Chapter Text
He doesn't get to it right away. Because, a, he’s a coward. And b, he had a child to feed.
So, yes. He feeds Jisung, firstly. Gives him the last of the expensive smoked salmon and cheese he has in the fridge, peeling the thin paper off each slice, the phrase “a feast in the time of plague” burning a hole in his tongue. Jisung, his child, his uncaring and lordly baby, looks at his mommy like he wants to ask for silverware and a linen napkin to accompany it all. But Jaehyun isn’t into petulance. He simply dumps everything into a ceramic bowl and puts it onto the kitchen floor, where the heating is strongest.
This son graces him with a glance of disdain that reads as "you don't deserve to even look at the atoms I'm made of, you plebeian", then eats his dinner in royal silence, curling into a pretzel by the dishwasher. Jaehyun watches him with tears in his eyes. They grow up so quickly. Who cares if it’s in width, not in height.
Secondly, because he is a procrastinating whore, Jaehyun takes a shower. He stays under the hot water until his skin turns red and his face begins to feel like a dumpling in a bamboo steamer. He washes his hair three times, then runs his hands over his abdomen, remembering the fingers that preceded his and turning the tap off immediately after that with a shiver. His shampoo bottles stare at him in contempt from the shower caddy. Jaehyun tells them to fuck off. Like this:
“Fuck off, shampoo bottles,” he tells them.
Because he’s a totally normal person. He feels totally fine. His life is a movie. And it’s definitely not ‘A Series Of Unfortunate Events.’ It’s ‘Lorax.’ Or, like. ‘The Diary of Bridget Jones.’ Or ‘Fifty Shades Of Grey.’ He just needs to get whipped. Preferably sexually. Preferably by Johnny. Preferably now.
Jaehyun feels the shampoo’s eyes on him, so he hides in the shower curtain like An Adult. When he feels brave enough to get out, he stands in front of the fogged-up mirror and runs a hand over the perspired glass. Through the clean swipe, gaping like a wound, his reflection stares back. Jaehyun, with his breath caught in his throat, examines the hickeys Johnny left on him, blooming like a row of pinkish flowers in the snow, and thinks about the fact that they are called 'love bites'. Maybe the movies he’s in is ‘Twilight.’ The fucking irony of it all. Jaehyun blushes and quickly wriggles a warning finger at his own reflection.
"Don't you get sappy on me," he says to the glass. “You’re disgusting. You have a child to raise. Be an example. It’s time to become an independent strong young mother with an MLM scheme and a Facebook account.”
His reflection sticks its tongue out at him. What a bitch.
After drying off and getting a glass of water from the fridge, Jaehyun sits on his bed, listening to the wind howl outside and stroking Jisung over his warm belly. And then, when the wind calms down, and the blankets feel warm, and he's drank all the water, and Jisung has hopped off the bed and he no longer has any other viable distraction he could use an an excuse for stalling, Jaehyun lets out a sigh, pulls his laptop over the covers, and steels himself.
"Let's do this," he mutters. “Think about your baby. Think about the Facebook page you’ll have. You’ll be okay.”
The screen whirls to life. Jaehyun’s heart sinks like a stone into water. But he had to do this. There’s no other option other than confessing, and he can’t do that. He simply can’t.
As he types the first few sentences of the resignation letter, he tries to understand what the word means to him. Resignation. Is it standing down? Is it giving up? Is it failing, is it opening a door or shutting one? Is it diving off a cliff or falling off it?
What the fuck is he doing?
Jaehyun knows a lot about falling. It’s not like he comes from a wealthy family, not even close. There’s no nepotism for him to fall back on. His parents had been teachers, and they spent most of their salary on giving him a good education, making sure he ate meat twice a week, and worrying whether he had a warm enough jacket for the winter months. They used to scream at him over his grades and then tell him, in quiet voices, of the horrors real poverty held, and that had been their love language. And look, Jaehyun understands them. He does.
He just can’t. He can’t do this anymore.
Jaehyun's biggest fear as a child had been the look of disappointment he once saw on his father's face. It had been fleeting, just a curve of his lips, a little downturn of his eyebrows, but it branded itself into Jaehyun's brain like hot iron and scabbed like a scar.
When he'd gone off to college, a suitcase in hand and a tonne of guilt over his shoulders, they had to sell their car to pay for all the seminars and lectures he got to attend. Needless to say it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Like acid. Like poison. A gratefulness so profound and so splenetic it almost made him hate them for it. I'm not deserving of it, he used to think. Take it away. Take it back. Don't give it to me and then ask for it again. Please.
He was so afraid.
The first year of working in Yoon Enterprises, the company in which he got an internship in his last year of college, had been a hell he thanked the heavens for. Jaehyun was twenty one, living (or surviving) in a rented one-room apartment in New York, with cracked ceiling lights and a hole in the mattress so big he used to fall through it in his sleep.
He was desperate to a degree that gave him confidence, scared to one than robbed him of it.
It was a closed circle. Sometimes, after having his salary cut for the most absurd reasons, after being forced to work overtime with no extra pay, after spending his weekends hunched over excel spreadsheets until his back burned, he'd find himself itching to just — just get up and leave. He didn't have strength for much else. Just leaving would have sufficed.
But he could never do it. The image of his mother, coming home at twelve in the morning on a community bus, her fingers cramped from marking her student's works and her eyes red from lack of sleep, had left such a heavy weight somewhere in the depth of his body that he was never able to get up at all. So he'd hunch over and fill in the spreadsheets and swallow the degrading comments and bring his boss coffee even though he wasn't his fucking secretary, day after day. And then he'd do it again. And again. And again. Weeks went by, then months. A year. Two. Three.
And now Jaehyun was quitting. Now, he was giving his position up. He was leaving his job. In his head, that phrase sounded like failure, like words from a movie he'd once seen as a child, where the protagonist had a spark in his eyes and a sense of security only actors on set could afford, ready to live and ruin a life that wasn't theirs, that didn't exist.
And yet, for some reason, for the first time in his life, something slotted into place. He felt exhilarated. It's like someone switched on all the lights in his head and he could see what exactly he had been blind to.
