#*callme.

“This is ridiculous.”

Seungcheol takes a sip of his drink as he turns to look at Mingyu. 

The younger is scoffing, eyes fixed on his phone, clutched tightly in one of his hands. 

“What are you on about?” Seungcheol questions, not prying his eyes off the documents laid across the table. He’s read them a thousand times, a separate sheet of annotations resting somewhere along the mess. He knows them by heart, even if it’s just been a few days since they were handed to him, but that was to be expected after the many hours he’d spent pouring over the words. “And now that I think about it, you still haven’t given me your notes on the case documents.” 

“Notes? It’s been two days, do you really expect me to have read all of it by now? Who do you think I am?” Mingyu exclaims. He sounds worried, and if Seungcheol didn’t know him like the palm of his hand, he would have believed he actually was. It wasn’t any news that Mingyu didn’t care about the case, just as much as he did not care about the firm at all. He doesn’t care about much, anyway, or at least, about the stuff he can’t get some fun out of. “Anyways, it’s about this girl — “

“It’s always about a girl,” Seungcheol mutters between his teeth. Mingyu doesn’t notice, or ignores him if he does, but his rant goes uninterrupted. 

“I’ve been seeing her for the last few months and now she won’t leave my apartment,” he finishes. He sits down on one of the couches inside Seungcheol’s office, one of his legs draped over the armrest, much to Seungcheol’s annoyance. “She says she thought we were official? We weren’t even exclusive. I know my place is cute, but listen, I’ve — ”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. 

“It’s your own fault for messing around,” he comments. He taps his fingers on the desk, the rhythm of the taps aligning with that of his heartbeat. Always steady. “I’ve told you that.” 

Mingyu lets out a laugh. “Oh, I know you have.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, brother,” Mingyu sits up straight. His phone rests discarded on the couch, not deserving Mingyu’s attention any longer. “You know I admire you, and all that…” And all that. “But, honestly, maybe what you need is to mess around. You know, loosen up, get out of the office … just a little bit.”

“I don’t, Mingyu,” Seungcheol answers with a shake of his head. One of his hands clutches a pen, movements halted. “And besides, I don’t have time for that. I have to do both your work and mine.”

“Does that mean you’ll read over my documents for me?” Mingyu smiles. “Cheol, come on, what would one going out do? We’re not going to lose this client just because you go out on a date, are we?”

He’s not surprised. 

Looking back, it had always been like that. 

He had grown up alone, with only Mingyu by his side and even then not really, because, contrary to him, the younger never had any trouble making friends. He’d say it was all because of his dad, and the way he used to look up to him ever since he was a little kid — always expectant. He’d always told Seungcheol how much alike they were, both in attitudes and in destinies, and how, if following the right path, he was sure he’d never let him down. 

But it was also because of him, and his own expectations, and feeling that if Mingyu was allowed to let go if it meant he had to hold on a little tighter, he’d do it. He’d always known his brother was not made to stand the loneliness that came with following their father, or at least, not as much as he was. They were different people with different needs, after all, and as much as Seungcheol was comfortable with silence, there are times he wishes it wasn’t like that. 

There are times he wishes he had separated himself from it all, even if just a little bit. There are times he actually wishes he had a friend. He wishes he had a friend he could actually trust, who could actually be there for him, and not like the business people he was friendly with. The ones he sometimes went out with, the people he grew up next to, all of them just as immersed in the money daze. He wishes it all went past parties and business deals, an actual bond that could not be broken by envy or convenience. 

“A date?”

“Yeah, a date!” Mingyu exclaims. “When was the last time you went out on one of those, huh? College?” 

“I think?” Seungcheol frowns. Actually, he doesn’t remember dating in college, but he’s not about to tell Mingyu that. “Listen, just get your notes ready by tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” his brother answers. 

Mingyu rolls his eyes as he stands up, phone once again in his hand. He walks over to the door, a smile on his lips despite his ‘annoyed’ expression. Seungcheol knows Mingyu is not going to comply, but he tells him anyway. Just like he always has. It’s part of why they get along so well, because they would be too lost without the other. 

“Oh, and Gyu?” Mingyu opens the door, but turns to his brother before leaving. “Just talk to her, man. Try to not be an asshole, though.” 

