Work Text:
***
Pulling me every way
Can’t find a way to escape.
—Scrooge Syndrome, Unlike Pluto
***
Jay considers himself a hard worker.
Tell him to jump and he’ll ask where, how high, and how many times—then do it. He can pull all-nighters, grind overtime—live off instant noodles and coffee fumes.
But two plus two doesn’t make five.
Jay steps into Manager Lee Haneun’s office. She sits upright in her chair, lipstick matte red, not a hair out of place. She smiles at him, something placid and polite—just on the edge of apologetic.
An HR assistant stands off to the side, stone-faced.
Jay already knows where this is going. He’s known it for the past week.
“Good morning, Park Jongseong-ssi,” she says.
Jay settles opposite her. “Good morning.”
She drops a document onto her desk. A white sheet as neat and square as her.
Termination.
“We’ve discussed your performance as an assistant manager several times. However, we have not seen much improvement.”
Jay’s jaw sets.
“So I’m being let go?”
“That seems to be the case.”
Of course. Same song and dance.
Jay can do it with his eyes closed—perhaps even dead. “May I ask what the reason is?”
“Many complaints have revealed that you are… difficult to work with. You blatantly disrespect your superiors and don’t finish your work punctually.”
“I see,” Jay says. “That’s unfortunate.”
It was either to call Manager Kim out on his bullshit, or watch Minsoo get chewed out by their marketing manager for “being an incompetent leech” again.
The guy hasn’t slept in a week—the company isn’t even paying him overtime. Jay’s been helping him fix the errors—practically at the expense of his own deadlines.
He thought he could make it work.
But clearly, a will made of steel isn’t much use if it won’t staple paperwork or crack backs on office chairs.
“Unfortunate indeed,” she says.
Jay doesn’t ask anymore. He leaves the office, packs his things, and lets himself be escorted out. He doesn’t inform his team that he’s going—doesn’t want to see the look on Minsoo’s face.
Minsoo will only blame himself.
Still, Jay leaves a note on his now barren workspace. Something simple.
It’s been a great five months. You were a good team. All of you.
He calls them all by name and wishes them well. And when he gets to Minsoo, he writes, “The last of the work I did is under my desk. Fighting.”
Then he leaves.
Like all the other times, he doesn’t look back.
***
Status: Unemployed.
Duration: 3 days.
“Again?” Jake asks, shaking his head into his drink. “Dude—this is already the third time in, like, a year.”
Jay rolls his eyes. “I know—pretty sure I had a front row seat to the disaster.”
It’s been the story of his life since graduating from college last year. Guess they were wrong about grades taking you places.
‘Least not when you’re him.
Five months is the longest he’s held a job. Not a long time—but long enough it felt a little hopeful.
The bar hums around them, low and blended with jazz music. It’s calm enough to settle him—but loud enough that he won’t drown in his own thoughts.
Or maybe it's just the alcohol talking.
“Do you even have money to be here?”
Jay scoffs. “I’m unemployed, not broke.”
“Right, right.” Jake hums—not really paying attention. He’s too busy trying to line his toothpicks up on a napkin.
But then he does look at him—with a glint in his eyes. The one he gets when he’s about to say something risky.
Jay thinks about getting up and leaving.
Instead he pulls his glass closer.
“Actually…. there’s this job. Secretary position. Private—pays stupidly well.”
Jake looks at him—expectant. Like Jay is supposed to connect non-existent dots. Where does he want to go with this?
Jay narrows his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”
“Well—it’s open right now. No clue why it keeps opening up, but...”
Jay takes a large gulp of whiskey. It burns on the way down. Maybe he heard wrong. A secretary job that keeps opening but pays well?
What—are they the mafia?
“You know what happened to the other secretaries?”
“Nope. Just heard about it from Sunghoon—he thinks the company must be picky.”
Huh.
“Sounds suspicious.”
Jake shrugs. “You never know.”
Jay heard those exact words in a movie right before a character died.
He has two options:
- Don’t take the job. Job hunt to hell and back for who knows how long. Possibly get evicted from his tiny apartment.
- Take the job. Get paid stupidly well. Possibly get involved in mafia bullshit.
The answer comes too quickly.
Jay has no room to be picky right now. He may not be broke, but he will be soon enough.
With that, he sighs.
He knows.
He knows that in this world, a steel-will gains him nothing. Only acceptance makes a dent in anything. Maybe Jay needs to start ramming into it.
Truly, you never know.
“Alright, I’ll bite. You got their number?”
Jake’s eyes brighten.
***
Status: Unemployed.
Duration: 4 days.
Jay likes to do his spring cleaning in June. Never mind the fact that spring’s already over. His apartment has been a mess for the past month and a half.
He spends the day grouping trash bags, dusting the floors—and airing out his room. He wipes down the windows, and even his only guitar.
The phone number lies folded inside his phone case. He tells himself he’s just pacing important decisions.
But soon the room is cleaner than his job history—weirdly barren and devoid of personality.
Now, he can’t avoid it.
***
He calls the number that night. He expects it to go to voicemail.
But it only rings once.
***
It’s morning.
They set the interview for today. No fanfare, no dilly-dally. They asked his name and if he was an applicant.
As soon as he answered, the call ended.
Just like that.
Jay thought the service dipped—but nope.
They sent a video call link afterwards. Dry, rude—almost automated.
He’s not allowed to press it until they give him confirmation via text.
Not weird at all.
Jay spends the entire day with his phone in hand. Practically an extension of his body, warm from his grip.
Every notification has him scrambling. He nearly chokes while eating lunch, slips on the floor getting out midshower, and ruins two naps from notification sounds.
Until—finally.
They text at two sharp:
Press the link.
Jay fumbles the phone and does as told, smoothing his hair out with a hand, rubbing at his eyes to hide his drowsiness. Then he falls onto his bed again—facing the window light.
The call connects.
Their camera remains off.
“Jongseong Park?” A man asks.
“That’s me.”
A paper rustles. A separate, softer voice murmurs.
Jay tries to keep the curiosity off his face. Doesn’t do much to make him sound less incredulous.
“Hello…?”
“To confirm,” the man continues. “You live on X street in Y apartment building, floor seven, yes?”
“What?”
That’s his address.
Jay’s whole body stiffens like a taut rubberband.
He never told them that.
The caller sighs, tone flat.
“Yes or no.”
Jay wipes his palms on his pants, skin hot and cold.
“Yes?”
“Confirmed. You are to start work tomorrow. Someone will pick you up at seven. Wear a suit.”
The call drops.
Jay wastes no time.
He stands up—lunges towards his window. No one is outside. At least, no one that’s watching him.
He drags a hand down his face.
Jake is so dead.
But it’s not like conventional ever saved Jay anyway.
***
Jay doesn’t sleep.
Who bloody could?
He checks the locks on his doors and windows too many times to count—thinks about putting his only desk against the door as protection. The thing is flimsy, not at all murderer-proof.
He could direct a movie with how many simulations flickered behind his closed eyes. One involved him crying in a corner, a knife to his neck.
Do mafia guys like knives?
At three a.m. the question almost sounded philosophical.
All that said, Jay gets ready at six. His best suit, a pocket knife and a prayer.
The knock sounds at 6:59.
Jay knows because he was watching the minutes past while trying to stomach a quarter of a tuna sandwich.
Another knock follows. Curt and impatient.
Jay doesn’t let them wait any longer.
He shakes his shoulders out—schools his expression, and opens the door. There is only one man. Tall—dark hair, narrowed eyes. A pair of shades sits pushed back in his hair.
He looks young.
“Jongseong Park?” He asks.
His voice is deep.
“Yup.”
“Follow me, then.”
The man strolls off. Jay locks his door and follows him like an idiot.
The elevator ride consists of Jay pressed into a corner and this lanky, serious looking guy slouching opposite him.
No one talks.
And when the elevator dings, they step out into the parking lot on the base floor. Serious-guy makes only a few turns—then they stop at a car. Sleek and black with tinted windows.
Perfect for potential murder.
They get in.
Jay—naturally—takes the passenger seat.
“AC on or windows down?” Serious-Guy asks.
Jay blinks at him.
“I have a choice?”
At that, the guy laughs—starts the car, engine rumbling. “Yeah?”
His smile makes him look even younger.
“Uh…” Jay swallows thickly. Better the windows down, right? So people can see them in case shit hits the fan. “No AC.”
Serious-guy rolls the windows down, and switches gears. With sweaty palms, Jay puts on his seatbelt and tries to look casual about it.
It’s impossible for him to look casual.
“Better wipe that spooked look off your face before we get there.” Serious-guy adds, eyeing him briefly. “Name's Riki, by the way.”