Yuta was right. Ten was right. The tiny voice of reason in his head was right. Jaehyun had always kept his head in the sand. It had always been easier to torture himself over reports and worry about his salary than to look the stark, overwhelming reality in the face.
The reality of the fact that Jaehyun's life was pretty fucking miserable.
It was funny that Johnny had been the last push. In his Tesla, driving back home, Jaehyun had imagined winning the promotion, and it had hit him that he was no longer willing to put his life on hold for a job post that gave him money but robbed him of everything else. He wasn't willing to, because of what it cost him to win. He now knows the price. He's paying it.
The mental image of coming back to an office where Johnny's desk is empty sends shivers down his back. He knows he won't be able to stay if Johnny goes, won't be able to do the job that led to him leaving; he knows, and yet, he's stalling. He wants to take what Johnny will give, for as long as he can, even if it's not real.
What a weird thing giving something up is, Jaehyun thinks, fiddling with the keyboard of his laptop. What a strange feeling it is to walk away. He’s not used to it.
Sometimes you have to lose to come out as the real winner, his father used to say. As a child, and even as a teenager, Jaehyun could never understand that. He used to think only people who were weak said this kind of thing, to reassure themselves, to pat themselves on the back and say 'at least I tried'. But now he could see it, clear as daylight. His father had been right. There's no shame in weakness, neither in losing. There never was.
Jaehyun pushes the laptop off his thighs and lays down into the pillows under his head. He thinks of Johnny's soft eyes, his smile, and wonders.
Jaehyun will tell him he's resigning. Tomorrow, or after tomorrow. He imagines seeing the delight on Johnny's face as his rival will hand his weapons over to him without a fight, and feels his chest tighten. Will Johnny admit to his lies right then and there? Will he apologize for playing him? Will he look guilty, triumphant, ecstatic?
It shouldn't matter, but it does, he thinks, palms sweaty where he's gripping the bedsheets. It matters too fucking much. He knows that, after he quits and leaves for good, Johnny will take the promotion and they'll never see each other again. There will be no reason to, now that Johnny will know he doesn't have to fake liking Jaehyun to win.
I still have tomorrow, a hungry, desperate part of Jaehyun thinks. We could still pretend for one day more.
One day more. Maybe even two. Three. Pretend it's fine until the finish line. He'll give his resignation letter to his boss tomorrow, and Johnny... he'll tell him, too, before Monday comes. Monday seems so far away, suddenly. A whole light year away, as far as the moon, as far as the furthest star.
Jaehyun closes his eyes.
If only they'd met somewhere else. If only they'd simply ran into each other in a local bar downtown, or in the park during a morning run, or in a fucking grocery store, anywhere other than under the fluorescent lights of their office room, where love was a weapon and trust a weakness.
"Fuck," Jaehyun whispers into the ceiling. Being in love is useless.
Jisung hops back onto the bed, nuzzling his face into Jaehyun's and licking at his cheek with his rough tongue, almost like a puppy. What a weird cat. Jaehyun adores him to death.
"You know," he says, petting him over his fluffy head, "if you ever fall in love, you have to let me know. It can turn your life upside down. I can prevent that. I'm a good character judge, you know? I'm very smart. Emotionally intelligent. So. You'll have to let me meet her. Or him. Okay, son?"
Jisung rubs his little muzzle into Jaehyun's chest and purrs. It sounds like "stop meddling into my business, you lowly human."
"Okay, okay, calm down," Jaehyun mutters, stroking his fur. "I'm sorry you never got to see your daddy. He's the reason I got you, actually. I guess I can tell you how he looks like."
Jisung burrows deeper into Jaehyun's chest, like he's approving.
"You've got his eyes," Jaehyun says, only partially joking. He feels like a crazy person, and at the same time, as secure in his own sanity as anyone can be. "Not the color, but the shape, a soft curve right here." He runs his finger over Jisung's brow. Jisung makes an angry cat noise but settles down again after Jaehyun laughs and scratches him behind the ears. "Your daddy is an f-word bastard, but he's so beautiful it sometimes hurts. It's like he's a statue come to life. And he's sweet. And caring. And sometimes so fu- I mean, uh, fudging irritating, but that's also sweet. And his lips, ugh." Jaehyun burrows his face into the pillow. "They're so soft. And he gets a tiny dimple when he smiles. And he has such cute ears. Sometimes he tucks his hair behind them and... oh, god, his hair. It's like silk. And then one time he put it into a man-bun and I had to lock myself in the bathroom to hyperventilate—"
He stops himself. Rolls over onto his back. "Is it weird to be hear about how hot your daddy is?"
Jisung purrs in affirmation.
"Oh, be quiet. It was a rhetorical question. And plus, it's not that weird," Jaehyun says, bunching blankets closer to himself. He settles and sighs. "You know. It feels so good to say all this out loud. It's not like I can say it to him. But you'll do, too. My little baby." He strokes Jisung again, letting him warm his chest and watching the snow fall outside the window.
He falls sleep listening to the soft purrs of his cat and the whistle of November wind, imagining a warm hand on his shoulder and three words, three short words, spinning around on his tongue like a lullaby.
***
___
[07:03]
Unknown number:
Good morning. I'm in your parking lot.
___
Jaehyun stares at the text on his screen in pure bewilderment, one hand frozen where he was buttoning his dress shirt. A wave of dejavú washes over him, so intense he has to grab the kitchenette countertop, and he lowers his phone back onto the table lest he drops it.
He blinks at the fridge. A second passes. The phone chimes again, mercilessly. Another message.
___
[07:04]
Unknown number:
Jaehyun, please don’t tell me you still haven't gotten my number saved.
It's Johnny.
___
Jaehyun continues staring at the screen, unable to move.
The phone rings suddenly, shrill, buzzing against the tablecloth. Jaehyun debates launching it across the kitchen. After surviving at least three minor heart attacks, he picks it up with unsteady fingers and presses the answer icon, feeling like he's hallucinating. "H-hello?"
"Jaehyun?" Johnny's soft baritone comes in through the speaker. "Are you in your apartment?"
