#flay writes

——

Things just kind of happened. Before this summer you hadn’t seen each other since winter recess. You’re in college. You weren’t around; you left. Not that he mattered to you before then. 

You didn’t apply to any schools within two hours of where you’re from. Curiosity fueled you. What’s it like in a city? Who would you be friends with if you lived somewhere else? How would you feel about yourself if you didn’t live here? So you left. 

Turns out curiosity does not kill the cat. Just makes it a little meek and anxious. You went from being an introvert in an extrovert’s clothing (get it like a wolf in sheep’s clothing?) to being unbearably introverted. You hadn’t had to make new friends since second grade. Then you moved into a shitty dorm building 3 hours away from what actually felt like home. A cocoon with an open door policy and neighbors who make their headboard play patty cake with your wall. It was… different. 

You went home for winter recess.

Houses decorated with Christmas decorations. Bathrooms without stalls. Cable. You almost talked yourself into taking a gap year. It was great. 

That’s at least what you told yourself. You got bored after two weeks. 

So you went outside. Let the cold lick your face and visited your old favorite cafe, walked through barren parks. Even visited your old high school. As cringe as it was, that was were you ran into Niki. 

God. You almost shot yourself into space without a helmet when your realized you were visiting a high school with underclassmen who still actively remember you. Former student body president visiting the past like the glory days escaped you. Not very inspiring. 

Niki made fun of you. Well, you think he did. 

He was snickering and vaguely pointing with his friends like an asshole. Him and his bumbling entourage with matching names, Maki and Taki, stood down the hall from you in their coordinated oversized fits. They weren’t so uncool to girls their age, but you’re a college girl now. You have no business affirming a high schooler as anything other than awkward. Even though you’re barely better than them (if at all).

That should’ve been your first fight. Instead his tickled expression reminded you that you had no business being there. You already visited your favorite social studies teacher; you could’ve left immediately after. Instead you were looking at your reflection in a spotless trophy case like you’ve played a sport before. 

It was silly, but it was familiar. Like him.

You didn’t talk that day. 

You spoke when you ran into each other outside a liquor store a week later. Technically, you’re not legal but you had an il-legal fake ID, a car, and a hoodie that fell nicely over your eyes. The plan was to buy a bottle small enough to dispose of seamlessly and strong enough to not buy two. Simple. 

Niki, Maki, Taki, and some squeamish kid stood outside the store picking at their nails. Niki noticed you as your car door clanked shut and started nonchalantly nudging the guy who was obviously uncomfortable. 

He looked up and saw you. The poor boy’s face paled upon locking eye contact. 

Niki and Maki whispered to the boy the whole time you strolled up. Taki just kept looking around anxiously.

The boy approached and you were quick to ask, “are you okay?” You covered you mouth, spoke in a hushed tone. The situation was sketchy. It wasn’t in the cards to watch someone get peer pressured right in front of you tonight.

He looked taken aback. He nodded and gave a smile too jittery to be reassuring. Maybe he was just cold. He had on relaxed fit jeans and two hoodies like it was too un-swag to wear a jacket. It was January. 

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“Shota.”

“Okay Shota… Are you here to ask me to buy you alcohol?” 

He shook his head violently and started to speak, cutting himself off multiple times. Too many "umms” and "wells.” You weren’t oblivious. Underage people standing outside of a liquor store at a strip mall where that was the only place left open meant one thing. 

“Yes, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He looked up at you helplessly. You could almost make out someone sucking their teeth in the distance.

“Do you have money?” 

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled twenty.

Long story short you bought them a six-pack. Shota groveled at your feet. Maki called you “beautiful and kind.” Taki insisted you keep the change. Niki was the only one who threw you off with his reaction.

“You remember me?”

You nodded. Was he talking about the other day?

You did sort of remember him. From that day and before that. You knew all of their names (well except Shota). You were student body president. You remember a lot of people. A wave of embarrassment overcame you when you realized they might’ve recognized you despite your pseudo disguise. You weren’t setting the best example for post-high school life.

He nodded and looked away. 

“You used to friends with my sister.” 

He said it like he didn’t believe you actually remembered him. And you indeed did not. You forgot all about his sister. 

You were friends in like elementary school when they first moved to town. It was in your nature to gravitate towards new people. She was fun and exciting. You guys were actually pretty close. You’d been to her house a handful of times up until around high school. That was when you decided you’d work harder than anything to make sure you went to college far far away. When new people stopped showing up. When things got stale. 

“Of course I remember you,” you lied.

He searched your eyes for something. You didn’t know what. It made you squirm.

Without clearance from his posse, he reached into the pack of beers Maki was cradling and passed you one with a nod. You accepted. His eye contact wavered.

“Thank you, Niki.”

He nodded again. 

Taki eagerly elbowed him in the ribs with wide shifting eyes. Maki pushed Taki a little harder than he needed to and nudged Niki. Shota was just happy to be there. 

“Walk her to her car,” Maki grinned at Niki blankly.

“I can walk myself. Its right there” you pointed. 

“I insist” Maki said.

“Why are you insisting for him? I said its alright.”

“You’re pretty and its lat—“

“If he wants to walk me he’ll walk me.” It came out a little sharper than intended. “Stop peer pressuring. Please.”

Finally Niki made a sound. He chuckled. Nothing too serious, something small and boyish. 

You looked at him a little annoyed. In your head he was part of the problem. Did he want to walk you to your car? He was pressuring Shota earlier. You should just leave while your free beer is cold. Would it still be cold by the time you got home?

Niki snapped you out of your train of thought. He had his arm extended towards you with his phone lazily in his palm. He had a contact open with “Y/N” written as the contact name.

“Just text me when you get home.”

It was too nonchalant to be nonchalant. He wasn’t really looking at you. Kind of around you and at your eyes for seconds at a time. He could’ve been annoyed or bored, but you knew better. Things were mathing. This was an excuse to get your number. 

You nodded and entered your number. 

You didn’t need to really. Maybe you shouldn’t have. This dude had homeroom on Monday. It was just… really interesting. A balance between new and old. A good balance. 