Just Riki?
“I’m not spooked.”
“Right. Because you’re Jongseong Park.” Riki snorts at his own joke.
“Haha…”
Somehow this is the most normal thing that’s happened so far.
Jay breathes easier. Neither of them try to make conversation again—almost like this is just a transaction. Maybe Jay can get through this if he pretends to be cargo.
Which he does.
They make it through the bustling, traffic-ridden town into a more…traffic-ridden area, if that’s possible. It becomes obvious quickly where they’re going.
The building that’s slightly taller than the others, clean square windows from the ground up reflecting the blue sky.
A painfully typical company building. Shiny and the pinnacle of what every college kid wants for the rest of their lives—what Jay had wanted.
They say never meet your heroes. Maybe they just meant any ideal at all.
Predictably, they turn into the underground parking zone, blocking out the sunlight. Jay’s hair instantly stands on end again, and it stays that way all the way to Riki’s parking spot.
It felt bizarre before. Now it’s real.
The engine shuts off.
They get out of the car in tandem, the doors echoing when shut. Once again, Jay follows Riki stupidly around the parking lot, and into yet another elevator.
There’s no trace of a smile on Riki’s face anymore. Just cold, hard efficiency as sharp as the tip of his tie. Serious-guy again.
Riki presses the tenth floor button, and up they go.
Jay clenches and unclenches his fists when the doors slide open.
Riki walks out.
Jay trails behind.
And then he stops.
Bright natural light.
Floor to ceiling windows. White walls—green accents. The place looks bigger inside than it did outside, the smell of smooth coffee in the air.
Workers in cubicles—spacious cubicles, muttering to each other and swapping between telephones with practiced ease.
It’s normal. Better than normal.
Suddenly the pocket knife feels like overkill.
“Everyone acts this way when they see the place,” says Riki. “It’s boring now—c’mon.”
Jay jolts out of his stupor.
“Right…”
He doesn’t want to know how many people have been in this exact position before him. Not right now.
They stop in front of a door, and Riki finally looks at him again. Almost like a warning, and says, “This is it.”
Jay nods, biting the inside of his cheek.
Riki knocks.
An airy voice slips through the crack.
“Come in.”
They both do, one after the other.
For some reason it feels slow, Jay’s heart beating like the drumroll before a reveal.
Then he looks up.
And his breath stops.
There is a man standing at a desk. Same black suit as every guy he’s noticed thus far—tie as sharp as Riki’s.
But he is the most beautiful man Jay has ever seen.
Bright, doe-like eyes, glowing in the light.
Something born of this very building. Never to be seen anywhere else.
Doe-eyes raises an arm.
For a second, Jay stares—brain offline. Riki coughs, sharp but subtle, and with a start, Jay reaches both hands out to shake Doe-eyes’ single one.
It’s firmer than it looks.
“I’m Yang Jungwon, head of strategic planning. Nice to finally meet you.”
Doe-eyes—Jungwon, says it like it hasn’t just been a night and a day since Jay applied.
“Uh—I’m Park Jongseong.” He tries to smile. “I look forward to working as your secretary.”
Jungwon smiles back and lets go of his hand.
Standing here—in this dream of a building—Jay wonders where things can possibly go.
Answer?
Anywhere.
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 1 - 7 day(s).
Jay makes it a habit to learn about his superiors.
From the way they like their coffee to how they curl their G’s. It used to be a crutch against getting fired. But since that's useless, he just dubs it Dedication to Humanity.
(Or digesting deadly levels of copium, Sunghoon had said once. Jay tackled him into Jake’s couch in retort and Jake recorded it all from the kitchen.)
But Yang Jungwon is a different story.
He doesn’t talk about himself—and when he’s with others, he asks more than he states.
In the span of three days, all Jay learns is that Jungwon is the CEO’s son. His strategic planning role is apparently a test. And that he likes his coffee with milk and sugar.
All information Jay thinks he should have gotten directly.
But despite that, the first week is… smooth.
Jay develops a routine of sorts.
- Riki escorts him to work and makes condescending jokes.
- Jay gets Jungwon coffee and tells him his daily schedule.
- Jay files documents—organizes calls from urgent to least and books appointments.
To add to this wonderful system, Jay plays Houseplant at lunch.
It entails standing around idly trying to look like he belongs.
Needless to say, he is a pair of dirty sneakers hiding among oxford shoes.
So, for the first four days, he eats alone. The food tastes like a heaven come home, but he gets heartburn wondering if he looks like a cool lone wolf, or a pathetic loner.
On day five as Houseplant, Jay makes a new friend—and rather quickly too. Jay had been lone-wolfing at his table when a rosy cheeked guy slipped in next to him—asked if he could take a seat.
“The rest of the tables are full,” he had said.
Jay agreed, and the rest is history. (As much as history can be when it was literally yesterday.)
But Kim Sunoo acts like they go way back. Not obnoxiously—just comfortably.
Naturally, Jay asks what anyone who cares about their job would on the second day of having a friend.
“What’s Yang Jungwon-ssi like?”
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 13 - 14 days,
For the first time, the cafeteria lady clocks Jay’s badge, eyes widening as she grins.
“You're Yang Jungwon-ssi’s secretary?”
“Huh? Yeah,” he says, watching her spoon curry onto his plate.
“That boy—such a darling, yes? It’s a blessing whenever he comes out of his office.”
Really?
Can one person really have that effect on a room?
“That so…”
“I can give you extra servings if you ever want—no worries,” she says.
He turns her down three times. Three times too many if you ask him.
Eventually Jay takes his plate, eyeing the curry.
“Does he come out of the office often?”
Jay and Jungwon don’t always work in the same room—but he’s never seen Jungwon come out for lunch, has he?
“Not particularly.” The woman shrugs. “I’m sure he probably gets something lavish ordered. Who would want food from a little old lady?”
Jay nods slowly, and doesn't ask her to expand.
***
Jay hears all kinds of things.
All good things.
Always good things.
Riki mentions that Jungwon’s watch costs the same as the car he drives. The gardener Jay sees on afternoons throws in that Jungwon donates money to different charities every six months.
Over lunch, the pattern continues.
“He’s an absolute angel. Like—he speaks gently even in the most chaotic situations,” Sunoo gushes, chopsticks pointing up.
“Sounds… perfect.” Jay sips his orange juice.
“Right?”
Jay tells himself the sourness in his stomach is just from drinking too fast.
Must be nice to be so cherished. To have riches and charisma and people who listen.
To be… soft-spoken. Not rude or brash or argumentative.
At night, Jay thinks about it. Only a little.
Or maybe a lot.
Maybe some people are just born to have it easy. Born to be loved. Maybe Jungwon has a gold spoon in the form of a heartbeat. Everyone loves gold.
Jay only has his steel will and a messy job record.
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 16 days.
Jay comes into the office with Jungwon’s coffee like usual. This time—there’s a woman inside. He catches it through the window, though he can’t hear a thing.
She’s got permed, light brown hair and fluffy sleeves. If Jay had to guess, she’s part of the HR department.
When she talks, Jungwon’s grin is wide. He laughs a few times—adds a few words. They seem to be hitting it off. But then she bows and turns to walk away.
As soon as she does—the smile on Jungwon’s face vanishes. Not fades. Drops. Something blank settles in its place.
The woman comes out of the room, lips still curved in a small grin. She greets him warmly, and Jay greets her back, entering the room after she’s gone.
By the time he closes the door, Jungwon is smiling again.
Jay pauses there only for a second.
Huh.
“Good morning, Yang Jungwon-ssi,” he says. “Your coffee.”
“Morning to you too.” Jungwon’s voice is warm as he takes the cup. “What’s the schedule for today?”
“Meeting with the accounting team at ten. You also have—”
Jay continues on like he always does.
Jungwon’s blank stare lingers in his mind for a moment—then slips away just as fast.
***
There’s usually an intern that takes the minutes for Jungwon’s meetings.
Jay’s bones ache just looking at her spriteliness. (Ignore the fact that he only graduated last year.)
The girl called in sick yesterday.
Seemed there was a stomach bug going around.
Naturally, Jay takes her place. He was originally supposed to write minutes anyway, but the intern had settled into it between the last secretary and Jay’s hire. No one saw the harm in her continuing, and she’ll resume once she’s back. (At her request.)
Anyway—the meeting’s due to start in five minutes.
Jay tries not to gawk at the conference room like a pauper. It’s as gorgeous as the rest of the place. Long polished table—soft black chairs.
A gold plated vase next to an abstract painting on the wall.
If Jay broke a single object in here, money would start growing from the cracks.
The thought alone is enough to age him.