Jaehyun gulps. What the fuck? "Y-yes?"
"Come outside, then," Johnny says. "Or we’ll be late. And dress warm, it's minus six degrees. I'll wait downstairs."
"Wh—" Jaehyun starts.
Johnny hangs up.
Jaehyun stares at his phone in incomprehension.
Come on, he thinks. N-no. There's no way. No fucking way.
Still feeling like he's hallucinating, he scrambles to the window, pulling the blinds apart.
And, because it seems that Jaehyun is living in a twisted version of a Hallmark movie, there it is. The sunny Friday morning, snow covering the ground like a soft down-father blanket. The silver Tesla, standing in the middle of the parking lot. And a tall man, dressed in a black coat, leaning against it's side, staring right at Jaehyun and smiling like the sun itself.
The man gives him a little wave. There's a phone in his hand.
"Fuck," Jaehyun says with feeling, and pulls the blinds shut.
He's out of the door (yes, this time he is dressed in more than a towel and does have his card key safely in his bag, thank you for asking,) and in the parking lot in less than five minutes.
Johnny turns to him as he nears the silver car, the same smile he'd flashed him through the window still curving his soft, cold-reddened lips.
"I told you to dress warm," Johnny says, in lieu of a greeting. He clicks his tongue, but doesn't drop the smile.
Jaehyun stops in front of him and stares.
"Good morning, Jaehyun," Johnny says. His features are disarmingly soft in the morning light. There's mirth sparkling in his eyes, like glitter specks.
"What," Jaehyun manages, still staring, "is going—"
"I'm picking you up," Johnny interrupts, pulling the passenger door open for him with a practiced hand.
"Picking me up?" Jaehyun repeats.
Johnny gestures at the passenger seat, patiently. "Yes. Get in, or we'll be late for work."
"For work?"
"Yes. It's faster than taking the train," Johnny says.
"The train?"
"Listen, are you just going to stand here and keep asking questions, or will you let me drive you to the office?" Johnny huffs. He looks impossibly amused, though, like all he truly wants is for Jaehyun to keep standing here, asking questions .
Jaehyun gives his head a shake and slips into the car, letting Johnny close the door behind him. It doesn't matter what he does. This must a dream anyway.
Johnny slides into the driver's seat, exactly like he did last night, and starts pulling out of the parking lot. There's a smile playing on his lips he can't seem to tamper out.
"Hungry?" He asks Jaehyun. Without waiting for a response, he gestures at the console between them, where Jaehyun sees two brown paper bags and a cardboard cup holder. "There's coffee, tea, sandwiches, muffins, croissants, and — um, I think it was cinnamon rolls? They didn't have French toast, so I'm sorry about that, I know it's your favorite, but please, eat whatever else you like."
Jaehyun lifts his eyes away from the console and back to him. Johnny is looking at the road ahead, steering the car with relaxed fingers, his hair outlined in gold by the morning sun pouring in from the window.
Jaehyun discreetly pinches himself on the thigh.
Weirdly enough, doesn't wake up.
He pinches harder, just in case.
Nothing.
Maybe just a little harder—
"Fu— ouch!"
"What's wrong?" Johnny turns to him, eyebrows lowered in concern at his sudden yelp.
"M-muscle cramp," Jaehyun gasps thorough the pain, rubbing his throbbing skin.
So, this is not a dream.
Then what the fuck is it?
"Oh. How was your evening?" Johnny asks him, swerving into another lane, still looking at Jaehyun. His soft baritone voice isn't doing much to help convince Jaehyun he’s not lying somewhere in an alleyway, drugged to high heaven and hallucinating this entire dialogue. "Did you sleep well?"
"Did I fucking what?" Jaehyun says.
Johnny laughs. He sounds delighted, like a kid who got to unwrap his Christmas present early. "God. I had no clue you were this grumpy in the morning."
He laughs again at the look Jaehyun gives him, carding a hand through his hair and grinning like the discovery of Jaehyun's seven a.m. grogginess was something to cherish.
"Are you still sleeping?" He nods at the cups of coffee between them. "Please drink before it cools down. The barista said it's best fresh."
Jaehyun, for lack of other things to do, reaches for the cup on the console. He take a tentative sip, and it's so good he closes his eyes.
And then snaps them open.
"Wait, wait a second, you got me breakfast?" He eyes the paper bags again, this time in a completely different light. His heart is fluttering like a bird in his chest.“For me?”
"Obviously," Johnny says. "Or do you not eat breakfast?"
"I do," Jaehyun mutters. He's feeling very very hot, suddenly, even though all he's wearing is his suit and a thin coat.
"Then eat," Johnny says.
Jaehyun, with alarmingly little reluctance, accepts his fate and opens one of the bags to pull out a croissant. "Where'd you even get all this?" He inquires between flaky bites of dough, watching the sun dance over Johnny's profile.
Breakfast with a view, the depraved part of his brain chimes.
(The part which, unfortunately, occupies 99.9% of his brain).
"Oh. I just asked my personal chef to make it," Johnny replies with shrug.
Jaehyun chokes on his croissants.
Johnny laughs, throwing his head back, then smiling at him teasingly. "I'm kidding, Jaehyun. There's a bakery by my block. They make mean French pastries. I'll take you there, you'll love it."
"Whatever," Jaehyun mutters, going back to his breakfast. Johnny probably has a personal chef for real, that nabob. But then, why the 2 in 1 shampoo? The image of the small black bottle, absurd against the marble shower wall, is still burned into Jaehyun's mind.
Maybe Johnny hides his diamond-encrusted bath bombs in a safe somewhere.
"Can I have a bite?" Johnny asks suddenly.
They're standing at a stoplight, waiting for a crowd of high-schoolers to cross the road, their backpacks swinging and their laughter floating into the car from the outside.
"Sure," Jaehyun says, turning to him, ready to dig through the bags, "what do you—"
Johnny leans over and kisses him.
His lips are warm and taste like early morning sunlight.
Jaehyun is not breathing.
Johnny runs a hot, wet stripe along Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his tongue, then presses his mouth to Jaehyun’s, gentle as ever, lingers, and pulls away.