Mingyu laughs, and Seungcheol shakes his head. He smiles. 

Out of the both of them, he’s always been the one that actually thinks things through. 

Night has fallen and the room is quiet. 

Moonlight breaks through the window and soaks the room, documents shining under the 

Compared to a few hours prior, not much has changed except for the color of the sky and the scrambly document that was placed on his desk, along with a ‘here you go, loser!’ written on a hot pink post-it note. The entire office smells of coffee and leather, a product of the almost-new furniture and the ever-brewing coffee machine. Is it really that easy to tell that Seungcheol never leaves? 

Taking off his glasses, Seungcheol runs a hand through his face after taking a good look at the clock. He finds it funny that the little hands are the only thing that seems to be moving in the ever-present stillness that he’s immersed himself in; the only indication of movement being the passing of time. His days are always measured in just how much he can get done in an hour, how fast he can get to places, and how long business meetings extend to. They’re composed of work, strictly, and he doesn’t notice, because it’s how it’s always been. It’s ironic how he never notices time passing in-between, because time seems to have taken notice of him. 

He’s spent the past few years trying to be a good boss, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s all people think he is. He can’t help but wonder if that’s all he is, anyway, because it’s the only thing he can think of when he thinks of himself. A good boss and a good brother, and everything else is nothing but a sporadic in-between. 

He’s heard his friends say it, his mind going back to the occasional bar outings and business parties. He remembers the sly comments here and there, the conversations he never got involved in, the stories he could not understand. He remembers the feeling left out, resorting to steadily drinking out of a glass of water. Predictable. 

And then he remembers one of the stories that Jeonghan, one of his college friends, told them a few months before, of him signing up for a fake dating service when his parents were on his back about him finally settling down. He can’t help thinking of Mingyu when he thinks of his friend, and how he seems to get along with him better than he ever did. They were too much alike. 

He remembers laughing, shaking his head, wondering the lengths he’d go to only to maintain the fun, and lifestyle, he’d always had. He remembers what it all was — a pretense. And he knows that just like Jeonghan, he had always been good at pretending. 

He unlocks his phone, a picture of him and Mingyu looking back at him from his screen. It was a family trip, the both of them and their dad, just when Mingyu had graduated from college a few years back. He’s smiling at the camera, and Mingyu is probably staring at someone walking nearby, because he’s not focusing on the photo. He lets out a little laugh.

He opens the chat with Jeonghan, and scrolls up to find the number he had texted him. He hadn’t asked for it, and had chuckled when Jeonghan had sent it, but he’s thankful for his insistence. 

“You laugh now, but who knows, you might need it someday.”

He takes a sip from his coffee and winces when it burns his tongue. He knows it’s out of nerves, with the bouncing of his leg giving him away. He knows he’s got nothing to lose, but even then, he can’t bring himself to calm down over the thought of possibly meeting someone new in a matter unrelated to the office. He knows Mingyu would laugh if he were to look at him now, shaking over the thought of a date… and not even a real one. 

Taking a deep breath, he taps on the contact and types. He stares at the message, eyes going over the words time and time again. Does it sound good? Is it too casual? Does he — shaking his head, he sends it. 

He’s just asking someone to fake date him. It’s alright. It’s almost like a business deal. It’s a cold, impersonal — 

It’s not even a whole minute before he gets a reply.

Seungcheol is nervous, and you can tell.

He sits up straight in his seat, shadows grazing upon his face like silhouettes, contrasting against the bright shimmer of his golden specs. He looks completely comfortable in his own skin, posture relaxed yet composed and facial expression completely at ease — and yet, there is something about him that lets you know not everything is the way it seems. It might be the fact that his grip on the napkin is a bit too tight for comfort and the tapping of his foot against the floor is a bit too loud for you to ignore, but you decide not to dwell on it when his eyes meet yours. 

“No problem,” you answer, crossing your legs under the table. “It’s a bit far from my place but when you said you’d pay for the meal, I really couldn’t say no.” 

“Yeah, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, you know,” he says, taking a sip from his wine glass. “This place is really close to my office, and I figured actually going out to lunch would be a very welcomed change.”