Currently, Choi Hyun-woo is in the middle of introducing their plan. Jungwon sits at the head of the table—nodding with the rest of them.
Jay pulls up a Word document on his laptop.
The Marketing team’s ad concept sounds solid. They have graphic ideas that fit the ideals of relaxation—and incentive that would encourage people to come. And a target audience of sorts.
“High-end and international clientele” was it?
Something exclusive, private—elite.
Jungwon gives a smile or two—a nod or two. He seems to approve.
Jay just types.
The team finishes presenting in the blink of an eye. They stand stock still, waiting for Jungwon’s thoughts.
He takes his time to respond. Lets them wait.
And then—
“It’s well thought out,” he says, hands clasped together. “You have sharp visuals, and a clear message too.”
The room exhales.
Jungwon speaks again.
“I have one question, though.” His voice is light—airy. Not a colour of doom in it.
The team huddles in just a little.
“What does our brand portray?”
The team looks at each other, and Jay—falters typing. Where is this going?
“Our brand is quite family oriented.” Myung-hee says. “A bit down to earth?”
Jungwon doesn’t agree or deny with words.
He smiles—says, “For the ad, what if we keep the elegant feel, but focus more on warmth than escape?”
Right—Jay should be typing this. He gets to work quickly.
Head of strategic planning suggests shifting focus of the ad from “escape” to “warmth.”
Jay will have to edit that later before he sends it in. Sounds too abstract.
Did Jungwon do that on purpose?
They’ve practically been told they’d have to rewrite an entire chunk of their proposal. Not a soul looks upset—just thoughtful, curious. Someone down the table clicks their pen absentmindedly; another nods, slow, like they’re turning the idea over.
Myung-hee hums. She stares off for a moment. Jay sees the exact moment Jungwon’s words click for her.
“Like a family growing closer through relaxation?” she adds.
“Wonderful example.”
Choi adds, “Noted, sir. We’ll modify the idea. Thank you for your input.”
“No thanks needed.” Jungwon says, standing up. “You all created a great foundation.”
Jay shuts the laptop.
***
They leave the room first—and Jay takes one more look at the team discussing amongst themselves.
Jay’s never seen morale so high after a meeting like this.
They make it far enough that the swell of voices drops to a murmur. That’s when Jungwon glances at him.
“Do you think my approach was too forceful?”
Jay blinks. He manages not to look flabbergasted. How could he even think that?
“No. I—I think you handled it well.”
Understatement, really.
Jungwon smiles again. A smaller one.
“Good. I wonder about it sometimes.”
Jungwon walks a bit ahead. Steady and sure.
Jay notices for the first time just how broad the guy’s shoulders are.
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 30 days.
“And that’s all that has been added to your schedule for today.” Jay closes the folder.
Jungwon hums, flipping through a booklet at his desk. Today he’s got his glasses, big and square on his face. “Noted. I’ll look at it again later.”
A knock sounds on the door—curt and a little dainty.
Without looking up, Jungwon shouts “Come in,” in the same tone as always.
Jay shifts to stand beside Jungwon’s desk—pausing when Kim Sunoo comes in. Sunoo passes him only a glance—bowing slightly to greet Jungwon.
And he only speaks when Jungwon gestures to him.
“The security team just informed us that we have a bit of a problem. Data leak.”
His voice has a sharper edge than it does at lunch—face a bit more schooled. Jay hasn't ever seen him in work mode.
Jungwon nods. “I’m listening.”
Sunoo continues. “It involves emails—specifically client-sensitive information. It doesn’t look malicious as of right now, but it is suspicious.”
“I see. No employee data information breaches?”
“None.”
Jungwon leans back in his chair with a hum, taking his glasses off. “Hm. Best course of action would be to restrict everyone’s access to the shared drive for a short period of time and—”
He pauses.
Jungwon turns to him.
“If we lock this down, who would be affected first?”
A beat.
Jay nearly sputters—but swallows it down.
Jungwon has never asked for his input in matters like this before.
He scratches the side of his neck.
“The client team—they’re the only ones who really need access to the draft.”
He remembers seeing it in passing. The most recent batch of clients needed to be added to the official list.
From there—
“The clients would be next,” Jay adds, voice a bit more sure. “They would notice the system’s down before anyone tells them.”
Jungwon nods to himself, as if slotting the information into place.
Then he says, “Okay. We’ll freeze the email thread, and restrict access on the drive. Have HR send a notice to the client team, and to the clients so that no one gets blindsided.”
“Understood.”
Sunoo bows again and leaves the room.
***
On the 25th of the month, Jay gets his pay handed to him as a bank check.
Not the weirdest thing they’ve done.
Probably.
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 43 - 45 days.
Jungwon has been at his desk, typing away at his computer like an office-themed gamer boy on a marathon run. It’s been this way for a week now.
Which, fine. He’s a busy guy—a workaholic even.
It’s not a problem on its own. Everyone skips lunch sometimes. Everyone eats late—sometimes.
Right?
But the first month working here, Jay figured Jungwon took lunch breaks. Just not when Jay could see him.
Maybe Jungwon doesn't like cafeteria food and eats out. Or maybe Jungwon’s lunch hour is different from the rest of the staff.
All are viable, acceptable reasons.
It’s not Jay’s job to worry about this—he’s not in charge of Jungwon’s meal times like he is for other tasks.
But the more Jay sticks around, the more obvious it becomes.
Forget disliking cafeteria food. Forget lunch hour acrobatics.
Jungwon just doesn’t leave his office.
At all.
Not this week—not last week.
Not the week before that.
And he tells it to Jake on the phone one night.
“You are definitely overthinking this.” Jake says, line crackling. “What if the guy’s got energy bars under his desk or something?”
“Is that supposed to be a reasonable alternative?”
There’s a pause on the phone.
“Yes.”
“How the hell are you alive?”
In the background of the call, Sunghoon laughs at him.
***
Another lunchtime creeps up on him.
Another day of wondering.
As usual, he finds himself in the lunch line, watching the woman scoop kimchi into his metal plate.
Clack. It goes.
Jay becomes distinctly aware that he has two hands and free will.
By the time she’s halfway done serving him, Jay caves.
“Hey… about those extra servings you mentioned weeks ago,” he starts. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”
Never has he seen someone’s face light up so brightly.
“Of course!”
That’s how Jay ends up with two plates. One covered with clingwrap, and the other his own.
He sighs.
This is his life.
Jay makes his way back to the office and peeks through the glass.
Jungwon is still by his desk, typing away.
And—well, Jay can’t exactly knock like this…
So he shoulders the door instead, pushing it in.
Despite the slow creak of the hinges, Jungwon doesn’t quite look up yet, still sucked into the screen.
Jay tries to seem casual. Key word being try. It involves walking robotically up to Jungwon’s table and resting the plate there like bad CGI.
That’s when Jungwon stops typing.
He glances at the plate, then back at him. Something about his stare makes the moment feel even more bizarre.
Jay wants to go into Houseplant mode. He nearly reaches out to take the plate back—
“Is that—” Jungwon stops himself. “You didn’t have to.”
Jay shrugs, hand twitching at his side. “You skipped lunch.”
A second passes.
Jungwon slides his chair to the side and pulls the plate closer.
“I’ll eat.” He doesn’t look at Jay when he says it. “You could eat here too, if you want.”
Jungwon lifts the wooden chopsticks, and unwraps the plate.
Jay breathes out—silent.
“Sure.”
***
Status: Employed.
Duration: 56 days.
It’s 1 a.m. Outside it’s so quiet he can hear someone’s curtains fluttering out of their window.
He’s on yet another call with Jake. Because Jake’s a big baby who doesn’t like working from home alone. And Sunghoon’s got a three-day business trip—something about his company changing hands.
Which makes Jay’s life right now sound easy.
He turns over in his bed, and mutters, “Hey…did you ever figure out why those secretaries kept resigning?”
On the other end, he can hear Jake’s pen on the paper. “Nah dude, no clue. You got trouble?”
“Nope.”
***
Jay stifles another yawn into his shoulder. Thanks to Jake, he’s running on three hours of sleep. He can’t tell if that makes carrying boxes feel easier or harder. But the day moves on regardless.
It’s just some simple office reorganization, as Riki had said on the car ride to work.
It spans from old campaign materials to archived proposals—something that should free up some storage space for new items.
“Are your arms noodles yet?” Sunoo asks, leaning on the wall.
He fans himself, face already flushed. He’s got one box at his feet—one that he’s mentally preparing himself to carry.
Jay huffs, dusting out his hands. “Bold of you to assume they’ll ever become noodles.”