(Um, did he mention he’s is not breathing?)
"You taste good," Johnny says. Then, like a total psychopath, he lowers his head and takes a bite out of the croissant clutched in Jaehyun's frozen fingers. His lips graze Jaehyun’s skin. "Mm! This does, too. Thanks."
The light turns green. Johnny leans back into his seat and presses the gas pedal into the floor. They resume their ride.
"What the fuck," Jaehyun says, when he can speak again.
"What, only you are allowed to initiate kisses?" Johnny is clearly trying to contain a self-satisfied grin, like a cat that nicked a whole bowl of cream. "Now you know how it feels."
"I hate you," Jaehyun says, without heat. He, too, is trying to hide a sudden and very-very-unrelated-to-this-incident smile. God, he thinks, I'm not getting out of this alive. "Let's see how you like it when I take a bite out of you."
"You already did." Johnny fakes a wince, shifting in his seat. "My left buttcheek has your teeth imprinted on it. Care to apologize?"
Jaehyun scoffs venomously and shoves the last of his croissant into his mouth. "Nope. Thank you for the breakfast, Johnny."
"My pleasure," Johnny smirks, with smugness that makes Jaehyun want to lean over and bite his right buttcheek, too, just for good measure. Johnny looks like the kind of man who strives to attain symmetry in everything. Jaehyun'd be doing him a favor.
"You're infuriating, did you know that?" He says instead, licking his fingers clean off of the flaky dough. "Maybe I should just bite your giant head off."
Johnny rolls his eyes. "Drink your coffee, Jaehyun. You're so grumpy this morning. I think you're having a caffeine withdrawal."
"Shut up." Jaehyun complies, because the coffee is incredible, and also because he needs to busy his mouth with something before he buries his teeth in Johnny's muscular limbs and they crash into an unsuspecting pedestrian, all because of Jaehyun's horniness. "Should I be thankful you didn't get fifteen types of drinks this time?"
"Oh, I did, don’t worry. They're all in the backse—"
Johnny is interrupted by his phone ringing. He smiles apologetically at Jaehyun, pulls it out of his coat pocket, and then frowns at the screen.
His smile slips, but he swipes to answer anyway.
"Yes, father," he speaks into the phone, putting it up to his hear.
His voice is suddenly drained. Cold. Like someone flipped a switch. Like the sun has hidden behind clouds. Like there's a nuclear winter in his vocal cords.
Jaehyun turns his head away, not wanting to look like he's eavesdropping, because that's totally what he's doing. But. Can you blame him? He's always been a little curious. To his own detriment sometimes, but what idiot learns from his mistakes?
"I already told you I won't be attending," Johnny responds to what had presumably been a question.
Somebody's angry, muffled voice comes through the phone, then dies out.
"It's not like they'll let me in, will they?" Johnny scoffs. His voice is mocking. It's also shaky. "No. Don't— I said don't bother."
Jaehyun shifts in his seat. Fuck pretending he's not eavesdropping.
"Father, listen — no, if you called me to talk to me about — I said if you called to talk about my sexu—. " Johnny takes in a deep breath. "No. You can forget it. Tell mother I said hi. Yes. Really. Goodbye."
Johnny ends the call. Shoves the phone back into his coat pocket. Grips the wheel until his knuckles go white.
"Sorry about that," he says. His voice is tight and a tad too bright, like a white sheet laid over a dead body. "Where were we?"
"Uh," Jaehyun scrambles."I. We. Um. Coffee?"
"Please." Johnny takes the cup out of Jaehyun's offering hands. His fingers are trembling, just barely noticeably.
Jaehyun suddenly feels a weird urge to brutally murder someone. No one in particular, of course. Certainly not the person Johnny had been talking to. Of course not. And obviously not with a rusty, jagged machete. He'd never.
Johnny sips the coffee in silence. Jaehyun pretends he's not watching him do it. Then, when Johnny tries to put the cup back into the cup holder on the console, Jaehyun takes it out of his hold, deposits it back himself, and wraps his fingers around Johnny's hand, startling his own self as much as the man across from him.
Johnny stares at their intertwined hands for so long Jaehyun starts thinking that maybe he'd made a mistake. But then he looks up at him, with a new glint in his eyes, like an exhale. Jaehyun runs a thumb over his knuckles, once, and sees him shiver.
"Let's go somewhere today," Johnny says, suddenly, a little desperately. He's clutching Jaehyun’s hand so tightly it's like he's scared Jaehyun will disappear if he lets go. "After work. I need — I have to tell you." He gulps. "Something."
Johnny meets his eyes.
They're raw, honest.
And Jaehyun's stomach drops.
So this is it, he thinks, feeling himself go white as a sheet, blood going cold in his veins. Fuck. This is where it ends. This is where Johnny will tell him about his true intentions. He couldn't even wait for Monday, could he? Couldn't even—
"Tell me now," Jaehyun chokes out. Everything around him swims.
Johnny shakes his head. "No, it's fine, it - it can wait. This is — it can wait. Until after work." He squeezes Jaehyun's limp hand again. "Okay?"
It can't, Jaehyun thinks. It can't wait. It can't fucking wait. He wants to hear it now. He has to hear it now. He doesn't want to hear it ever. He wants Johnny to choke on it.
He pulls his hand out of Johnny's, clutching it to his chest.
"Jaehyun?" Johnny asks.
"Just," Jaehyun manages, "motion sickness."
He pretends to be rubbing his chest in discomfort. His heart hurts. The two copies of his resignation letter he'd printed out this morning, the first for Mr. Soo, the second for precaution, lay heavily in his coat pocket, burning through the fabric, like lumps of hot coal. Should he just take one out now? Throw it on the console between them, right over the bags of pastries Johnny had bought him, shout 'I know what you're doing, here you go, choke on it, you bastard, you liar, I hope you're happy now that you've gotten what you—‘
The car comes to a halt.
Johnny unbuckles his seatbelt, turns the power off, and looks expectantly at Jaehyun, who's busy being frozen in his seat.
"We're here," he says. "You okay?"
Jaehyun swallows thickly. He nods and unbuckles his own seatbelt and opens the door without waiting for Johnny to open his.