——

Thank God this places is empty. The poor cashier fled to the back room once you sighed a little too loudly. The fight hadn’t even started then.

Now it was in full swing. You both were standing. About an arms length apart from each other. Looking directly at each other. 

“We’re not exclusive, Y/N!”

That was when he yelled. It wasn’t an angry yell as much as it was an exasperated cry for attention. And it was successful. 

You stopped in your tracks. Mouth closing before a response could recklessly escape you. He was right. Both of you knew you weren’t exclusive. And it was all your fault. 

He told you he liked you. Not very charismatically or romantically but he told you. Smack deed in the middle of mid terms week. Over FaceTime. At like two o’clock in the morning. He confessed. And you told him you should wait to see how you both felt when you got back home for the summer. That was four months ago and things have been seamless ever since.

He had a date of his choosing to prom. You went to a few parties. Both of you talked all the time. Its fun to talk to him. He makes you laugh. He makes you feel safe. All that time you were apart, he had a way of holding your hand without holding your hand. Giving you a reason to get through the semester. A reason to go home.

Now you are home and you haven’t talked about making things official or being exclusive. It just hasn’t come up yet. There was no rush. You just got back. 

Its just… you didn’t know he would actively flirt with people when he was in front of you. It started off subtle. You blamed it on him being around Maki and other teenage boys. But you’re a teenage girl and you’d be careless to let what happened today slide. 

The shop wasn’t always empty. 

——

There was a group of girls in here before. Around five crowed a table in the back by the froyo machines when you first walked in. Too giggly to be older than you. Too many purses and handbags to be too much younger than you. 

They were staring at him. Staring at Niki. Giggling about Niki. Chatting about Niki. Thinking about Niki. You weren’t amused. 

Niki ate that shit up. Peeking over his shoulder while serving hisself frozen yogurt. Stretching his arms over his head for no reason. Paying for your treat without even looking at you. Just put his phone out and tapped. One of the young ladies essentially turned into one of those moaning emojis. 

No big deal. You survived. 

Then, that same moany one walked up to you and Niki’s table. She tapped his shoulder with a twinkle in her eye and said:

“I really like your style—“

He’s wearing sweatpants.

“—I actually got the Mint chocolate too—”

Of course she likes that.

“—I’m not from this side of town, but I have a car and—“

WHY THE FUCK IS SHE GIVING HER WHOLE LIFE STORY?!

You were jealous. Its a strange, agitating feeling, but there was no denying it was there. The urge to be territorial over Niki was suddenly insistent. So you chimed in. 

“Can you please get to your question?”

She looked at you for the first time. Like a deer caught in headlights. You almost immediately regretted saying something when she gave you a sad, shy smile like you really messed up her momentum. Then you remembered she was flirting with your date.

“Sorry um, is this— am I— was I interrupting?”

You peeked at Niki, expecting him to say something. He just looked at you and shrugged. 

“Depends…” 

That’s all he said. He was looked between you and that girl like someone was bound to give him the answers. But to what exactly? 

You squinted at him. “On what?”

The girl cleared her throat, regaining both your attention.

“Can I speak to you— him— as in you, privately?”

Niki nodded. Reassuringly. He got out of his seat, walked with this stranger outside of the shop, and they started talking. 

The entire table of her peers went ballistic.

Then there you were, left alone by your date who you’d been talking to for several months. He actually left. Nothing like this has ever happened before. 

Outside, Niki and the girl didn’t touch or smile much. But Niki was nodding, looking down at her with his sharp eyes and quiet expression. He nodded nearly every time she took a breathe. Like he was couching her through interacting with him.

She seemed a little anxious. Or overwhelmed. She had wavering eye contact and twiddling thumbs.

In a moment notice, she was digging in her purse and pulling out a notepad. She pulled out a pen, and tried passing it over. He rejected the pen and notepad and started gesturing at her. She nodded and jotted her name and number. Ripped the page off, and handed it to him. He took it, shook her hand, and walked back inside.

She gave a thumbs up to her peers and they all flocked outside with overly polite good-byes to you, Niki, and the cashier. Then, they were gone.

——

And now you’re here.

“So what?!” You spat. “We don’t have to be exclusive for you to not disrespect me to my face like that!”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“It had everything to do with me!”

“She came up to me!”

“Yet you left with her!”

Niki lets out an astonished “wow.” This isn’t going well.

“If I left with her how can I be standing here, with you, right now?”

You roll your eyes. That wasn’t the point. Why did he leave in the first place? He is staring at you like you’re stupid. Like you’re the one not make sense. Him walking out earlier with her was weird. It struck a nerve. The whole situation was annoying. He was in the wrong not you.

“You asked for her number, Niki.”

“I didn’t— I took her number so she couldn’t call me.”

Its your turn to stare at him like he’s stupid.

He rolled his eyes, “If I gave her my number she’d call me literally tonight.”

“Well are you gonna call her tonight?!”

Niki titled his head at you. He almost looks offended. For a moment you both just stare at each other in disbelief. No one says anything. Just silence. 

He turns away first.

“No,” he starts. “We have plans.” There’s a pregnant pause. 

He faces you. His eyes are downturn. He looks a lot older than you recall. “Remember?”

You nod and search his eyes for any signs that he believes you. You remember. Of course your remember. He’s your date. You remember plans. You pay attention to him.

And right now you’re paying enough attention to him to notice how uncertain he looks.

“Why would you say that? Of course I remember.”

The plan was frozen yogurt, feed the ducks, followed by a drive in movie. That’s why you’re in this senseless side of town anyway. The drive in theater is around here. You decided to come to this side of town to kill time and beat any potential rush hour traffic. This way you can arrive at the theater early to snatch a good spot. 

Each of you picked an activity. 

Niki wanted to go to a drive in for the first time and have a main character moment. You immediately agreed since you’ve never been either. It sounded awesome. You made some sandwiches, so you wouldn’t suffer egregious snack prices (you’ll probably buy snacks anyway).