Sunoo laughs. “Everyone says that at first.”
He finally picks up the box—but his eyes widen.
“Oh—it’s lighter than it looks.”
Jay smirks. “What was that about noodle arms now?”
He doesn’t know when teasing Sunoo became so easy—but his facial expressions are gold. And now it’s impossible to stop.
“Ugh, I’ll see you later.” Sunoo—with a pout on his face, walks out the door.
As soon as the door closes, a grunt cuts through the air. Not loud—not sharp. Just there.
Jay’s eyes land on Jungwon by the window—almost hadn't noticed him there.
He’s been mostly staying out of anyone’s way—taking boxes from the room's corners. Not really interacting.
Jay can’t tell if it’s to avoid talking to people, or an honest coincidence.
But he observes anyway.
Jungwon stacks four boxes together. Sizes them up like this is a wrestling match.
Jay’s brow twitches. There’s no way he’s picking up all four.
Jungwon rubs his hands together. And he does pick up all four. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fingers—taking short, punched-out breaths.
Barely audible.
And Jungwon starts walking with them.
God help us.
One minute, Jay is standing next to a shelf of folders—and the next, he’s at Jungwon’s side, taking two boxes.
Two boxes each, and one less back-breaking hazard.
“Ah—” Jungwon says. “Park Jongseong-ssi.”
He almost sounds shocked—the most caught off guard he’s ever sounded.
Jay hoists the boxes up his chest, sheepish grin in place. Just two weigh his arms down—pressing into his fingers.
Does Jungwon not have self-preservation?
“S-shall we carry the boxes together?” He asks.
Luckily, Jungwon doesn’t seem to take offence. Instead he shifts his weight, shoulders relaxing a tad.
“Sure, the more the merrier.”
They walk out of the room together.
It’s not exactly merry enough to become merry-er.
Jay stays a little behind Jungwon while they walk—mainly out of habit. His old manager hated when assistants walked beside him. Like it felt intrusive somehow. Or demeaning.
But Jungwon keeps slowing his steps.
At first it looks like Jungwon is just pacing himself. Heavy boxes after all. But the further behind Jay falls, the slower Jungwon’s stride becomes.
In the end, Jay just sets his usual pace—ends up by his side again.
Jungwon doesn’t say anything.
They enter the second room—place the boxes down with all the others. And there are a lot.
A guy leans on a shelf, passing a hand through his hair with a sigh. Something between exasperated and determined.
“Now to put these in order,” he says.
And another guy—significantly less amused, mutters, “Alphabetical order.”
Jungwon rests his hands on his hips and huffs. Jay massages his own forearms, looking at the boxes on the floor.
Alphabetical order?
There are letters marked on. But they look like gibberish. The kind of sequence you’d get on a generated email password. Not to mention they’re for different departments. Do they blend them all the departments together?
How in the hell?
Jungwon turns around—takes one look at him. Then laughs.
“First two letters is for the department. Third letter is the one they use to organize within that,” Jungwon says, grinning. “Like HRC. Human resources—goes under C. C could stand for clientele, maybe contracts.”
“Ah—I see.”
When more people come to drop boxes, Jay and Jungwon leave the room.
In the hall, they walk side by side from the get-go. Not quite in sync, but not far apart.
Jay rearranges this data in his head. It makes sense—mostly.
But also sounds like a nightmare.
Jungwon eyes him again.
“You look cute while confused, Park Jongseong-ssi.” Jungwon says. “Has anyone ever told you your face gives everything away?”
Oh god—was he that obvious?
Jay’s cheeks flare. He winces. “Too many times, unfortunately."
Jungwon hums, eyes giving nothing away. “Careful. That could get you fired. Easily.”
He knows that too well.
Where compliance overtakes honesty. Where truth becomes gullibility.
“...are you going to fire me, Yang Jungwon-ssi?” He can’t help but ask.
For some reason, it doesn’t feel wrong to say it. Not more wrong than bringing lunch for his boss without asking first.
Jungwon’s lips twitch up again—eyes unreadable but still bright. “Not at all.”
***
When the day ends, on the ride back in Riki’s car, the memory crosses his mind.
Jungwon laughs a little bit like bells.
***
It becomes a bit of a habit—to check up on Jungwon. He may not always bring him food—nor would he carry boxes, but he keeps him in sight.
Like rearranging his schedule for Jungwon’s mental pacing. Like leaving chopsticks within his line of sight so he remembers when to eat—giving suggestions whenever he asks.
Sometimes Jay works in Jungwon’s office. At least—when calls aren’t involved. So not often.
Still, Jay isn’t sure how it happens. If this is just how every secretary becomes with their boss after working for two months.
But if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it—right?
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 72 days.
Jay doesn’t like loud parties.
And this party is loud-loud.
Laughter—clinking glasses. Shiny necklaces and shoes that would put Jay in debt. Not to mention this is a private hotel floor—one booked by the CEO.
He can’t exactly leave the building. Not without looking incompetent.
The brightside is that he’s evolved from Houseplant to a Hotelplant. He stands by the staircase—in an area where the light dims just a tad.
The energy sizzling in the air comes in waves—too shrill, too rehearsed.
Everyone and their fancy shoes wants a chance to talk with Jungwon. Like he’s got ‘CEO’s predecessor’ written across his forehead in whiteboard marker.
Some are fast and festive—others slow and deliberate. Jungwon matches the mood of whoever he’s with.
One person by the food table—another by the desserts.
Someone presses a drink into Jungwon’s hand before he can refuse. Another voice follows immediately after. Then another.
Jay takes a step forward—then back.
Jungwon smiles. Keeps smiling. Doesn’t take a sip—but he doesn’t put down the glass either.
A minute passes, then another.
Jungwon excuses himself from the room. But his movements look almost sluggish. A sway to his step.
Odd, he didn’t really drink.
Jay follows after him mere seconds later. Wading through people, muttering polite excuses. The lights are bright—and the smell of perfume chases the air around.
It’s gone by the time he gets outside, music still slipping through.
Jungwon isn’t far. Just steps away from an elevator.
Jay wouldn’t admit it—but the cameras would pick it up. So would the walls. So would the floors.
He runs after him—only stops a few inches away.
Then he clears his throat. It only sounds stupid after it leaves his lips.
Jungwon glances behind.
He looks the same. But not.
“Park Jongseong-ssi.” His words slur—only slightly. “We meet again.”
He says it's like it’s been years.
Jay can’t help a little smile, a furrowed brow.
“I’m your secretary.”
“Right, yes.” Jungwon presses the elevator button. The number above the doors changes from 3 to 5 to 6.
A pause.
Then he adds, “Care to join me?”
“If I’m not intruding?”
Jungwon doesn’t say yes or no. The elevator opens and he gets in, pressing his hand to the door to keep it open.
Jay gets in after him.
They don’t go far—just one floor higher.
The hallway lights flicker.
Jay doesn’t think much of it.
But the moment they step out, Jungwon sways again—right into his shoulder. His weight hits so suddenly Jay sucks in a breath, steadying him with a hand on the back.
The hallway lights flicker again—and again.
Then everything goes dark.
Shit. Power outage?
For a second Jay stands there—frozen still and blinking in the darkness. He takes a breath.
He needs to get Jungwon to sit—maybe get him water. He’ll figure out the rest after.
Jungwon mumbles something, but it makes no sense.
Jay secures his hold on him. He seems like he can walk—at least.
Luckily his eyes get used to the dark fairly quickly.
He gets them down the hall—finds the lobby easily enough. He lets Jungwon rest on the nearest couch. Jungwon doesn’t put up a fight, leaning his head back, clothes rustling.
In the dark, without the audience, Jungwon doesn’t look like the CEO’s son at all.
The sound of the party still remains—just faint.
The lights outside keep it from being pitch black.
“Try to take deep breaths. I’ll—I’ll see if I can get you some water, Yang Jungwon-ssi.”
Not sure how, but he will.
Jay turns—ready to go.
But then Jungwon mumbles again. Louder this time.
“What was that?” Jay asks.
“You can refer to me casually when we’re alone.”
Jay’s mind goes blank.
Did he hear that right?
Jungwon laughs—like he can see the look on his face. The sound is breathy, exhausted. “It’s not a trap to fire you, I promise.”
How would this work—Jungwon is younger than him, isn’t he? Is this even allowed?
Jay tries to think of a single person who he’s spoken to casually after a mere two months of knowing each other.
Not a single name pops up.
Jay swallows thickly. Well—whatever. Maybe he should feel flattered—maybe he is flattered.
He tries it out in his head first.
Yang Jungwon-ssi.
Yang Jungwon…
“Jungwon-ah.”
