Chapter Text
One A.M. The alarm on his phone has gone off three times in the past forty-five minutes yet his form stays slouched over the barely illuminated screen of the laptop. He moves ever so often to pick at the handle of the mug that holds his lukewarm coffee but just as the time that preceded, his hands falter for a few minutes before returning to the keyboard.
By the second hour, I wonder if he knows I’m here. Or, how long I’ve been. By the third, I am aching to jump out of the large mahogany closet adjacent to the third wall; I long to capture the terror in his eyes once it registers just how deeply his imperceptibility has planted a disconnect between him and reality.
But I don’t.
I stay — until the fourth hour when the hanker in his back has screamed enough for him to finally crave the leniency of his brown silk ultra modern six by six feet bed.
He stands. I watch.
There’s something about his cluelessness that captivates me. Or, perhaps, it’s not the cluelessness — he isn’t by much, regardless of how much he looks — it’s the fact that if I give in to need and jump out of the closet, a part of him would not be surprised.
‘The man from work is staring again.’
I’ve heard him say these words many times over the past week; almost as much as I can envision the easy smile on Lee Minho’s face when he answers:
‘Maybe he just likes seeing you in a suit as much as I do.’
Bang Chan is easy to fluster. Subtle flirting makes a person docile. I’ve learned to use it to my advantage.
Fleeting glances and smiles I’ve tried to hide. The occasional shaking in my hand. Avoiding eye contact. He might be innocent but he isn’t stupid and as one always feels when they’ve come to know of a person’s attraction to them, he acts different towards me. His smile is more polite than inviting. I’ve noticed that he’s noticed.
My eyes follow the hunch of his back as he rises, blindly reaching for his keys. His phone buzzes for the third time. I can already imagine the messages from his Lee Minho (come home, work can wait. the cats miss you, they keep scratching me).
I’ve seen them long enough over the past few weeks for them to become borderline disgusting. But I’ve studied the intonation on each text, I’ve mastered the way he typed and how many pauses it takes to send another message. I know what to say in every situation.
Excitement bubbles in me when he makes it into the elevator. I try to be as quiet as possible as I hustle out out the closet and down the stairs. The light in my cubicle is on and I must reach it before he does. It’s my fault — perhaps the anticipation had gotten more feverish than I could control.
The plan is simple.
He’s the CEO’s first son. He’s next in line for the company. He works until the lights have been turned off by maintenance and way past that. I’d been watching him for a few months before I applied for the job.
For the largest company in Korea, it wasn’t hard to get in. A few lies on my résumé, false contacts of universities and agencies that would lead him to conversations with my friends, being friendly enough. Their screening isn’t as thorough as they think.
Everyday working with him, being so close and in my reach yet having to wait. That was the most painful things I’d had to endure. And now, when I am seconds away from triumph, the thrill threatens ruin everything.
It mustn’t. I push on.
I’m in my seat, wiping perspiration off my bushy brows when he walks in. I’ve put the headphones in and I’m slumped over, pretending to have assumed that position for hours.
I can see the white of his knuckles in my periphery as he clutches his black briefcase tighter. He pauses and looks between me and the exit, almost as if he’s battling the lesser and greater evil in his head.
I count on his kindness. He walks over. I hide a smile.
‘Minhyuk?’ Comes his tentative voice.
I struggle to keep a straight face. I have won.
Pretending not to notice or hear him, I drum my pen on my desk and heave a sigh. He waits a few seconds to see if I’ll notice his presence. I make no move to acknowledge him.
‘Minhyuk.’ He repeats, leaning over to tap my shoulder.
I startle, eyes wide as I look up at him. He smiles sheepishly.
‘Mr. Bang.’ I make sure to sound shocked. ‘You scared me.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He frowns apologetically. ‘Why haven’t you gone home?’
Forcing a smile, I gesture to my running computer. ‘I have so much to finish.’
He hums and transfers the briefcase to his left hand. ‘I’m sure it’ll still be here tomorrow. You should go home, it’s late. I’m sure you have someone waiting for you.’