You wanted to go to the lake, play swanky music, and feed the birds with a soon-to-be moldy loaf of bread. Niki didn’t really like that idea, he thought it was weird and dangerous. He did some research in the middle of the night and came back with a list of seeds to feed geese and ducks instead. 

Going to get frozen yogurt was a joint decision based on proximity and a weather report. A nearby sweet treat to keep you both cool on a hot day. This was planned in advance with thought and care. This was supposed to be a chill start to a day of choosing each other. Now it feels like he chose someone else.

“Why did you take her number?”

“I already told you.”

“... Are you going to call her?” He furrowed his brows. You bet he was thinking he already answered that too. “I mean, in general.”

“I—“ Suddenly he couldn’t look at you. “I don’t know.”

A sigh rips through you. 

“When will you know?”

“Y/n.”

“How long does it usually take you to decide between upholding my dignity and making a quick play? You know, on average.”

Apparently, that’s what it takes for him to look at you again. Not just any look, to glare. He walks up to you stopping less than an arms length apart. 

“That’s not fair.”

Your tongue prods at your cheek. Your eyebrows raise quizzically. 

“Right I came up the the whole not exclusive thing, so I can’t be petty when you follow my rules right?”

Niki rolls his eyes. He let a breathe through his nose that sounded scarily similar to that of a bull.

“So I have to just sit here an eat it, right? Even when the boy who is supposed to like me looks for his next target in front of me? When he looks at people who are younger than me. People who are nothing like me.” 

Your voice cracked. You aren’t going to cry. You’re just a little worked up. Its hard to say what came over you. 

Niki’s prom date looked nothing like you. And now that bold girl acted the complete opposite of you.

She spoke more timidly, more cutely than you. More often than not you were mannerly yet serious and direct. Very assertive. You didn’t stutter like her, or bend to accommodate him. Maybe that was your problem. 

The wave of insecurity sobered you like you didn’t already know it was the backbone of this entire argument. 

“She came to me, Y/n.”

“And you left with her!” You’re going in circles.

He steps closer. “Its not like that!” He sighs. “Do you know how long I’ve liked you?!”

“And now you’re love bombing me…”

“No— I just— What is wrong with you?”

“How long have you liked me Niki?”

He really looks at you for the first time in minutes. So sincere. Almost comforting. Like a timid hug. 

“Second time you came to my house. I was in first grade.” He looked left to right shyly and cleared his throat.

There’s a pause… You did expect him to say some absurd moment from a while ago. Just not that long ago. It didn’t feel like it mattered right now.

“Why not the first time?” 

“Y/N.”

“Please stop saying my name like that.” Like he was begging. \

It was clear he didn’t want to fight either.

It is unclear if you’re fighting anymore. The cashier still hasn’t come out from the backroom, but neither of you are yelling anymore. There’s less space for anger. Unanticipated confusion, vague upset, and inklings of pettiness are already taking up most of the room. Is this a fight? Your voices are lower now. You sound less… desperate. This is definitely still a fight.

“You’re out in college.” 

How are you supposed to respond to that?

“I’m just here,” he adds. “I’m always here.”

The power is shifting between you two. He made you feel guilty. You wanted to shrink. He keeps painting himself as the victim. 

He humiliated you. He made fun of you when you visited the school. He didn’t want to walk you to your car. He confessed to you during one of the most stressful weeks of the semester. He took a girls phone number right in front of you. 

“Just because I’m away at college doesn’t mean I’m not me. I’m not throwing myself at other people for the fun of it.” A pause, “you’re the only person I’m talking to.”

Niki’s eyes widen. He searches your face for any signs you could be lying.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“You didn’t even tell me you like me back.” 

You freeze. Your shoulders lock up uncomfortably high, but you don’t really notice. He’s right about that too.

This isn’t a fight anymore. Its a vulnerable conversation. 

“I— I do like you. You’re the only person I talk to, like I said.”

“That doesn’t mean you like me.”

“Can we please finish this conversation somewhere el—“

“Do you like me?”

“Yes!”

He doesn’t look happy like how you thought he would. In hind site you did yell, but you thought saying that would fix things. Fix the broken air between you two. The space cluttered with remnants of words that were pried out of you. 

“Why didn’t you just say that when I confessed?”

“I don’t know!”

“Did you not like me the—“

“You talk to other people Niki!” 

Silence. It crowds the room like toxic gas. Maybe that’s why you’re breathing so heavy. Short, shallow breathes with knowing eyes. You were tired of the questions.

“Maybe I should go.”

“Why?!”

“I don’t know!” He flinched at his own tone.

More silence. You hear the cashier drop something and curse under their breath.

“You wanna leave again? Left before because… A girl asked you to? Or was it because you didn’t know I like you and needed a security net when this falls through?”

He licks his teeth.

“Now what Niki? You should leave because now I like you, but you hurt me?”

The anger is back. He’s angry, although you’re not angry. Maybe you are. You’re more annoyed. Spiteful. Amused. 

“I should go.”

This is less amusing.

 He grabs his bag from the back of his chair. The chair that was abandoned early on in the scream match. The bag that was in your back seat on the drive here. 

He politely tucks the chair into the table and slings the cross body bag over his broad shoulder. He stops and looks down at you with tight lips and furrowed brows. Hands clinging to the strap of his bag. You can still see the note with the girls number in his left pocket.

He can’t leave yet. You’ve barely even started. You weren't even official yet. He's not even your boyfriend.

This stupid, god-forsaken, ugly fight. You hate this fight. Because its uncomfortable and new and semi public and repetitive and vulnerable. This is the first time he’s mentioned leaving and you don’t know if he’s talking about this annoyingly pastel frozen yogurt shop or you. There was no way out before this fight. But if he wants to leave you won’t make him stay. In this shop or in this situation. He can go.

And he does. 

Now, you stand alone. Dizzy. Disoriented. Disgruntled. Deadass?

You grab the two unfinished cups and throw them away. You tidy up what used to be your table. Leave it better than you found it. 