Jungwon sucks in a breath. Jay can’t make out his face in the dark. He doesn’t know what that means.
“Say it again.”
“...Jungwon-ah?”
It doesn’t sound any less foreign the second time he says it. But still—it wouldn’t be fair if it only went one way.
“You can refer to me casually as well. If you wanted to,” he says.
Jungwon hums. Not as sharp as usual.
“Okay… hyung.”
Jay nods. Once, twice. He’s not sure if Jungwon sees it.
Then he finally turns again. A smile almost creeps up his face but he clamps it down.
“I’ll go see if I can get you that water now.”
After that, he finally walks away.
***
“You can refer to me casually when we’re alone.”
They do—sparingly. Quick-moving moments in the office—emails, text messages. They haven’t been alone much this week.
They definitely aren’t alone right now. Jay doesn’t know why it suddenly comes to mind—especially in the middle of Jungwon talking.
They’re in the hallway, leaning near the wall.
It’s a bit noisier than usual here, with many people outside their usual spaces today. It’s like that on Fridays sometimes. Cleaners working—clients coming in for consultations. More flexibility.
“There are some things I need you to order—” Jungwon says, among other requests.
More than usual, but not undoable.
“Hold on a moment.” Jay takes a notebook out of his pocket. “Let me write these down.”
As soon as Jay gets the pen out, Jungwon continues.
And then—
Clack.
Jay’s eyes snap to the sound.
Jungwon flinches.
A woman accidentally hit the Slippery Floor sign that was leaning against a bucket.
“Sorry, sorry,” she bows slightly, looking sheepish.
She stoops to fix it, and everyone else moves on with their life.
But Jay looks at Jungwon again.
He still hasn’t moved.
Instead he’s stone-faced, staring at nothing, shoulders tensed.
Like he’s not really there.
Then he turns around. A slow, deliberate turn. The kind you do when you’re not sure what’s behind you.
The woman is still fixing the sign.
Jungwon faces him again. Blinks once.
Jay almost asks if he’s okay, but no words come out.
Instead, a sour feeling settles in his gut.
“Right,” Jungwon says, eyes present again. “Where were we?”
***
Jay thought it was a one-time oddity. Maybe Jungwon didn’t sleep well that night. Maybe he just doesn’t like loud noises.
But that only works if it happens once.
What does it mean when it happens twice—thrice?
Like when an older colleague pats Jungwon on the shoulder—tells him “well done.” Jungwon’s shoulders curve in—then out again. The smile never leaves his face.
Like when a woman busts into the office without knocking.
Jungwon grips the papers too hard, crinkling them.
He closes his eyes for too long when someone coughs loudly.
***
“Hoon,” Jay starts. He’s at the bar again—with Sunghoon this time. “It’s normal to flinch at sudden noises a lot—right?”
Sunghoon processes the question. Then he takes a sip of his beer. “I mean—some people. Sensitivity thresholds are different for everyone. Why?”
Okay.
Maybe Jungwon’s just sensitive to stimuli or something. It’s not his place to assume.
Let alone catastrophize about it.
Jay pokes at his whiskey glass. It’s still mostly full.
“Nothing. Just curious.”
Sunghoon eyes him closely, and the noise in the bar swells. “Alright, then.”
With a sudden vigour, Jay picks up the glass and takes a big gulp. It burns on the way down.
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 84 days.
There’s a watch that Jungwon always wears. It’s leather and casual-looking. Well—everything except for the clock itself. Some think it’s pure gold, others plated.
Never seen Jungwon without it.
Until today at least.
Same black suit, same white undershirt.
No watch.
It isn’t immediately obvious.
Jay comes into the office like usual, recites the schedule for the day like usual—and Jungwon listens. Smiles.
But then he gets up, stretching to grab his laptop for the next meeting. His sleeve rides up. That’s when Jay sees it. No watch.
It doesn’t end there.
Jungwon reaches into the drawer across from him. Sleeve rides up again.
A single scar peeks out on Jungwon’s wrist. A clean, thin line going across.
It’s lighter than his skin.
Only noticeable because Jay was already looking.
And then—
Jungwon tugs his sleeve down with a start. Rough—fast.
Jay looks up to meet Jungwon’s gaze again. He’s not smiling.
Jay sucks in a breath.
It probably happened when Jungwon was young.
Children can be wild.
They trip on stones, and fall into rivers.
They run barefoot, and climb trees.
They scratch their hands on sharp objects.
Not always intentional.
Not always voluntary.
“It appears I forgot my watch today.” Jungwon’s voice is loud, but his eyes are quiet. “Very unfortunate.”
He plays with the end of his sleeve.
Jay can’t help it when—
“Jungwon-ah,” he starts. “I can get it for you—if you need it. You can go to the meeting as normal…and.”
Jungwon’s fingers pause on the sleeve. He stares.
The room almost becomes a vacuum—deafened by the silence.
He looks down, then up again.
“That works.” Jungwon says it slowly. “I think I left it on the desk in the living room. Have Riki escort you.”
Jay nods once. “Understood.”
Jungwon hands him a card.
A key card.
***
He tells Riki to put the AC on today.
The car ride to Jungwon’s house feels like a liminal haze and a vivid dream all in one. The road’s clear and morning rush hour is already over.
Heck—it’s not often he sees Riki twice in a morning. Let alone to go watch-hunting.
Jay plays with a button on his cuff.
He’d have to tug hard to snap the string.
“So, Yang Jungwon-ssi’s house, huh?” Riki’s got a toothpick twirling between his teeth. “What’s the occasion?”
Jay thinks about lying.
He’s a shit liar.
“A watch,” he settles on.
Riki raises a brow. “Just that?”
“Mhm.”
Jay looks out the window at cars passing by—at the city-scape slowly growing sparse.
He wishes it were just that.
Riki huffs.“You’re extra broody today.”
Didn’t think Riki cared about that. “And you’re nosey.”
“Pssh—fine. I’ll shut up then.”
Shit. Not what he meant to do.
“I—you. Don’t listen to me.”
Riki snorts and makes a right turn into a smaller road. Jay doesn’t know what’s funny.
A mansion comes up ahead. A fantastical mash-up between hanok and modern. It’s beautiful, and seems like a fantasy Jungwon would fall right out of.
At first glance, anyway.
Riki gets them through a huge, white gate with a black card—and then parks a few feet away from the house.
Jay gets out, shuts the door.
“This should be quick,” he says. “Don’t abandon me.”
He expects a “no promises” or even “you’re on your own.” But Riki doesn’t do that. Instead—
“Look,” Riki leans over slightly, elbow resting on the window ledge. “Be careful—yeah?”
“Careful? What for?”
There’s only so much ambiguity a man can take—jeez.
Riki shakes his head—taps the car door twice. It’s almost like he wants to say more—like he shouldn’t. “You already know.”
“Riki—seriously. What are you talking about?”
“I’ll be waiting when you get back.” He taps the car again. “Go get that watch. Dora the explorer style.”
No real answer. He can’t even be mad.
“I hate you.”
Jay struts off. Riki cackles.
He tries to move on autopilot. Walk, scan key card—get in. And it works up ‘till that point.
But when he opens the door—barely on the foyer, he stops.
The lights are on—but the place is silent. Not a single breath.
Someone else is home.
There’s a woman standing a little distance away in a grey dress, white collar.
A maid?
Seems like she was waiting for him.
“Yang Jungwon-ssi’s secretary?” Her voice sounds like chimes.
Chimes in an empty room.
“Yes—good morning. You would be correct.”
She doesn’t let him in. Instead, she excuses herself—makes her way into a room on the left. Jay doesn’t hear shuffling.
But he hears her shoes. How a floorboard creaks.
He sees how the shadows linger in darker corners.
She comes back out, watch in hand. Nothing more, nothing less.
Her smile is too still.
He takes the watch.
It’s lighter than expected—feels more worn than it looks.
A couple years old.
He thanks her, and she thanks him back. The moment he’s out of the house—she shuts the door softly.
Jay sighs. Loud and drawn out.
***
The moment he gives Jungwon the watch, he slips it on with practiced ease. He seems to breathe easier—like he’s finally become himself.
Jay’s stomach twists into knots.
The day passes quickly after that. And that evening, Jay thinks of mentioning it to Jake.
He doesn’t.
Instead he checks his notifications—replies to all of his messages, and sleeps.
Riki’s words circle his head.
“You already know.”
***
Status: Employed.
Duration: 89 days.
Nothing else happens.
Today, the office is slow.
The molasses-kind of slow.
Jay almost bores himself to tears—he’s practically already crying every time he yawns already. He’s got no calls—no paper work. No nothing.