He steps out, legs unsteady. The fresh morning air clears his head, just a little bit, just enough for him to realize they're in front of Yoon Enterprises building and start walking in the direction of the entrance.
Snow paves the ground under his feet, hiding in the cracks. It's faint, barely there, like a white sheen on the asphalt. Fleeting.
Johnny opens the door for him and they enter the building at the same time. Jaehyun, with a start, realizes that this is the last day they're ever going to do that. This is the last day of their rivalry. It's Jaehyun who has conceded, against all odds.
His head almost spins with the understanding of the monumentality of his decision.
It's crazy, really, how a small piece of paper can change someone's life, for better or for worse.
Maybe he's making a mistake, he thinks, as they walk through the reception. His hands are shaking. Maybe this is the biggest fuck-up of his life. Maybe he'll never get hired anywhere again. Maybe he'll die, jobless, homeless, hungry, like his parents had told him a person with no career will.
But then again, isn't the worst mistake anyone can make — being afraid of making one? Isn't life just a series of trials and errors, without a final destination?
Jaehyun had lived with a goal in his head for so long.
He wants to try, just for this one time, to live without one.
***
The office room is drenched in sunlight when they enter it. Jaehyun sits down at his desk and takes out his folders and laptop. At his own table, Johnny does the same, eyeing Jaehyun, with a worried pinch to his eyebrows, out of the corner of his eye. Jaehyun tries to look normal. It doesn't seem to be working. He's moving like a robot that had been dropped in jello.
Jaehyun's hands shake all throughout the morning meeting, so hard he spills water onto his papers. He excuses himself to the bathroom and grips the sink for five long minutes, willing his insides to stop tying themselves into knots he can't begin to untangle. His reflection has a bead of sweat running down its brow. He wipes it away with his sleeve.
Someone it the stall behind him flushes.
Jaehyun scrambles away from the mirror and pretends to be smoothing down his hair.
"Good morning," a familiar voice chirps behind him.
Jaehyun sees someone with snow-white hair and glittering catlike eyes approach him in the reflection. "Taeyong?"
He turns around. Taeyong, wearing a suit so slick it looks like oil and with two pearl earrings dangling from his earlobes, grins at him and goes to the sink next to his, pumping soap into his palm. "Hi, sweetheart. Long time no see. How've you been?"
"Uh," Jaehyun says, "great, thanks."
Then he recalls the basics of polite speech and tags on a hurried, "and, um, how have you? Is the cold better?"
"Hm?" Taeyong is wiping his hands with the tissues he'd pulled out of the dispenser. "What cold?"
"You know," Jaehyun frowns. "The... you skipped Saturday because of it? The Cinema Village thing."
Taeyong's eyes widen, then turn into crescents as he throws his head back and laughs. "Oh baby," he giggles, throwing the tissues into the trashcan and gripping the edge of the sink. "You are so clueless. I see now, what he sees in you. It's so adorable you're practically irresistible."
"W-what are you talking about?" Jaehyun stops fiddling with the edges of his suit to stare at his strange interlocutor. "See what?"
"Nothing, nothing, ignore me," Taeyong sing-songs, still trying to contain his laugh. He bypasses Jaehyun, patting him lightly on his shoulder. His nails are neon-pink and have tiny gems encrusted into the corners. "I hope it goes well with you two. Actually, I'm sure it will, what with the thing he did to ensure that. Don't be angry with him when you find out, okay?"
"When I find out what? What do you-"
But Taeyong has already slipped past the bathroom door with a parting wink and a wave of his elegant hand.
Jaehyun shakes his head, incomprehensibly. What a weird guy. What a weird conversation. What a weird morning, overall.
He gives his face a splash of cold water, pats it dry, and walks out as well.
***
The clock chimes five, the sun turns pink, Johnny begins packing his bag, and Jaehyun can no longer put off what he came here to do. He sends a prayer to a god he doesn't believe in, envisions his mother's supportive smile he knows she wouldn't give, and stands up from his desk.
"Jaehyun?" Johnny lifts his head up, smiles at him. "Would you like to go now? I booked us a table for dinner, but the location is a surprise. I think you'll like it."
Jaehyun gulps and tries to speak over the lump in his throat. "I need to," he manages, knowing he's as pale as a sheet, "speak to Mr. Soo. About something. First."
"Okay," Johnny says slowly, his smile slipping into a concerned frown at the tremor Jaehyun wasn't able to keep out of his voice. "Is everything alright?"
No, Jaehyun thinks. But it will be.
He nods his head and makes his way across the office, legs stiff and throat dry. The door handle almost slips out of his sweaty grasp.
He all but staggers down the corridor and stands in from of Mr. Soo's door for two whole, excruciating minutes, trying to catch his breath.
Just fucking do it, he thinks. But his hands don't seem to be listening to him.
Finally, after another minute of sweating and counting his heartbeats, he knocks.
"Come in," a voice calls from behind the door.
Jaehyun slips into the office, letting the heavy door fall shut behind him. It feels like a trap snapping closed around him. "Good afternoon, Mr. Soo."
"Jaehyun!" His boss lifts his head up from his desk, where he seems to have been digging into a pack of chocolate cookies. "What is it?"
"I," Jaehyun gulps. Stops. Starts again. "I need to talk to you, sir."
"We'll, I'm at your disposal," Mr. Soo chuckles, wiping crumbs off of his hands against his suit jacket. "Unless it's about raising your pay. It's already minimum wage, eh? Any more and you'll be earning the same as me, and we can't have that, can we?"
Jaehyun shakes his head, feeling acid rise up in his throat. This was so much easier in his mind, and even in the mirror, when he practiced at home this morning. All the right words seem to have left him.
"It's not about pay," he chokes out.
Then, before he can chicken out of it, he pulls the resignation letter out of his suit jacket and puts it in front of his boss.
"I'm quitting," Jaehyun says.
His boss stares at the piece of paper in incomprehension, for what seems to be a whole minute. Then he lifts his beetle-black eyes up to Jaehyun's.
They narrow into slits.
"You're what, boy?" Mr. Soo breathes out.