You grab your tote and tuck your chair just like he did.

You check the time. 3:54 PM. 

Without any sort of doubt, today didn’t go as expected. It ended early in an argument neither of you were emotionally skilled or empathetic enough to navigate. It might’ve ended.

A minute passes. Its 3:55 PM now. 

Your phone lights up with a notification.

Niki: text me when you get home

She tripped you. The remaining coffee in your cup ricocheted out of you cup and into your face, startling and warm. You fell to the old carpeted floor with a thud that no one would turn to acknowledge. She must’ve decide that day, that she’d make your life a living hell. 

Today was different in some ways. The same in others.

You didn’t get coffee or even go to the break room anymore; surviving off of lukewarm lunches from your purse instead of trekking to the fridge or microwave. Your drinks were never uncovered. You brought water in with you, if that ran empty you would just survive the rest of the day without. You left your desk as little as possible. 

But today there was a company meeting.   

Ironically, you’re an administration assistant at for a small network of youth counseling clinics. You mostly worked with data. The reviews for counseling programs. Client and counselor issue reports. Statistics on which demographics used your resources and which didn’t. 

You and your peers were brainstorming ways to deal with the unanticipated decline in state funding. Most people suggested corners that could be cut. We can merge the this and that program. We can discontinue this service. We can fire so and so. But that felt beside the point. So you made a suggestion.

“Maybe we could organize a fundraiser event,” you sliced through the murmurs. “It might increase community engagement, collect small donations from those who are generous, and hopefully prove we are worth more funds on a larger scale.” 

A thoughtful silence washed over the room.

That was your first time making a suggestion at any sort of work meeting here. A handful of people seemed enticed by the prospect of going outside. A few people were vaguely surprised. But she was bothered.

Evelyn raised her hand from the far end of the table. The department head called on her reluctantly. 

She pouted through fake concern. “Hey Y/n, you know I mean no harm, but it seems you didn’t consider the liability that comes a fundraiser.” You only blinked in response, unsure of how and if you should respond. “Let’s say we threw a block party—“

You tried to interrupt, “But I didn’t sa—“

“—Then we’d have to acquire all the proper permits, arrange vendors and activities, reserve security, and that’s all without mentioning the large sum of money we’d have to use to orchestrate an event of that caliber. We’d be unlikely to make any significant profit after all that, wouldn’t you agree?” She turned from your boss to you with a sly twinkle in her eye. 

Everyone waited for you to respond. But you didn’t know how to.

You looked between her and your boss with clear apprehension, opening and closing your mouth once before speaking. You let out a breath, “I— I suppose that’s possible.” 

She smiled, “Sounds like a charity event more than anything right?” She batted her eyelashes coyly. She was winning, she knew it. “I suggest we cut family counseling instead,” and she began pivoting the discussion away from your idea entirely. “Most of our clients visit our clinics without their parents’ knowledge. Our turn out for individual counseling is disproportionally higher,” she clasped her manicured fingers together like a child sitting at a school desk. 

You looked away from her. 

Your superior looked between the two of you with weary eyes and sighed. He locked eyes with you and added, “Thank you for your suggestion Y/n, but I don’t think we are in the financial position to host any unscheduled events at the moment.”

She didn’t hide her smile from across the room. 

You did everything, but propel physical daggers from your eye sockets with the glare you sent her way. 

She poked her tongue out at you. Childish.

When the meeting concluded your boss fled the room. You fell into conversation with your colleague, Mark, who agreed that community involvement could lead to funding longevity. Mark was usually pretty sympathetic and it was hard to tell if he approached you out of genuine agreeance or pity. And pity wasn’t something you were willing to accept.

Worst of all, you were tired, physically and mentally. You hadn’t gotten a good nights sleep in days. Nightmares. Every time you attempted to rest your eyes you were back in high school. Transported into your memories or something that felt like memories. Memories of verbal torture and unheard cries. Tales of bullies and stolen lunch. 

At this point, you couldn’t tell what was a recollection or reproduction anymore. All that mattered is that every interaction, dream or not, memory or actuality, took a toll on you. And it was starting to weigh you down. There was no escape.

She came behind you in the middle of your chat with Mark and whispered “Better luck next time.”

Every day has been leading up to this moment.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even breath. Without a single drop of forward thinking or hesitation, you lunged at her.

But Jaemin caught you. One of his arms extended between the two of you as you jutted toward her. It wrapped around you tightly upon contact. He was holding you back. You hadn’t even realized he was standing nearby.

Everyday has been like today. And he noticed. Jaemin always noticed. 

Evelyn has been mean the whole time he’s worked here. Snarky remarks. Looking past people instead of at them. He could always tell when she was around because the air she walked through would shift a few degrees colder. Everyone noticed. 

No one treated you different for how she treated you. But no one did anything either. 

Evelyn focused her energy on you. She didn’t bother anyone else. Her constant nitpicking and prepubescent bullying targeted towards you benefited the office in a fucked up kind of way. Everyone else got to be more carefree. They just had to watch. 

Watching was hard in the beginning. There would be a few faceless voices that mumbled on your behalf or tried to sooth the aftermath, but no one cared that much. Not enough to cause an uproar or even lean into the discomfort. Not even him.

Jaemin gave you your welcome tour six months ago, when you first started working here. You were so bright eyed and bushy tailed. Excited to begin a career in social work, a career that creates change. You seemed radiant beyond your greyscale formalwear. 

He’s only seen you wear color once since you’ve worked there. You wore a warm color on your third day. Was it yellow? Or orange? He remembers you wearing a dull orange. But that was the day you spilled your coffee on Evelyn. And he hasn’t seen you in a color since. Like right when you began to breakout of your shell you were ordered right back in.  

At first, he blamed you. He blamed you for being so easy to be picked on. For being so willing to bend to her will. Cower at her power. But he knew that was the easy way out. If he made you responsible for your torture he wouldn’t feel any need to interfere. Eventually the whole situation made him begin to resent you and his peers. You had to fight your own battles. 

But you didn’t fight. It wasn’t in your character. He could tell.