At least it means he can spend his day in Jungwon’s office.
He passes the time by rereading his old meeting agendas from when he first started working last year.
It’s a mess.
Sentences that are too long, overly detailed headings. Repeating himself too many times.
Everyone he talked to had said they were fine. But they are delusional and deserve to be metaphorically executed.
Jungwon’s sitting at his desk with an accounting textbook of some kind. However, in the middle of Jay scrolling through another doc, Jungwon stands up.
Jay doesn’t pay it any mind.
Jungwon moves around his chair and opens the blinds wider—letting more light in. It projects strips of sun onto the floor.
The room was already refreshing—now it’s minty fresh.
Jungwon’s inquisitive voice follows.
“Hyung,” he says.
On instinct—without even looking up, Jay responds, “Yes?”
Then silence.
He tries again. "Hm?"
Still silence.
Jay shifts to face him.
Jungwon’s leaning on the back of his office chair. The light makes his hair look a little golden—eyes a little browner.
He’s got a tiny grin. Different from the others. Muted.
But it reaches his eyes.
“Nothing.” Jungwon finally sits back down—flips a page in his book. “Just wanted to see if you’d answer.”
Jay huffs a laugh, scrolling once more. He doesn’t hide his smile.
They call Jungwon an angel, wealthy—capable.
No one ever said he had a mischievous streak.
***
“You know—I never asked. How are you liking it here?” Sunoo mutters, chewing on a beef slice.
Sunoo’s timing is impeccable. And now? For all the wrong reasons.
Jay takes a spoonful of his own food, chews slowly. At least then he can think of a good answer.
“Great. Almost drama free.” At least anything obvious. “The dream, really.”
Jay doesn’t want to think about which is more dangerous.
Drama he can see, or drama that lurks.
Sunoo tilts his head a little and laughs while covering his mouth. Like Jay makes no sense. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Am I?” Jay takes a sip of water.
“You’re really strange.” Then he pauses. “Not in a bad way.”
“I hear that a lot.”
Sometimes endearingly. Other times with a sharp edge. Now his skin’s so thick it matters neither way.
He puts his spoon down.
Then the cafeteria goes quiet. The kind of silence that makes you realise it wasn't silent. Jay stupidly wonders if he made a commotion with his utensil-to-table manners.
But Sunoo’s eyes zone in on something behind Jay—or someone, rather.
“Yang Jungwon-ssi’s walking in our direction,” he says, in a whisper.
Jay sits upright. “He’s what now—”
“Park Jongseong-ssi—sorry to disturb you.” A familiar, distinct voice says behind him.
And then beside him.
Yang Jungwon. Out at lunchtime.
The whole cafeteria—not subtle at all—looks in their direction. Like they’re under a spell. A spell Jay can’t even fathom.
Sunoo stays quiet—but his eyes are sparkling.
Jungwon rubs at his watch, gaze darting for just a second. After that he drops his hands. He sends a polite grin in Sunoo's way, and he nods back.
“You’re not disturbing,” Jay says. “Did you need assistance?”
“About that.” Jungwon leans down. “My father has requested a meeting with me later this week. Could you possibly squeeze it into my Thursday?”
Jay schools his expression.
Thursday?
That’s Jungwon’s busiest day this week.
The only free slot would be past work hours—maybe six or seven p.m. Not ideal.
He would’ve mentioned this if they were alone.
Regardless, Jay instinctively reaches into his pocket—takes out a pen and paper. He writes this down.
He can’t exactly oppose Jungwon in front of everyone.
“No problem.” he says. “I’ll take note.”
“Good. That’s all,” Jungwon nods to them both. “Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”
He walks out.
Only then does the cafeteria get noisy again. A gradual wave of sound.
Sunoo shifts closer in his seat, leaning forward. “He went out of his way to request something from you personally? Did I see that right? You are living the dream.”
A dream? That’s what Jungwon is supposed to do. Hell, he doesn’t do it enough.
“I’m his secretary.”
“Yeah well, he’s never done that before. Not lunch—and the cafeteria no less.”
Huh. Interesting.
Jay shrugs, picking up his spoon again.
Did Jungwon know Jay would’ve responded differently had they been alone?
***
Thursday comes like any other day—and moves just the same. But by the time evening creeps in, Jungwon is already slowing down. Delayed blinks. Responses that are crisp, but lagging.
The way he presses his palms into his eyes like he wants to stave off a migraine.
Tomorrow, Jungwon’s schedule is the lightest.
And yet he chose today of all days.
Jay is putting a document into a manilla folder when Jungwon asks.
“Hey, is it alright if I request you accompany me to meet the CE—father?” They’re standing right outside Jungwon’s office. His voice is a whisper. “You’ll get paid for overtime, of course.”
Oh—right.
Jay nods, curt. He was waiting for him to ask.
It’s ironic—that he took this job for money, only to be shocked every time Jungwon mentions it.
After that, Riki escorts them once more. He’s completely silent this time. Cold. Jungwon doesn’t initiate conversation, not really.
He just tells Riki where he’s going. And Riki does as he says.
Jay doesn’t know what it is—but the quiet doesn’t settle like it should. It hangs in the air, twirling around. He can’t even clear his throat without disturbing whatever the hell it is.
Maybe they just don’t mesh.
Jungwon, with his careful—articulate self. His easygoing appearance.
Riki—serious, intimidating. A flair for stupid jokes that make him seem young.
Jay doesn’t get to finish his musings.
The white gates appear—Riki uses the same black card.
He parks a few feet away on the road like before. And they step out of the car. This time, Riki doesn’t offer to wait. Jungwon tells him he’s off duty now—to go home.
Riki doesn’t even pass Jay a glance.
Just leaves, taillights flashing bright red.
Like a warning. Jay’s shoulders don’t relax.
Maybe he’s posturing.
At the door, Jungwon doesn’t knock—of course not. He uses the key card and lets them both in. There’s a new maid standing at the entrance. She’s got that smile that never changes shape.
She stares at Jay—takes him in from hair to shoes.
He gets goosebumps.
“Greetings to both of you,” she starts. “The master is waiting in the study. Shall I escort you both?”
“No. Escort Park Jongseong-ssi to my room—I’ll see about myself.”
“Understood.”
Jungwon takes a good look at Jay—like he’s trying to commit his face to memory. It’s less invasive than the maid’s stare.
No less confusing.
She takes him down the hallway through a door on the left. Then a door on the right. The path almost feels premeditated.
They get into an elevator, and Jay watches the floor so he doesn’t catch her eyes.
God forbid Jay be in a small space and not feel awkward.
After they get out, she walks him to the door furthest away from the elevator. She only opens the door for him.
“Shall I bring anything for you? Tea? A snack?” she asks.
Jay shakes his head. He doesn’t want to see her or anyone more than necessary.
“I’ll be alright.”
“No problem. You can make yourself comfortable.”
She lets him in and the door clicks shut behind him.
The room—Jungwon’s room—is spacious. But it looks more like a living room than a bedroom. No bed.
A table—two chairs. A couch. White walls—black and grey accents. But a noticeably green carpet.
And a large glass window leading to a rural view.
Jay sits on the couch. Stock still—too stiff. What reason did Jungwon have to bring him here? Maybe he needs documents signed after the meeting with his father?
Why is the meeting so formal anyway—if they both live here?
He gets no answer.
Well—it’s not Jay’s place to pry. Lord knows how much he’s already crossed the line.
He catches another door across the room. Unassuming and white.
Maybe that’s where Jungwon’s actual bedroom is.
***
The meeting isn’t very long.
In fact, it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes. Jay spends it fiddling with his phone—random mobile games, answering a few texts here and there.
The room doesn’t start to feel familiar no matter how much he stares at the carpet. He can’t even fully settle against the backrest—crossing and uncrossing his legs.
But Jay tries. He exhales, finally sinking back—
Then the doorknob jiggles. It sounds like a horror movie.
Jay nearly drops his phone, catching it just in time for Jungwon to slip into the room. The door doesn’t make a sound when it closes.
Just the smallest of thuds. Then nothing.
Jay shoves his phone in his pocket like a kid hiding a snack. It’s too late—Jungwon sees him. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, blinking as slowly as that afternoon.
Jungwon meets his gaze easily, eyes a little more yellow in the gold light. He stays by the door.
“That went by quickly.” Jay stands up—rubs at his pocket. “Did everything go well?”
A pause.
Jungwon looks away—just once. Long enough for Jay to stop patting his pocket like a weirdo. To look a little more closely.
Then—without warning, Jungwon comes to stand beside him. Sudden, purposeful strides that stop a little nearer than usual.