"I'm quitting," Jaehyun says. Okay. It's much easier the second time. The words ring like church bells in his ears. Pure. Melodic. "I'm leaving, sir. I'm resigning. Please accept my resignation."
"What," his both seethes, his face going blotchy, "are you fucking getting at? What has gotten into the both of you about these stupid resignations?"
"I am leaving Yoon Enterprises," Jaehyun says. There's a strange calm in his mind, a sense of surety he has not yet felt in his life. "Thank you for giving me the opportunities to work with you. I will take the experience w—"
His boss slams his hand into his desk, so hard a few cookies fly out of their box.
"HOW. DARE. YOU," he spits. He stands up from his seat, looking like he's about to get an aneurysm. Or implode.
Jaehyun takes a step back.
His boss jabs a thick, accusatory, shaky finger in Jaehyun's direction. "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU, YOU SCUM! GET THIS SHIT AWAY FROM HERE—"
"Sir," Jaehyun interrupts, stepping even further back, involuntarily. "I've made my decision. I w—"
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!" His boss yells, so unexpectedly loud Jaehyun jumps. His face is like a stoplight, red, scrunched up. "YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT! I FUCKING— I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING HERE! YOU THINK THIS—" he picks up the letter, crumples it, shakes it in his fist, "THIS MOTHERFUCKING SHIT MATTERS, HUH? YOU THINK THIS SHIT MATTERS TO ME?"
He rips the paper in half, then into quarters. Throws the bits onto his desk.
They fall down like snow, slowly, untimely beautifully.
"I'll send you a copy by email," Jaehyun says, staring at the torn letter instead of his boss's massive figure. He starts moving back to the door. He's shaking, but he can't show it.
"Get back here," his boss speaks, visibly trying to hold in another bout of yelling. His voice is now pure saccharine. "Get the fuck back here, Jung. Let's talk. You want money? I'll give you money. Two percent raise. How does that sound? Good, right? How—"
Jaehyun shakes his head. His back is flush with the door. "I've made my decision, sir."
"YOU FUCKING—" Mr. Soo grips the edges of his desk, then slams a fist into the wood. "Jaehyun. Come on. You're one of our best employees. You can't be fucking—"
"I am," Jaehyun says. There's a bead of sweat running down his back. He's shaking and he's showing it. It doesn't matter anymore. There's no shame in weakness. "I am serious. And I know I'm one of your best employees, Mr. Soo. Trust me, I do. But I will never get beyond that here, beyond being your employee and yours only. You wouldn't have allowed that. You haven't ever given me opportunities to grow. You have never even given me a full salary. All I've ever received from you was belittlement and scorn—"
"Jaehyun," Mr. Soo interrupts, trying to force a smile that is all teeth, "Jaehyun, you can't mean that. What about— what about the promotion? Huh, what about that? I've given you plenty—"
"The promotion," Jaehyun's voice rises. It ricochets around the room in broken fragments, like shards of glass. "The one meant for the person you brought in to be my replacement? You think — you think I'm that stupid, that I won't realize why Johnny Suh was employed right before the presentations? You were never going to give it to me, were never going to allow it. Because you need me here, by your feet, like some dog, you were going to fire me, and then you were going to make me beg to stay—"
"FUCK OFF, THEN!" His boss shrieks, suddenly.
Jaehyun grips the door handle behind himself, looking up at Mr. Soo.
His boss is shaking more than Jaehyun is, a button on his suit jacket popping off with a ping. He's like a balloon, letting out squeaky huffs of air. "GET THE FUCK OUT, THEN, THE BOTH OF YOU! YOU AND SUH, GET YOUR LETTERS OUT OF MY FUCKING OFFICE AND FUCK OFF! DONT FUCKING SHOW YOUR FACE HERE! YOU'RE FIRED, HEAR ME?!"
"Thank you, Mr. Soo," Jaehyun says, and slips out of that room for the last time in his life.
***
He walks back to the office in a haze. He doesn't let himself think about what had happened beyond a surface level, lest he trips over the burgundy carpet. He said what he needed to say. It is done. It is fine. There's no need to cry.
There's no need to fucking cry.
He takes in a shaky breath in front of his glass office door, then pushes it open and slaps an unconvincing smile onto his pale face, in case Johnny starts asking what’s going on with his expression.
But Johnny isn’t looking at him when he enters. He is standing by the panoramic window, presumably staring at the golden-glass skyscrapers lining the horizontal grounds of New York like kegs in a bowling alley. For just a second, a momentary lapse in judgement, Jaehyun allows himself to admire his broad back, his narrow waist, his elegant, sharp-featured profile. He looks like an ink drawing against the darkening skyline, where the sun bleeds out like a blood diamond onto the velvety sheets of the night.
This is the last time Jaehyun will see him like this. His heart clenches, painful and whetted by it. There's no need to cry, he repeats to himself, like a mantra. The worst is over.
Johnny, as though sensing being observed, turns to face him.
They don't say anything for a few moments, simply staring at each other, Johnny's eyes running over his features, drinking them in like he wants to catalogue them, remember them.
This really is it, Jaehyun thinks.
And then Johnny walks up to him, cradles his jaw in both of his gentle, elegant hands, and tilts Jaehyun's face up to kiss him.
Jaehyun lets out an involuntary gasp when Johnny's soft lips touch his, wrapping his fingers around Johnny's wrists, clinging to him like a drowning man to a life raft. He feels a sharp, hot pressure building behind his eyes, which he tries and fails to blink away.
Johnny traces the seam of his mouth with his tongue, and Jaehyun opens it, lets him in. Johnny angles his head up, deepening the kiss, until Jaehyun's head spins. It's warm, and slow, and so painfully tender, like Johnny wants to tell him something with it. Jaehyun won't read in. He knows, like he knows his own name, that this is goodbye. Instead, he tries to show him what he feels, kissing back, molding his lips over Johnny's with everything his heart can give.
After what feels like forever and no time at all, Johnny pulls away, only to looks down at him in a strange, dark wonder, like he can't believe his own two eyes, like Jaehyun is an apparition, outlined in red by the ruby sunset. His thumb traces Jaehyun's cheekbone, hovers over his swollen lower lip.