That’s why Jaemin stepped in when you lunged at her. 

In all honesty, he didn’t intend to. Half of the office had returned to their offices and cubicles. He was just lagging back, basking in the pocket of lenient downtime that followed every company meeting. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He just stood sipping his coffee, relatively in your area. Yes, he noticed you talking to Mark, but it didn’t grasp his attention. He still wasn’t fully paying attention. Your stark movement caused a reaction for his body more than for his brain.

You glance down at the arm around your waist and over your shoulder at the perpetrator, Jaemin. Your rage simmers upon recognizing him. Jaemin? He has you pulled towards him as his hand tightly clings to the soft, clothed flesh of your side. You searched his face. Right eye. Left eye. Forehead. Nose. Lips.

He looks down at you with wide eyes, lips barely parting. Your breath mingles with his due to the proximity. He tries to be casual, letting go of you now that he’s realized how physically close he’d forced you to be to him. He clears his throat and shifts his eyes elsewhere.

You regain your composure as well; finally feeding Evelyn the attention she so desperately craves.

She stares at Jaemin’s limp hand that previously touched you. She looks between you and Jaemin with her jealousy concealed by faux curiosity. “Am I interrupting something?”

You step further away from Jaemin. He just glares at Evelyn, annoyed.

“You two are aware that inappropriate relationships in the workplace could jeopardize our department’s productivity, correct?”

She always had to phrase her questions in an insinuating manner, like she was answering before you could answer. She was trapping you in her drama.

Before you could scramble for an excuse, Jaemin swept in, “Romantic relations are not prohibited in this workplace, but thank you for your sudden interest in company productivity.”

You choked. Sudden. “We’re not together—“

“‘Sudden’ is definitely a bit unprofessional and opinionated,” she snaps.  

Taking a step closer to Evelyn, Jaeimin sighed. “Unfortunately, that is bit convoluted coming from you.”

This style of back and forth corporate bickering became old rather quickly. For the first time you could remember, she was scrutinizing someone else and you didn’t feel like sticking around to watch. You adjust your purse on your shoulder and exit the conversation quietly.

Jaemin’s eyes track your escape, only making Evelyn all the more upset and assuming. 

Your fingers surf over the wired desktop keyboard that occupies most of your desk space. The air around you was comfortably still. You sat in your cubicle with your head hunched down like you were afraid anyone would notice you. And that fear came true.

Na Jaemin. He stood towering over the left wall of your cubical with pursed lips. He looks left and right before taking a deep breath in. His tongue clicks as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” he sighed.

“Its alright, thank you,” you nod with wavering eye contact.

His brows furrow, “I was trying to prevent the two you from getting in a physical altercation. I shouldn’t have touched you like that despite my intentions.”

 “I know, its fine,” you nod again.

His eyes narrow at you and for a moment it feels like he’s mad at you. He looks away, jutting his jaw to the side in thought. “I just mean, it is okay if my behavior— upset you.”

You try to defuse the situation, “Its really alright, I’m not going to make a big deal of it” You begin to turn back towards the screen in-front of you before you learn he’s not done.

“Do you realize you’re allowed to make a ‘big deal’ out of it?”

You flinch. For some reason, it felt insulting. He spoke like he was explaining something he found obvious or a waste of breath to clarify. As if he needed to explain to you why him touching you without consent was fundamentally improper. It felt belittling. “Of course, I am aware that what you did can be made an HR issue. Excuse me, I have work to do,” you attempt to turn away from him again. 

Jaemin’s eyelids drop in displeasure. But why was he annoyed? You seem helpless. Exactly how he’s grown to accept you to be. 

“What I mean is, you’ve been working here for half a year now and you have yet to report any of the harassment you receive on a regular basis and now you’ve made it clear you will not report me.” You crane your neck towards him slowly as he speaks. “What are you willing to make a ‘big deal’ of?”    

Your mouth parts in shock before your facial expression hardens, concealing any offense. How dare he assume so much about you? Honestly, you hadn’t considered reporting Evelyn, but that didn’t excuse his behavior. It is inappropriate for him to not only touch you earlier, but comment on your situation after hardly having spoken to you since you first arrived. “And what exactly do you want me to do Jaemin?”

That takes him aback. Your cold expression. The way you spat his name. He’s heard you dish attitude to Evelyn on an occasion, but he’s not familiar with being on the receiving end. All he said was, “Something.”

“Well you stopped me earlier—”

“Fist fighting at work isn’t exactly a solution Y/n,” he chides.

You roll your eyes and swivel your chair to face him completely, “You want me to do something specific then?” You were asking questions like her now. 

“I believe there are other options.”

You hum in agreement. A pregnant silence envelopes the two of you. “I would appreciate if you would stay out of my personal affairs Jaemin.”

He tsks, “How personal is it if you have an audience.”

“Its still personal!”

A few people at the desks around you turned to identify the sound. You duck you head instinctually. That just makes Jaemin more visibly irritated. But this isn’t what or who you should be directing your energy towards. 

Everything is just bubbling over today. Everyone is equally vulnerable to your wrath despite Evelyn being the main cause. You blame her for everything. There is not one thing she has not managed to depreciated in your life. She’s the only reason you’re even having this conversation right now.

Jaemin twists his lips with awkward remorse for coming across as overly involved. His words don’t come out.

“If my business bothers you so much, I’d wish you’d mind your own,” you add.

He avoids looking at you any further and nods. “I shouldn’t have overstepped. Again.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “I agree.“

“It won’t happen again.” He forces a tight lipped smile. 

You nod with a similar expression and he finally begins to walks away. And you let out an exhale you didn’t realize you were holding.

Before leaving entirely, he peers over his should and says, “I don't condone fighting, but— I do think you should do something about her.“ He looks you up and down, “Mainly for your sake, but it'd be helpful for others as well. For me at least.“

You hold his gaze for a moment longer and nod.

You turn fully towards your computer with your eyes gently squeezed shut. Right when you open then, you spot Jaemin lowering himself into his cubicle without breaking your gaze. You stare at the slight curve of his hair that peeks over the top of the dividers. 