I stare up at him through my eyelashes but blink away once he looks at me. ‘I don’t, sir.’
The words are said deliberately. He blanches for only a second then clears his throat and looks away.
‘Well, all the same. It’s late.’ He says. ‘I’ll accompany you outside.’
I pack up as quickly as is reasonable under the peering gaze of a boss, quickly shutting down the computer and grabbing my work bag. He waits, bless him, as I struggle to fit everything inside and he walks me outside — or trails behind me cautiously — where the cool early morning air is as stinging as it is refreshing.
He walks to the side of the building and even as I know, I’m still glad he doesn’t park his car in the underground parking lot. I haven’t gotten around to that area.
‘Where are you parked?’ He asks as he opens his car and leans over to drop the briefcase in the passenger seat.
I point at a black company sedan a few spaces down. He nods.
‘Drive carefully. It looks like it might rain.’
I nod to him and stare up at the starless sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance, true to his word. The motion sensor streetlights shine above us and I can see the discomfort in his face when I step two inches closer. He breathes, as if worried I might try something with him.
Not yet, I tell myself.
‘What happened to your tyres?’ I say instead.
His eyes follow mine. Both his front left and back left tyre have been slashed almost irreparably. His jaw tightens and mine slack into a discreet smile.
He says nothing, so I continue.
‘How are you going to get home, sir?’
‘I’ll order a cab.’ His eyes are still on the tyres as he slides his phone out of his suit pocket. I give him a minute. He groans. ‘Dammit no—‘
‘Signal?’ I ask. He looks at me strangely. ‘There usually isn’t at this time of night. I don’t know what the logic is.’
I shrug and my hands tighten around the signal jammer in my pocket.
He huffs in frustration and kneads the space between both his eyes. I see the distress creeping in.
‘I could give you a ride, if you want?’
His eyes find mine and they’re hesitant.
I add. ‘It’s better than staying here all by yourself hoping for a bar.’
Another sigh and a nod. He reaches into the car to collect his briefcase. I follow the way he seems to pause midway as if working up the courage to go through with it. I tell him I’ll be in my car to give him a little bit of space before I travel to my own driver seat fingering the keys in the ignition.
He enters a minute later, puts on his seatbelt. To his credit, he isn’t stupid, and I know he would not get into a stranger’s car on a normal day but I’ve set the ball rolling enough to leave him choice-less. I’m so giddy with excitement, I almost want to scream but I manage to rein my needs in and I try to engage him in small talk.
Other than getting his address out of him and the name of his three cats and dog (which I already know), it doesn’t work. So I opt for slow music to distract him.
It takes him a solid three minutes, head lolling against the window most likely lost in thought.
He sits up. ‘Hey, you missed my turn. You’re supposed to go right.’
My ribs feel like they’re about to cave in from the harsh beating in my chest. Still, I say nothing. Only put the childlock in, increase the volume of the music and reach into the compartment on the side of my door to put on the mask. I remove my hands from the wheel for ten seconds to tighten the strap.
He’s even more alert now, frantic. ‘What’s going on? What’re you doing? Why’re you wearing a gas mask.’
I employ the isoflurane, enjoying the little hiss it makes as it fills the car. He begins to cough, shielding his nose with the sleeve of his suit. He looks at me with wide, stinging eyes.
‘Breathe.’ I say softly, pushing his hand away from his face.
He struggles greatly, horror settling in. ‘Let me go! Where are you taking me?’
I look terror in the face when I stare at his eyes and something warm erupts in me as I imagine Lee Minho. He’ll go mad, more so when he recalls all the times Bang Chan has complained of feeling watched and all the times he’d brushed it off. I let out a harsh laugh.
Bang Chan’s head is lolling and I gently set it against the headrest.
‘Where are you taking me?’ He asks again, words slurred and unfinished.
The gas finishes. I close his eyes and open the windows, staring at the blackened road ahead.
‘Home.‘ I whisper, stepping on the gas. ‘We’re going home.’