He looks the same, but not. Jay can’t place it—he never can.
“It went as I expected it would,” Jungwon finally says.
His voice is slow, careful. He smiles a few seconds too late.
Jay nods.
…Is that a good or a bad thing?
Jungwon doesn’t wait for him to say anything else.
He walks past Jay up to his desk—swipes a set of keys off the table. Seems like car keys.
“I’ll drive you home,” he starts again, quieter than necessary. He’s already reaching for the door.
Jay follows behind him—a furrow in his brow. Jungwon can drive? News to him.
Heck—should he be driving? He must be tired by now.
Jungwon opens the door, Jay steps out with him—says, “Aren’t I supposed to drive you—as your secretary?”
Jungwon stops again in the hallway. Jay nearly bumps into his back.
“Am I not allowed to give my secretary a ride home?” he asks.
The question is light—but something underneath it isn’t. Like Jungwon is trying his hardest to tug on a rope that won’t budge.
Jay bites the inside of his cheek. Did he say something wrong?
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”
Jungwon sighs, shoulders drooping. “You didn’t, Hyung.”
They walk again. In silence.
He doesn’t ask where they’re going, but they end up in a car park behind the house.
Jay learns that the Yang family owns cars.
Too many cars.
They get into the first one there—near the parking lot exit. Jungwon starts the engine, Jay sits in the passenger seat.
And off they go.
It’s already dark out, roads lined with lights—cars glowing red up ahead. They link back up with the rush of urban life. With the traffic lights, the woosh of cars going too fast, everything.
Jungwon drives flawlessly.
“What’s your address?” Jungwon adjusts his rearview mirror.
Jay freezes.
Oh shit.
Jungwon is going to get a front row seat to his glorified box of a home.
In broad daylight too—well, in broad nightlight.
Is it too late now to turn back?
If Jungwon notices the way Jay’s voice cracks as he recites his address, he doesn’t mention it. In fact, he doesn’t look at him at all.
Instead he just drives. If Jay pretends hard enough—this becomes an adventure. And they are going to find the edge of the earth.
“Make sure you eat dinner.” Jungwon’s words cut through his thoughts. “And sleep. Good sleep.”
Jay opens his mouth—then closes it.
Says the guy who’s been “on” all day long—driving his secretary home like he’s the boss.
Jungwon didn’t even ask if he would.
“Of course, I’ll try,” Jay says.
***
Jay gets home in one piece.
And it only occurs after then—sudden.
The company knew where he lived—but Jungwon didn’t.
Does he not have access to that information? Maybe it makes sense. Somewhere—all bent out of shape like a flexible ruler.
Jay elects not to think about it. To do as Jungwon said:
Have a good dinner.
Get some good shut-eye.
Luckily, it’s hard to see his apartment building in the dark. Very unlikely Jungwon got a good look.
So at least there’s that.
***
Status: Employed.
Duration: 107 days.
Jungwon’s table is messier than usual. Has been for the past couple days.
Papers scattered about—a pen holder atop his laptop. Staple boxes and paper clips are everywhere they shouldn’t be.
Jungwon told him not to clean it up—that he needs to make sure he remembers where everything is.
How mess makes memory recall easier is beyond him.
Jay tries not to question it.
That or the dark circles under Jungwon’s eyes.
Instead he takes his work calls like he always does, spending time in his own small office. Most of the calls are about important deliveries that need to be made—some about renovations to a second branch they own.
One is an appointment request. Someone who claims to be a close cousin.
She called Jungwon by his first name.
Jay marks it down. Gets out of his chair—out of his room, and into Jungwon’s office.
“You have an appointment request. She said she was a cousin on your father’s side.”
He expects Jungwon to nod, give him a day or time. Or maybe even ask for the person’s name.
There hasn’t been a single appointment Jungwon refused.
But today he freezes.
Jungwon flicks his gaze upward—just once. He stacks three printer pages together.
“Tell her I’m booked right now,” his voice is stiff.
Jungwon isn’t booked.
Jay knows because he wrote the schedule himself.
“Okay… I’ll do that.”
Back in his own office, he scratches the girl’s name off his list.
***
Status: Employed
Duration: 115 days
Jay doesn’t work on Saturdays. Not usually. He spends it like a slow song—minimal moving, minimal talking.
Playing music. Like right now.
He’s on the bed with his guitar when his phone rings near his knee. Jay picks it up—just like any other day.
But he pauses at the screen, phone vibrating in hand.
Yang Jungwon-ssi (Boss)
Now that never happens. Not on Saturday—or any day.
Jay picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hyung,” Jungwon’s voice is shrill on the line. “This is such short notice—but… is it possible for you to assist me with organizing files? I’m reordering my home office…”
Jay leaves his guitar off to the side.
Home office?
As in—the fantasy mansion?
Not the nicest place to spend his Saturday but…
Jay clears his throat.
“No problem. I can help with that. Only thing is transport…”
“I’ll send Riki to get you again.”
***
A maid is waiting like clockwork. This time Jay just rolls with it.
Must be a built-in mansion feature.
She leads him to a different room this time. The place is so big—Jay doesn’t see a single familiar door.
The woman doesn’t open Jungwon’s office door when they get there.
She lets him do it—doesn’t go in.
Jay comes inside to Jungwon on a step ladder, pulling brown boxes off the shelf and resting them on his office desk. The room is significantly smaller—cozier. There’s a globe of the world next to a lamp—and a map of Korea on the wall.
It has more personality than Jungwon’s living room-bedroom.
Jungwon comes down the ladder after that last box—dusting his hands.
“Thanks for coming.”
Even at home, the watch glints on his wrist.
“Your office is quite nice,” Jay starts. “Cozy too.”
Jungwon shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You flatter me.”
“That implies exaggeration.”
“I suppose you have a point...”
That’s when Jay steps closer, tries to sneak a peek into a box.
He finds some documents with Jungwon’s handwriting. A few pens that are both blue and black ink. And some stamps.
“Curious?” Jungwon knocks on another box. “This one has office ties with ducks on them.”
Jay raises a brow. “Really?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh.”
Jungwon huffs a short laugh—Jay can only duck his head and smile.
After that, they finally get to work.
Jay puts documents from two boxes into one clear plastic container and stacks them up beside the desk.
Then he helps Jungwon take other boxes down from the highest shelf and switches them out for… even more plastic containers.
Somehow, Jungwon’s office here feels less sterile, more human.
It feels like a different room from the rest of the house.
But better than that—how the hell does Jungwon successfully keep so many boxes in a room this small?
Almost like he has a gift for packing things in—too much, too tight.
While handing over another box, Jay’s hand brushes against Jungwon’s. Jungwon sucks in a breath—glances up for a second.
Then he rests the box on the shelf.
Jay’s eyes flick upward, catching the corner of the ceiling. A small camera, its lens glinting.
“I think it’s time we took a break.” Jungwon says—glancing at him. “How does tea sound?”
***
They are in Jungwon’s living room-bedroom again.
It looks different in the day, a brightness similar to the office. A shelf full of books—potted plants. Mostly snake plants.
Probably because they survive neglect.
They sit on the couch—opposite ones—with a small table in between them.
It's like hanging out with a friend. Just—in suits. With his boss.
In a fantasy-mansion with maids with copy-paste smiles.
The tea cups steam between them. Jungwon brings his mug to his lips—takes a sip. His shoulders seem to sag as he looks out the enormous glass windows to their right.
Jay takes a sip of his own. His brow twitches.
It’s bitter.
Jungwon smiles a little when Jay reaches for the sugar—then the milk.
“What kind of tea do you usually like?” Jungwon asks.
Jay tries to be subtle when he adds another spoon of sugar. Probably in vain. At least Jungwon doesn’t mention it.
“Black tea—and milk tea.” He stirs with a spoon. “What kind is this?”
“Ssanghwa.” Jungwon takes another sip. “Though it must be overbrewed.”
Definitely is.
How Jungwon drinks it with a straight face is unfathomable. Maybe his tea gets overbrewed often.
Still—Jay picks up another spoon. “Would you… like sugar?”
Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s fine bitter.”
“I see.”
“Do you like yours sweet, Hyung?”
Jay shrugs—takes another sip. It settles better. Right amount of sugar and earthiness.
“It depends on the day. Or the snack—if it comes with one.”
“Noted. I’ll remember that.”
Jungwon rests his mug down—checks his watch. “We should head back soon. Though first I’ll see if we can get a treat of some kind—”
Jungwon’s voice washes over him as he sips. It’s relaxing somehow.
He looks out a window.
Something glints in the sunlight.
His hand freezes.
A metal ball.
Straight for the window.
Heading right for Jungwon’s seat.