Its bittersweet. He’s the first person whose cared. You didn’t know anyone noticed. And it was only 10 AM.

Unfortunately, you aren’t really in the mood for pleasantries. Your body barely cooperated when you had to remove yourself from your tiny desk chair and retrieve him from your front door. You fell asleep at your desk and the ache in your neck was your reward. In all honesty, you didn’t mean to work on your assignment for that long. You just weren’t really getting anywhere with it yet. 

Last semester you thought it would be fun to take sculpture class as an elective. Hyunjin was always telling you how crafty you are and your ego must’ve skyrocketed because you were determined to take an art class. You didn’t imagine having no idea what to make when you signed up and you sure didn’t expect to have to go to office hours to develop a concept from scratch two weeks before you had to give in your final project. 

You’re an art history major not an art major after all. And you didn’t see yourself how Hyunjin saw you. He always thought you had so much going for you even when you first met about a year ago. 

You’ve been dating for exactly eleven months and three days. Four days once it strikes midnight, but you weren’t counting. Not on purpose at least. 

Time has been easy to track for both of you lately. 

For instance, he got promoted from internee to artist assistant at his job like four months ago, at the beginning of the semester. Now the semester is almost done and you’re almost a junior (god willing) and he’s just about a senior. He hasn’t gone back home in a year, which is again nearly how long you’ve been dating. So like two months ago over spring break jungle juice you decided you’d accompany him back to Korea and now your flights in three weeks which is only a week after your silly little sculpture is due. 

Its a lot of numbers, but you’re an art history major so yes you pay attention to time and patterns.

Hyunjin’s been coming straight to your place after class and work, like today, for about two weeks. Last week you waited up in the living room everyday. But it was a Monday now and you obviously couldn’t stay awake today.

Now its 11:50 PM and you and Hyunjin are in your room. 

Hyunjin leans against your doorframe. “Did you eat?”

You shake your head from all the way at the headboard of your bed.

“You hungry?”

You reposition so you’re facing him better. “Its late Jinnie, come to bed.”

“But you’re hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

He scoffs, “Can’t you just answer the question?”

“Yes, babe. I am hungry b—“

“I’ll cook for you,” he nods.

He’s already walking to the kitchen. By the time you get there he has two cabinets open, a pot, a bowl, and a pack of ramen on your counter. He must’ve been moving quick because none of those items come from the same cabinet. 

“Wheres your bowl?” You jump onto some empty counter space.

“I ate already” 

You pause. “With who?”

He gives you that look. That look he has when he’s a little bewildered and defensive. “People from work, baby.”

You respond with a hum and look away from him. 

He sighs so low its seemingly against his will.

“You could say their names. Its not like I don’t know them. I know who you work with.”

“Then why do you need me to say it?”

In your head you repeatedly asked yourself why he would need a reason. Was it a huge inconvenience to say his co-workers’ names? Its not like you haven’t met them. You’ve been dating for a year. You literally started dating after he started working at the studio, after he met them. You’ve heard their names. If anything he is being weird.

“I just thought if you’re not going to eat with me you can at least say you went out to eat with Changbin and Chris,” you mumble without turning to face him.

“I just don’t get why you asked.”

Now the pot is on the stove and he’s mixing with the pretty chopsticks he bought you and forced you to use (not that you were complaining; not knowing how to use chopsticks was pretty embarrassing). 

“It just makes me feel like I’m out of the loop when you say things like that.”

He nods with his back toward you. 

Its tense for no reason. 

In all honesty, he’s not even looking at you, but its hard to look at him. You don’t even know why, but it just is. Not because he’s unattractive or anything like that. Maybe he’s too attractive. 

His hips lean forward into the stove and his broad back faces you unabashed. Every once in a while the image of him in your plainly decorated kitchen feels off. Like there’s no way he could stay in a place like this. I mean technically neither can you since its already been decided you're going to South Korea or your parent’s house if shit hit the fan in a few weeks, but why would shit hit the fan?!

“Where did you eat?” You blurt before your thoughts escalate.

He laughs to himself, “Wouldn’t it be rude to talk about food to my beautiful, hungry girlfriend?”

He peaks over his shoulder shyly. You shrug. He turns back.

More silence.

“Give me the full experience,” you try to say confidently. 

He faces you briefly just to raise a brow that looks so untrusting and confused you can’t help but smile. You hop down from the cold counter and perch yourself next to him. “Make me feel like I was there.”

Hyunjins quick to face you entirely. 

You give him a shy derpy smile, but keep your eye contact steady like his.

The corners of his lips turn up. He looks down at you with eyes like hugs. Then, he talks so softly, you forget to breathe.

“The sky was the prettiest blue outside as we closed the studio. There was big mosaic commission we wrapped up today after sunset and the senior artist left for the evening. Changbin walks over and taps me like—“

He scans your face. His gaze drops to your shoulders draped in one of your over sized t-shirts. You look down too. And then—

TAP TAP TAP. His index finger gently taps your right shoulder.

“He says ‘there’s a new buffet a town over’ and I say ‘I’ll get my jacket.’ And you know what he says?”

You shake your head thoughtlessly.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “grab some antacids instead.” 

Just like that he’s backing away from you and chuckling while you swat at his arm repeatedly. What is wrong with him? 

“Were you immersed? Did I give you an experience?”

You roll your eyes as you walk away from him. “You didn’t even talk about the food.”

He smiles, “I had a good meal. I’m stuffed. ”

“I’m glad.”

Finally the silence is comfortable. Its a relief. You’re relieved. 

The noodles finish cooking. Hyunjin makes sure to place them in the bowl prettily with veggies on top and without broth splashes.

You causally grab the bowl before he can pass it to you and place a kiss on his cheek. 

“Thank you.”

He nods and follows you to your room soundlessly closing the door behind you both. 

You sit at your desk and begin to eat while Hyunjin rummages through the messy drawer you’ve thrown all his stuff in for some sort of pajamas. 