“Oh, so you’re actually addicted to your job?” A small laugh leaves your lips, accompanying your words. 

“When did I ever-”

“I just figured,” you shrugged.

Seungcheol was an interesting figure. At the first meeting, he was nice and extremely polite, which didn’t really differ from the way he spoke to you on the phone and through his texts. He was handsome, which, thinking of in addition to his personality, didn’t really add up to the kind of guys you usually have to fake a date with. Yoon Jeonghan and the like were handsome men, granted, but they never showed as much consideration as Choi Seungcheol, and that was coming from the first time you actually met him. Not that truth is written in first impressions but the one you were getting from him was a pretty good sign.

“Right,” he mutters, cheeks lighting up in embarrassment. “Am I really that easy to read?” 

You let out a laugh. “No, I’m just pretty good at reading people.” 

You wouldn’t consider yourself an overly attentive person, an expert at noticing and analyzing body language, or anything of the sort. You are just familiar with pretending, as you’ve always liked to say, and one of the things that comes with it is knowing people act in the exact same way they want to be perceived. Sometimes they succeed, and sometimes they don’t, but nevertheless, the method is always the same no matter the result. And, as such, you’ve found that there are a few cues that fall front and center every time a person is just creating the version of themselves they want you to see. 

“Anyways,” you say, clearing your throat. “What is it exactly that you need from me?” 

“Well, I was thinking we could pretend we’re —” 

“No, no, I know I’m here to let people believe we’re bangin’,” you blurt out. You notice Seungcheol’s eyes widening and cheeks lighting up at your words, and a part of you can’t believe that is really the most authentic reaction your classic line has gotten to the date. There is an unspoken rule of sorts based purely on how  “But who is it that we need to convince? An angry ex, a controlling parent, a meddlesome friend…”

“Meddlesome brother, more like,” he comments, voice a bit softer than it was a moment before. “He uh, he dates a lot, and I don’t, and seems to be under the impression I need to follow his example.” 

“It’s kinda weird how we’re expected to follow someone’s lead, isn’t it? Even when it’s something as personal as dating.” 

“Do you…”

“Oh, no,” you say. “I do it because the money comes in handy, you know. I don’t think anyone in my life actually ever believes I’m in a real, serious relationship.” 

“Do you mind if I ask why?” 

“Well, I’ve never been in one,” you answer, and it’s now your turn to grow shy at your own words. 

It’s not that you’re ashamed of it, because you know there’s nothing wrong with the pace your love life has been running by, but it’s not something you simply blurt out whenever you meet someone new. And especially not someone you’re about to date, even if it’s fake, because well, after all, you’re not exempt from the trying to be perceived a certain way. It’s never easy to tear a wall down, let out some sort of vulnerability. And it certainly isn’t like you. 

You turn your head and look outside, eyes peering through the windowsill that covers the entire wall right next to you. The restaurant rises on the top of some thirty-story building, and looking out from the window makes your stomach turn. It’s not about the height, per se, but the effect it has on everything around you. On the clouds, and how some sort of you feels as if they’ve gotten closer, and realest to the touch — and on the people, and how the mere height you’re looking at them from makes the whole scene kind of surreal. It’s as if the height has turned an every-day setting into a scene right out of a movie, characters and all, because the more you look at the figures moving on the ground below, the more their silhouettes blur in and out with each other. 

You shake your head. 

“So, do you have a plan already? Or have you at least thought of how we’re going to make your brother believe we’re dating?” You ask. “I usually go out on a few dinner dates or tag along to some event, but I… uh, thought maybe you’d figured something out already.”

“Well, I don’t think my brother will actually care if we’re together for a long time or not,” Seuncheol started. He hadn’t given it much thought, but considering the way Mingyu treated his own relationships, he didn’t really think his brother would look into the actual time Seungcheol ‘dated’ someone. “You could maybe stop by the office someday and we’ll come have lunch after that, call me when he’s around… I don’t know. I think he just has to see us together sometimes, don’t you think?” 

“That works for me,” you smile. “So, just a few days?”

“Yeah, just a few days.”

Seungcheol raises his cup, and as you imitate his gesture, you clink your cups together. 