Jay lunges. Distantly—ceramic shatters.
Jungwon freezes.
“Wha—”
Jay yanks him out the chair—yanks them both backwards.
They fall onto the ground—Jay on his back. Jungwon hugged to his chest.
The window shatters.
Scattering everywhere.
Onto them. Onto the floor.
The metal ball lands on the carpet with a thud.
The kind that breaks bones.
Jungwon flinches—gasps. Curls up in Jay’s arms.
Then silence. Stillness.
They missed it by a second.
The doors open—a maid runs in, then runs out.
Jay opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
He can feel Jungwon’s heartbeat. It goes double time—a step above Jay’s own.
Jungwon squirms, Jay lets him go.
They both get up.
There’s glass everywhere—the metal ball on the carpet.
“What the fuck,” Jay mutters, rubbing at both his arms. “What the fuck.”
He’s barely inhaling right.
Jungwon watches it all—mechanically. Distantly.
He dusts the glass shards off Jay—like it’s dust. Then he dusts himself off. The pieces clatter to the ground.
Jay’s lips—his entire body—quivers.
Then Jungwon’s hand stops on one of the bigger shards. He stares at it, tilts it.
And walks over to the window.
Stares blankly outside.
Jay follows him—his legs almost buckling.
Jungwon looks calm. Deathly still.
“Do you believe in God?” he asks, playing with the shard of glass.
His breath doesn’t tremble nor does his hand shake.
Jay should tell him to stop, tell him to put it down.
But he does not.
Jungwon just got a metal ball thrown into his room. Intentionally—it had to be.
One wrong move, he would’ve been dead.
So Jay watches. And the glass glints in the light. Both of them standing by the broken window even though they shouldn’t.
“I—I don’t know,” Jay finally says.
His voice breaks.
He prays out of habit. Maybe some higher being in the sky listens. Maybe there’s no one. Hell if he knows.
Hell if it matters now.
Jungwon huffs a laugh but he doesn’t smile.
“I don’t,” he says, even. “I used to pray every night that I’d die. Painless. Nothing eventful.”
He presses his thumb into the glass. It glints red.
“But I’m still here. So very here.”
Jay grabs Jungwon’s wrist, gently prying the glass from his hands. The red doesn’t trickle. The cut is small.
His still heart pounds in his ears, no clue when it started getting louder. But he swallows thickly—stays silent.
Jungwon smiles at him then.
Or something like it.
“I hope you find your God one day, Park Jongseong-ssi.” Jungwon pulls his wrist away. Not harsh, not soft.
He wipes the blood under his suit jacket.
It’s black. No one would be the wiser.
Broken glass or not—near death or not, no one ever notices.
“We better get out of here. Someone will come to take the metal ball in a minute.”
He eyes it on his floor.
Gun metal silver against the muted green carpet.
He walks off first.
Jay follows out behind him. Though maybe not as composed, dropping the glass shard on the ground by the door.
Outside it’s chaos.
A group of maids clog the halls, chattering and scattering. Some run past them into the room, others stop to fret over Jungwon. He lets them crowd him like bees to honey, shoulders tensing up.
Jay bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself silent.
They smooth out Jungwon’s shirt and unruffle his hair, staring at his face—looking for scratches. They find none.
They don’t ask if he’s okay.
They don’t see the cut on his thumb.
Jungwon doesn’t demand anything.
He breathes in deep, shoulders rising and falling again as their hands drop. A mental reset.
One of the maids steps up—a wad of papers in hand, chestnut hair in her face.
“The CEO sent this for you. He wants it corrected and signed by tonight. Said you can sleep in the guest room until they repair the window.”
Only a second passes.
Jay bites his cheek so hard he tastes iron.
“That’s bullshit,” Jay blurts, stepping forward. His voice echoes—everyone in the hall turns to look at him like he appeared from nowhere. The murmurs die down. “He just had an attempt on his goddamn life? Why is the CEO—”
Jungwon puts a hand up. Jay’s mouth falls shut with a click. The words simmer inside him anyway, burning like a fire under a basket.
Why is Jungwon accepting this?
“He knows already? Word sure travels quickly.” Jungwon takes the documents—flips through them. “Can you bring everything on the table in my room into the guest room?”
“As you wish, young master. Shall I bring some clothes as well?”
“Appreciated.”
Jungwon thanks her and moves past. Jay glares at them as he leaves. He knows he shouldn’t shoot the messenger. But even messengers have minds of their own. Agency.
They stop at the elevator, get on when it dings.
Jungwon stands away from him, shoulders curled in.
It hides his face.
Jay always thought Jungwon’s shoulders were broad. How they looked when Jay walked behind him.
But now, he remembers how they shook when the glass shattered, and the stuttered breath that followed.
Jungwon felt fragile in his arms.
Even if it had only been a second.
And now he can’t unfeel it.
“It’s not fair to you—it’s crazy,” Jay says. “What are they thinking?”
Jungwon doesn’t answer.
Jay continues, sliding a bit closer.
“If—if I can help somehow…”
Another step.
“Maybe I can look through some of the documents myself. Should be pretty easy right? Gets you through it faster, if you have to do it—”
Their shoulders touch.
Jungwon whirls around—faces him, papers in one arm. His cheeks are red, like he’s been holding his breath.
Suddenly he grips Jay’s sleeve—hand tightening, almost painfully. Bruisable.
Every word dies on Jay’s tongue, leaving his heart in his ears again.
“If you weren’t here,” Jungwon says, barely audible, “I don’t think I’d still be standing.”
Silence. Silence.
The papers slip from Jungwon’s hold with a flutter.
He sucks air in—
Then leans up—pressing a kiss to the corner of Jay’s lips.
It’s timid and stiff.
Jay stares, frozen.
Jungwon pulls away instantly, muttering a breathless “Jeez, sorry—” under his breath like it was a mistake. Already leaning down to try to pick the pages up.
Jay doesn’t let him get far.
He pulls Jungwon back in, hands on his face—looks right into his glassy eyes. He finds it there, a glimmer of something fractured.
Jay kisses him back.
Jungwon’s breath stutters. But then he’s clinging. A hand on Jay’s shoulder, another over his wrist. Still bruisable, fragile—insistent.
Jay holds on tighter—licks at his lips.
It’s heavy and fast.
And he tastes like tea and adrenaline, shiny and sharp.
The elevator hums around them—stuttering.
Jungwon’s pulse thunders under his hands—a manic rhythm he can’t ignore. He gasps, shaking—tilting his head.
Melding himself into Jay.
The papers crinkle underfoot—dirtied with shoe prints. With floor dust.
Jay doesn’t care. Papers don’t breathe. They aren’t warm.
They don’t matter—not like Yang Jungwon being alive right now. His blood. His breath. His hands.
Jungwon shudders against his lips—a little moan slipping out on its own. Rough and short.
“Hyung—” he whispers.
It echoes in Jay’s head.
So he presses closer. Now they’re forehead to forehead.
They take each other in. Jungwon trembles against his chest.
Broad shoulders and all.
“Jungwon-ah,” Jay exhales, voice low, urgent, “You can’t stay here—not like this.”
Jungwon looks resigned.
He nods once.
The elevator doors slide open. They have no more plan than before—but they have lungs that breathe. And legs that move.
***
They leave that night.
Quiet footsteps in the dark—Jungwon’s keys jingling in their rush.
There are no maids around now—no prying eyes. No nothing.
Just through the halls—to the car park.
Their shadows crawl at their ankles.
Jungwon hands him the keys. Jay gets in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel—smooth under his fingertips.
They don’t move yet.
Instead, they watch the sea of cars in the parking lot. The Yang family and their too-many-cars.
Jungwon looks at him. He almost appears green in the dark. Maybe from the light outside.
But he leans in—subtle. As if he’s not sure where he wants to be. Not sure where Jay wants him.
So Jay leans over too.
Nose to nose.
Their lips meet again.
It’s slow this time—Jay’s fingers running though Jungwon’s hair. Jungwon’s hands clinging to his shirt.
A light touch—ghostly. Liminal in the car.
Jungwon trembles again.
Jay can’t tell if it’s fear of leaving, or everything all at once.
Jungwon doesn’t say anything. Maybe one day he will.
But for now, they part with a breath, and a stare—and another breath.
They lean away.
Jungwon fiddles with his watch—the clasp. His fingers linger, latching and unlatching it.
He keeps it on.
A shudder runs through him. He looks back at the house, then away again. Jay can almost see the memories flashing in Jungwon’s eyes, like a movie.
Jay steels himself. The way he always does.
He starts the engine.
***
Status: Unemployed.
Duration: 1 day.