Things were usually quiet between the two of you. Neither of you felt the need to speak all the time, so you’d often fall in to silence with varying levels of comfort. Right now it seemed comfortable. Because it was… but when you sat down at the same table as your abandoned cellphone and sculpture your brain started thinking again. 

He hadn’t answered your texts for two hours before you fell asleep. You almost crashed out. Instead of leaning all the way into your usual separation anxiety you were busy craving your boyfriend’s eyes (or eyes that vaguely resemble his) into the makeshift clay mask that you were working on. The concept you landed on was depicting someone you love how you see them. Now that mask sits next to your phone and ramen, staring back at you. 

That’s probably why you struggled so much. You preferred sculpting when he was over. He was always giving unwarranted advice and suggestions on how to make your projects better when you had no idea what even looked nice anymore. He was confident about art and you would borrow his confidence. 

But he wasn’t there, even if he is now. 

It wasn’t a big deal he was working. He didn’t text you that he was going out to dinner with his friends, but you made it through anyway. He hasn’t really been the type to ask for permission for as long as you’ve known him. It was fine.

But the silence has become tense again. For you at least. 

You look over at him lounging in your bed. He’s already looking at you. His phone is in his hand lazily, but he’s not paying attention to it.

He clears his throat. “Good?”

You nod with a mouthful, avoiding his stare.

“My mom asked if you’d want your own room.”

You shake your head “You said your house isn’t that big anyway.”

“We could get you a hotel or something if—“

“Why would I stay at a hotel? That’s expensive.”

“It— I’m just saying,” he cuts himself off. “If my house was bigger would you want your own room?”

“I don’t know. No.”

“Why?”

There’s a beat. “I’d probably miss you too much.”

Hyunjin puts down his phone at that, looking around the room like he’s been pranked. “You didn’t even say hello when I got here.”

Now its your turn to look at him with furrowed brows. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss— do you want separate rooms?!” Your delivery is sharp.

“No.”

“Okay.”

You turn back to your bowl and continue eating begrudgingly.

“Its,” he starts. “Never mind.” 

You pivot towards him. “What?”

He shakes his head.

Not the back tracking. You hated the back tracking. What could he have possibly been about to say. Did he actually want separate rooms? Did you do something wrong? 

“Just say it babe.”

“You weren’t in the living room today Y/N.”

You blink a few times and take a good look at him. He’s pouting a bit, bottom lip slightly poked out and eyebrows knitted together. It was almost like he missed you too. 

Its possible. He might’ve… But there’s simply no way. You tried to reach him several times this evening, just like everyday for the past week. He was out with friends instead of you and couldn’t even bother to text back. If he thinks you have a odd way of showing you miss him, he’s no better. 

“I fell asleep at my desk. I was um, working on my sculpture all night.” 

He hums. 

“The only reason I wait in the living room is because you come here so late.”

He sits up straighter. “I don’t always come late.”

That’s true. You nod reassuringly sitting up like you’re defending him too. “Of course not, but you have been lately.”

He’s always been a really attentive listener. Right now he’s nodding and making eye contact and seemingly taking in your every last word. Yet all he say back is,

“Yeah, but not always.”

You didn’t say always to begin with. Why is he harping on that? The days he comes to you late are the days he’s working at the studio and his artsy friends offer him something better to do without the promise of a plus one. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and occasionally Saturdays. Days he had class, weren’t a problem. Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday are your saving grace. 

 You are a little bitter. If he asked you wouldn’t lie. At least you don’t think you would, but talking about feelings can be hard. 

“I was actually, kind of sad you weren’t here to help with my sculpture. Art is more of a you thing for sure.” You tried to say it lightheartedly, but it came out kind of rigid. 

“You don’t need me. You’re better at art than you think.” He sounded more sincere than you, you’re certain he meant it.

“You can still be there.”

“I am here.”

“But you weren’t.”

He sighs. Loudly. Loud enough for your lip to curl and your eyes to narrow. 

“We’re going to be together a lot more in a month anyway.”

“Three weeks,” you correct. You weren’t counting on purpose, but at least you thought you weren’t the only one counting. Turns out you are.

It wasn’t always like this. Your relationship with Hyunjin started off so lovestruck you immediately hopped into dating.

She looks you up and down with a Cheshire grin. You take that as your cue to turn away, returning to your typing. 

She taps her nails against the wall again. 

You speak without turning to her, “Can you stop that?”

“Why?” Although you aren’t facing her, she remains as theatrical as usual, tilting her head, dropping her smile in fake offense. 

The mental exhaustion is already slowly eating you alive. Theres no need for any additional physical disturbances. 

You continue typing, “Because it is distracting me from my work.”

She hums prettily, tapping her fingers through the silence. She stops abruptly, sighing. “Do you know what’s distracting me from my work Y/n?”

You shake your head. Just go away.

She hums again. Sighs again. “Guess.”

Your ignore her request.

You’re a moment away from begging her to leave. In no world did you effectively warrant her visit to your desk today. It’s already embarrassing enough that during your one leap of courage, your nearly physical altercation with her, you were prevented from actually doing any damage. You lunged at her. Yet you feel more bruised than she looks. Protected by the mercy of your colleagues, or the impenetrable barriers of her superiority complex. 

Pitiful. You feel pitiful.

Like a distant buzzing in your ear, she pipes up again, “Shall I remind you I told you to guess?”

You huff, swiveling your chair to face her, “I’d rather not.”

“And why is that Y/n?”

You narrow your eyes at her. What was she on about? 

You glance back over towards your computer monitor, and over your divider wall. The steady beat of your heart falters. He’s watching.

You catch Na Jaemin facing you with furrowed brows and an unreadable expression as he returns to his desk with a presumably fresh cup of coffee. Your eyes scurry back towards Evelyn. 

She caught the interaction. She turns to you licking her teeth, proceeding to eye you like a wild animal playing with its food. 

Your eyes fall shut with irritation. You take a deep inhale and a steady exhale out, opening your eyes. You speak through slightly gritted teeth, “Enlighten me.”