"Ready to go?" He asks him quietly, running the pad of his finger over his jaw.
Jaehyun closes his eyes briefly, then nods.
"Yes," he whispers, and promises himself it's the last lie he'll tell tonight.
***
The restaurant's doorbell jingles when Johnny opens the door for Jaehyun. Warm air rushes over them in a wave, along with the sound of chatter, the clinking of plates, the sizzling of something in the kitchens.
"Cozy," Jaehyun comments, mainly to test his vocal cords. His voice, thankfully, comes out sounding normal. His head has cleared a bit during the ride to here, although his lips still burn from the feeling of Johnny's mouth on his.
The restaurant is cozy, though. It's like entering your grandma's house. It smells like childhood and wood and care and fried food, the best cacophony on Earth.
"Table for two, please," Johnny tells the young waiter that approaches them and introduces himself as Jeno with a sun-bright smile. Jeno leads them through rows of bustling tables towards an empty booth in the far corner, where lightbulbs hang artistically from a string attach to the ceiling. The tablecloth on their table is checkered and thick, with a small vase of white flower standing in the middle.
Johnny pulls out his chair for him and they sit, picking up heavy-looking leather-bound menus Jeno had handed them. The pages are laminated. All the dishes' names seem to be hand-written.
Even though Jaehyun's stomach is tied in knots that seem to be made of steel, he scans the menu and picks a plate or galbi-gui along with a bowl of kongnamul-guk. Johnny orders them beer and they hand the menus back to the waiter, who disappears for only a few minutes before returning with two sweating tumblers of dark-golden liquid, white foam spilling over the sides. Jeno gives them a plate of marinated pig ears, sliced into thin strips, and a bowl full of bright-yellow cubes of radish.
"On the house," he says with a smile.
They thank him and he departs, leaving them in their strange bubble of silence amongst the restaurant's chatter.
"It's nice here," Jaehyun starts, at the same time as Johnny says, "Jaehyun."
They both stop.
"You — you go first," Johnny clears his throat. He looks strangely nervous. Or maybe that's just Jaehyun seeing his own reflection on those dark eyes.
"This is, uh, a nice restaurant," Jaehyun speaks, looking around, aware he sounds like a robot. He clears his throat and racks his head for something else to say. "How did you come across it, and in New York, of all places?"
Johnny looks relived at the opportunity to speak about something other than what seemed to have been spinning on his tongue. "Remember Donghyuck?"
"Your nephew?" Jaehyun asks, recalling the picture Johnny had showed him in La Mareé.
Johnny smiles indulgently. "Yes, that little devil. His parents own the place. It's nice, isn't it? They set it up when they first moved to Manhattan. Almost ten years ago, now."
"Vintage," Jaehyun comments. His voice sounds stiff to his own ears. "And, uh, the atmosphere seems great."
He fiddles with his napkin, then picks up the heavy beer tumbler and takes a sip. It's malty and bitter, just as he likes it, but he can't enjoy the taste. It simply slides down his tight throat, settling in his stomach like lead. He hopes it will give him a modicum of liquid courage, at least.
Johnny drinks his, too, if only a little too hurriedly, not looking at him.
Now, Jaehyun thinks suddenly, and lowers the cup in his hand onto the table with a loud thump.
Johnny looks up from where he'd been staring at the checkered tablecloth.
"I," Jaehyun starts, swallowing thickly.
And stops. He forgot what he was going to say. Fuck. He didn't even plan this. Why hadn't he planned this? He's an idiot. A nervous wreck, staring at the most beautiful, sweet, kind liar sitting across from him, without being able to utter a single word.
"You…?" Johnny prompts. He seems to be holding his breath. His fingers are clutching the edges of the table in a death-grip.
Jaehyun inhales, then grabs his beer and chugs it all at once.
"Jaehyun?" Johnny asks, sounding alarmed.
Fuck it.
Jaehyun shoves his hand into his coat pocket and pulls the resignation letter out, throwing it onto the table between them.
It lands right next to the flower vase, with a loud smack.
"I," Jaehyun says, without breathing, without any inflection in his tone, "am resigning."
Johnny stares at the piece of paper in clear incomprehension.
And then reaches into his own coat pocket.
And pulls a neatly folded piece of paper out.
And places it onto the table between them, right next to the flower vase, too.
"So," Johnny says, lifting his eyes up to Jaehyun's, and Jaehyun can swear on everything in his stupid stupid fucking life that there is a constellation of stars in them, bright and soft and so, so real, "am I."
***
"Order for twenty-two!" Jaemin calls out, sliding the plates onto the counter towards Jeno.
Jeno picks it up onto his tray, balancing it expertly against his lean forearm. His waiter outfit is itchy, but he promised aunty he'd work here this evening, so he can't complain. Besides, he's getting twenty bucks out of this shift. And he gets to see Jaemin suffer over soup and fried shrimp, which is enjoyable in itself. "Is this all?"
Jaemin rolls his eyes, the edge of his chef hat slipping a little onto his forehead. He re-adjusts it with an irritated gesture. "Galbi, soybean soup, fried rice? That's what it said on the sheet of paper you brought me. Your handwriting sucks ass, by the way. And also, not everyone eats like they're trying to imitate The Rock."
"But that's uncle Johnny's table," Jeno mutters, adjusting his cotton shirt. "He usually orders at least five dishes."
"Oh?" Jaemin looks up. His eyes light up with a dangerous, mirthful glint. "Uncle's here?"
Jeno leans over, a conspiratorial smile curving his lips. "That's right. And he brought a date," he murmurs, arching his eyebrows suggestively.
Jaemin stops trying to tuck strands of bright-pink hair back under his hat and balks at him. "No way. Our uncle Johnny? Are you sure it wasn't, like, a friend? A colleague? Or maybe a loan shark?"
"Hey!" Jeno manages to slap Jaemin's arm without dropping the hefty tray in his other hand. "He's not that bad!"