“Well, I guess it’s on.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing it again.”

Vernon is looking at you from the other side of the couch. It comes out somewhat undecipherable, and a part of you wants to scold him for speaking with his mouth full, but he’d only shake his head at you as a response. He chews on his cereal as he finishes speaking, bowl already half finished resting on his lap. 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you roll your eyes. “We’re just going out for lunch for a few days, that’s it. I’m barely even gonna get to know him.”

“Yeah, but after last time, I thought you were gonna quit… all of that.”

“That was different,” you say. Your voice is firm, words coming out of your mouth in complete certainty. “And it was a long time ago.”

“It’s only been a year.”

“A lot can happen in a year! 

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve had some remarkable personal growth happening this year, with all those Nicholas Sparks novels you’ve been reading,” he laughs. “Anyways, I kinda get why you said yes.” 

You’re not sure whether he’s serious or not, because the tone of his voice lets nothing away. He always speaks in the same ‘I’m joking but I’m also not joking’ manner, which leaves you with his facial expressions to kind of get some idea of the actual direction conversations could take. 

“Oh, please, let me out of my misery,” you let out. You laugh a bit as you mutter the words, resting your back against the armrest of the couch. If there was one thing Vernon was good at, which you had told him plenty of times, was thrifting furniture. There definitely had to be some talent behind finding couches that felt just as new but actually were a fifth part of the price. “Enlighten me, you mind reader.”

“Come on, I saw his car when he was dropping you off,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he takes in another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, chewing before he continues his grand, expert reasoning. “Although I’m not sure why he would need to come to you for… you know, whatever it is that you’ll do. Full offense, by the way.”

“Offense taken.”

“I’m just saying, if I had a car like that I wouldn’t hire someone to fake date me, if you know what I’m saying,” he shrugged, which would have diverted your attention if only he had not laughed as soon as he had finished speaking. You knew him better than that. 

“Oh God, are you saying the only reason you’re oh so painfully single is because you don’t drive a Mercedes Benz?” 

“I’m just saying maybe I wouldn’t need to have you and Chan tag along with me to the movies if I drove a Mercedes Benz!”

“Tag along with you? I’m the one that always pays at the movies, you idiot,” you accuse. “And don’t forget you’re the one that bought the Nicholas Sparks novels.”

Vernon spreads out his legs, kicking your feet off the couch in the process. He pretends not to notice, smirking and turning to face the TV, which, surprisingly, was playing yet another episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You’re convinced that Vernon’s obsession with watching reality shows while eating cereal in his underwear every single Friday night might have more to do with him being single than not having a Mercedes Benz. 

“Poor guy, if he only knew your feet fucking stink,” he mutters under his breath before laughing at something on the TV. “I hope he asks for a refund! I would do it if it were me.” 

“One of these days, I’m actually going to kick you out,” you retort. You’re not, and he knows that, but that doesn’t stop you from “And I’ll let you know I’m actually a real catch.”

“Is that why you’re just as single as I am?” He laughs, turning his head to face you before sticking up his nose in your direction. Why was he even your friend? “Oh, and also, you’ve been kicking me out since we were in college.” 

“Yeah, I really should have done that when we were in college.”

“What, me?” 

“You wish,”

You laugh and roll your eyes, turning to look at the TV. A box of Cheerios sits opened on the coffee table, and you stretch your arm for it just as Vernon slurps the milk from his bowl. Unlike your roommate, you’re not caught up with the show, so you lazily keep your eyes on the screen as you snack on the honey-flavored cereal and let your thoughts roam free. A part of you keeps stuck on the lunch date — there was something about Seungcheol that was making it impossible for you to let go of your encounter. He was certainly different from the guys you had fake dated, because, oddly enough, you could tell some part of him was really unsure about the whole thing. He had been nervous, and you could sense it wasn’t just about meeting you, but of everything that could come out of it. 

He had been extremely nice, and as such, you had decided you were about to make it as easy for him as you could. Not because he had hired you, but because there was something in the way he smiled at you that let you know he was going to do the exact same thing for you. You had set up a plan in your head, and you would treat the whole thing as you would when making a new friend. 

A few days were enough to form a friendship, were they not?