of those words hold against him, and it’s not something that he can coherently put into a phrase. The concept of never had always been harder to grasp than that of forever. He reaches for Mr. Do, for an embrace of consolation, anything, but he flinches away and Junmyeon’s blood runs cold to the understanding of how the places have been reversed and how the days have changed. He finds himself being helped into a chair. He sits down, feeling weightless.
“You will be okay, Junmyeon, won’t you?”
Mr. Do’s hands curl over the handle of his suitcase he heads towards the door, and Junmyeon motions to get up. “Stay.” It’s the same tone that he had used the first day that Junmyeon had been punished, it’s the tone that comforted him when the worst parts of him were open for the world to see, vulnerable.
“Stay,” he repeats. So Junmyeon stays.
Mr. Do disappears from his line of vision, and Junmyeon hears him fumbling with the locks behind him. Finally, the door creaks open. There is a moment of pure silence, and then it clicks close, and Junmyeon hurts, hurts so much, but no tears come out of him anymore.
He should have gotten up long before, left the house, but Junmyeon stays. He hunches over the dining table. He aches all over, but he’s scared of what it means, so he pays it no heed. He loses all track of time, eyes glued to the intricate circles and other unrecognizable patterns formed by the glistening wood, smoothening the palms of his hands over them. He fists one hand, and it fits in, almost perfectly into a pressed in the crevice of the table which seemed that it had been dented by something. He bends till his forehead touches the wood, and soon all but falls asleep.
It is probably hours, or days, or perhaps even weeks when the door clicks open, and it sounds so distant to Junmyeon. He hears a gasp, something dense hitting the side of a cabinet, and footsteps hurrying towards him.
“Junmyeon?’ Junmyeon hums silently. “Oh god.”
Strong arms help him up and he gets up, legs wobbly and mind hazy, but he knows who it is. He knows that pine aftershave and that deep voice. He is all but carried up the stairs, and his legs give away as soon as he feels the coolness of a bed behind him. “You came back? What about the train?” he asks.
“That doesn't matter anymore, silly baby, now rest.”
It's a relief to close his eyelids, as heavy as they already were, and the weight of being awake and thinking leaves his body.
It is dark outside when Junmyeon wakes up and is herded into the bathroom.
“Can I take off your clothes?” Junmyeon nods and quick hands get to work, deftly pulling off the clothes he had been wearing since the morning off his body. He is helped into the tub, maneuvering carefully to not hurt himself on any of the corners.
The hot water of the tub floods his mind. There’s something citrusy in the air, but Junmyeon can’t bother to identify it, not right now, anyway. Bergamot is an after thougt.
“Come here,” he tells Kyungsoo who raises his eyebrows but takes off his shirt and steps into the bathtub anyways. “Do you want me to help clean you?” Junmyeon nods sleepily. Soft hands map the contour of Junmyeon’s skin, from the skin over his ribcage to the one on his stomach. It rests against the space over his thighs, waiting for permission, and Junmyeon opens his legs just a little bit more apart, so that Kyungsoo, and only Kyungsoo, and no one else in the entire world can see what lay between. Fingers dance over the still-healing scars, and Junmyeon hides his face between the other’s shoulder and neck, breathing heavier.
“My darling, sweetheart, I know.” a kiss is dropped on his collarbone,” I know. Let me kiss your tears away.”
“Kyungsoo,” Junmyeon chants, and he never wants to stop. Junmyeon soaks himself in there till the water turns lukewarm, Kyungsoo washing his hair, kissing his face, praising him for being so good, so cooperative. “How do you feel now?
It takes a while for the question to penetrate through the mist in Junmyeon’s mind, and he mulls over it sufficiently before answering. “Somewhat numb and heavy, but I can’t find the right words.I think I’d drown without you here, please don’t leave me.”
Kyungsoo takes Junmyeon’s hand and holds it tightly, to assure him that he won’t.
Junmyeon is led out of the bath as carefully as he put in, wrapped up comfortably in a big, warm towel. “Should I take you home?” Kyungsoo asks as he dries his hair, Junmyeon squinting his eyes closed so the towel doesn’t hit him there.
“No, please,” he groans. Kyungsoo laughs, “Why not?”
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
Junmyeon never really spells it out for him, but Kyungsoo eventually understands, for how could he not when Junmyeon curls up to him at bed that night, silhouettes fitting together like two lost puzzle pieces like they have slept like this forever.
-
“Have a good day at work, Mr. Do.”
Junmyeon leans forward, smiling as Kyungsoo bumps their noses together. “I will, Mr. Kim.” It’s a slow, indulgent kiss, and they both savor it, knowing that that is all that they will get until night when Kyungsoo returns home. “The new secretary is coming in today,” he says, suddenly remembering. Junmyeon understands the humorous implication and smiles.
He straightens Kyungsoo’s tie, leaving a last peck on his forehead. “Play nice, okay?”
Kyungsoo never left the town, that day, or the next, or for as many days that came after that. Junmyeon has a platinum band on his finger and handprints on his ass to prove it. He lays back down on the bed as Kyungsoo leaves, watching James and the little spider plant bloom side by side. Baekhyun had let them borrow it.