"Are you kidding me?" Jaemin rolls his eyes, rubbing the place where Jeno managed to land a hit. "The last time I saw him dating anyone was... oh wait, that's right, never. I thought he was practicing celibacy for a while out there. But then I found Grindr on his phone and—” he makes a gagging noise and shudders.
"No, it certainly was a date." Jeno pretends to swoon, putting a hand to his chest. "And what a looker! Man's got it, Jaem. He's like a hotter version of Edward Cullen. With dimples.”
"But is he hotter than me?” Jaemin asks, crossing his arms over his apron, a confident stance for someone that looks like they just dug through a trash can. With their face.
There's a piece of spaghetti dangling from his collar. A smudge of marinara sauce on his cheek. His determined, serious face is red from the steam rising out of the soup pot he's been stirring.
Jeno runs his eyes along his lithe frame, then taps his chin, pretending to think.
"Yep. He's one hundred percent hotter," he finally says, and ducks just in time before the wooden spoon Jaemin is holding smacks him over the head.
"Go bring them their food before I gut you, skin you, marinate you in soy sauce with some sesame oil and scallions, cut you into inch-wide cubes and roast you on low heat for seven minutes on each side along with these mushrooms," Jaemin says, a placid smile and an irritated blush mixing into a weird concoction on his face.
"What the fuck? That is so not the first time you've thought of doing that," Jeno mutters, a shiver running down his spine.
Jaemin flashes him a wide grin. "You’re absolutely right, baby. I've got a cookbook full of recipes I can make using your scrumptious persona. Ever considered being the texture of a soufflé? Or maybe you'd prefer to be dry-aged and sliced into strips of jamón, just to be placed between two soft, doughy buns?"
"Strips of jamón, huh," Jeno smirks. "Can't get enough of my meat?"
This time, the wooden spoon catches him right on his forehead.
"Ouch! That's unsanitary!"
"Blood on the kitchen floor, that’s what’s unsanitary," Jaemin tells him with a sigh, wiping the wooden weapon with his apron. "Now go before I have to mop you off the walls. It'll stain the wallpaper and aunty will kill me if I use up all the Clorox."
"Psycho," Jeno mutters, knowing Jaemin will take it as a compliment. He adjusting the heavy tray in his arms and starts making his way to table twenty-two, beelining past chairs and other waiters.
However, when he nears it, the table is empty. Jeno looks around curiously, but uncle Johnny and his handsome date are nowhere to be seen.
"Hey, boy! Are you looking for the couple from that table?" A customer from the table twenty-three calls out.
"Yes," Jeno says, bewildered, "have you seen them leave, by any chance? Are they in the restroom?"
"Those two played footsies under the table for like ten minutes," the customers says. "They grabbed each other's hands, pretended they were not crying whilst asking each other "what?" "what?" "really?" "no, really?" over and over, and then ran off." He wipes a stray tear from under his eye. "It was — kind of romantic, to be honest."
"I- okay, thank you," Jeno says, even more confused than before. He turns back to the table and suddenly notices two folded sheets of paper on the checkered tablecloth. And next to them, a five hundred dollar banknote.
His eyes almost pop out of their sockets. Puzzled beyond belief, he picks up the bill, the papers, and makes his way back into the kitchen.
"Jaemin," he calls out. "Come here for a sec."
Jaemin strolls to the counter, wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "What took you so long?" His eyes land on the tray, still full in Jeno's hands. "Oh. Is there a problem with the order? Are our dear customers unhappy?"
"No," Jeno shakes head. "They — um, they're gone. And look what they left."
He waves the five hundred dollar bill in front of him.
Jaemin, with a shocked gasp, rips the banknote out of his hand, holding it up to the light.
“Is uncle insane?" He asks, after confirming the bill to be real. "I get that he's rich and all, but why'd he pay so much? I told him not to do shit like that anymore. And also, wait, did you say they’re gone? Where?"
"I have no fucking clue. Maybe this'll explain it?" Jeno slides the folded pieces of paper he’d gotten from the table towards Jaemin, who picks them up, evidently curious.
"Think these are love notes?" He asks Jeno, wriggling his eyebrows.
Jeno shrugs. "Let's just read them."
"Oh no, I've finally corrupted you,” Jaemin sighs in mock disappointment, unwrapping the papers. “You used to be such a good boy, and now look at you, reading your uncle’s private correspondence.”
"Give them to me," Jeno growls, going for the papers, but Jaemin holds it out of his reach with a laugh.
After they're done quarreling (Jeno ends up with another spoon-inflicted wound), Jaemin scans through them. His dark eyebrows pull into an uncharacteristic frown. "These are just resignation letters. Huh. Did uncle leave his job?"
"Apparently," Jeno shrugs, prying the letters out of Jaemin's fingers.
"That's funny," Jaemin muses, watching Jeno fold the papers and smooth them out against his thigh, maybe for a little too long. "You know, two weeks ago uncle told me he wants to open a flower shop, adopt five cats, and get married, all of it this year. Isn't that psychotic? I thought he was kidding, but maybe he's serious, what with the letters. At least, about the shop."
Jeno shrugs. "Good for him. Marriage will suit him. He's too old-souled for a twenty-six year old."
"Awh. We can't all be babies like you," Jaemin coos. Jeno feigns whacking him over the head with the papers.
"Hey! You two!" Mr. Gwan, the other chef, calls from the kitchen entrance. Jaemin and Jeno jump, startled, then look at him guiltily. "Stop flirting around and get to work. Jaemin, your pancakes are releasing smoke. Jeno, your customers are hungry. Chop-chop!"
Jeno hurriedly picks up his notebook and bows. "Sorry, sir! We'll get right to it!"
Jaemin rolls his eyes. "Someone really needs those twenty bucks," he mutters under his breath.
"It's for our movie date," Jeno says, and suddenly winks at him. Then he proceeds to bolt out of the kitchen like it's on fire.
Who knows? Maybe it is. Jaemin is, admittedly, a pretty shit cook.
He goes back to his burnt pancakes, fighting a blush and muttering under his breath as he tries to unsuccessfully scrape their charred remains off the cast iron pan with a spatula. He’s already assembling an outfit in his head.
The two letters lay forgotten on the countertop.