She tsks, shaking her head. She looks over at Jaemin’s desk and back at you. “You’re no fun Y/n.”

Its a disservice to be addressed by her so consistently. You hate hearing her say your name.

“I’ll be concise,” she starts, “You seemed oddly close with Mr. Na earlier and I believe that poses a threat to our work environment here.” 

You scoff and turn back to your computer. If she wants to waste her breath on fantastical situation, you won’t stop her. But you wouldn’t waste your own, so you start typing again.

“Truly Y/n, I’m just expressing my concerns,” She pouts. Did she have to say your name so much? She walks further into your work area, “You’re better off with me bringing it to your attention before any of our superiors do.”

That makes you stiffen. Was she threatening you? It surely feels early in the conversation for such a pointed statement.

She walks even further into your cubicle, picking up a muted colored ceramic pencil holder. She smiles bitterly to herself. She smears an invisible or imaginary spec of dust with her finger tip. “Although I never got caught, I’m certain you would. Consider this me warning you, from personal experience.” 

Your curiosity heightened, but is limited. Did she have some sort of inappropriate relation with Jaemin in the past? Whatever drama festering beneath the surface value of this conversation should be mostly out of your realm of interest. Certainly, you’ll be fine even if you never know.

You brush her off, “You have nothing to be concerned about. We’re not close.” Which is true. You highly doubt you’ve spent much time together since your welcome tour. 

“Nevertheless, he wouldn’t hide anything from me if there was nothing to hide Y/n.”

So many implications. You’re suddenly in a loop of wondering what they talked about after you left the meeting room earlier. You have to push past. Your curiosity would get the best of you if you don’t end this while you were ahead.

“I’m sure if there’s anything,” you speak with a small empty smile, “you’ll be the first to know.”

Several pens jingle as she places down the pencil holder she was fiddling with. She looks up at you with an oddly hollow expression. Same smile, but not as sharp. Less entitled. More skeptical. It doesn’t meet her eyes.

She nods.

You nod too. You face your monitor before she makes a proper exit. 

She doesn’t leave immediately. She lingers behind you doing who know what for a while. Then, you hear the familiar clack her pumps trail away from your area.

You turn around once the sound is far enough, making sure she’s actually gone. You let out a quiet exhale of relief and turn forward again. 

Before your eyes can reach your computer screen you catch sight of the top of Jaemin’s head. The bulbous curves of his side part peak out from above his cubicle. That only happens when he sits most upright. You’ve noticed that for a while now. You stare at his motionless head. Eventually, he scratches somewhere hidden within the volume of his hair like he can feel your attention. You look away, embarrassed.

Once your eyes are back on your computer screen, you try to make sense of the digital paperwork in front of you. Somehow it’d become less engaging. 

You peek your head above the divider again, hoisting yourself up on the arms of your chair. You see each other. You and Jaemin. His eyes peer over his cubicle wall like a shark fin in still water. Unlike him, your whole face is exposed. Your shock causes your grip on the chair arms to waver and you fall back into you chair quick enough to be avoid being obviously ungraceful. Its bittersweet.

He’s challenging to read. Like a renowned novel from a foreign culture. Or an impassive portrait from medieval times. You shouldn’t waste your time with that kind of challenge.

——

Its your lunch hours when you finally approach his desk. You convince yourself the unusual behavior is in a search for answers that would uphold professionalism. Not vague curiosity.  

You knock on a divider wall on the side of his work area. 

Without turning to you, he drones, “You don’t need to knock.”

“I thought I would be cordial,” you try not to burrow into yourself.

He waves a hand with his back still towards you, “Theres other ways to be cordial, that was unnecessary.”

That wasn’t very nice.

Its possible he was never nice. Its hard to say. Your interactions with him earlier weren’t particularly polite either.

You admit it might have something to do with how your last conversation went when he visited your desk.

“I really didn’t come here for a lecture,” you laugh awkwardly.

He pivots to face you, scanning you. It hadn’t occurred to him to consider why you suddenly visited him. “What did you come for?”

Your posture straightens under his gaze. You clear your throat, “I came to ask you a question.”

He nods and gestures for you to continue.

“Do you have history with anyone from the office?”

His eyebrows grow sharp as the left side of his upper lip curls up in a snarl. His chair rolls back, increasing the already sufficient space between you two. “Why?” He asks torn between disgust and curiosity.

You shrug, picking at the elbow of your sweater sleeves. You inspect the floor.

He bends his head to meet your gaze. He asks again when you meet his eyes, “Why?”

You check around the two of you and whisper, “Evelyn seemed to imply—“

The wheels of Jaemin’s chair jostle into movement, pushing him further back into his cubical, bumping into his desk. He leans back and stares at the ceiling. He sticks his tongue in his cheek. He’s annoyed. “What did she say?”

You find it rather unpleasant to speak to Jaemin when he’s annoyed. Its possible, you prefer him when he’s curt. Nevertheless, his facial expressions are entertaining to an extent. You don’t mind looking at him.

“She gave me some advice ‘from experience.’ I’m not sure if she’s talking about you or romantic relationships at work in general,” you explain.

He nods. “And do you believe her?” He faces you.

You shrink into yourself.

You feel interrogated. He’s asking you so many questions. How did the power land in his court? You sigh, “I don’t really know enough about either of you to make an informed decision on that.”

“You don’t know enough about Evelyn?” his voice comes out harsh and loud. He hosts a deadpan expression and arches a brow.

You flinch at his volume. He’s so careless. You tighten your lips. You don’t grant him a response.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I can’t understand you.”

Now, you’re getting annoyed. You scoff, “That wasn’t exactly the objective of the conversation. I just don’t know which one of you are telling the truth, that’s all.”

“I haven’t even told you anything,” he tilts his head, “How could I be not telling you the truth?”

“By withholding it.”

His head jerks back slightly. He sits up properly and crosses his legs in thought. He makes an approving frown and nods. “We went on a date. I rejected her offer for a second one.” He says it casually, like its old news.

“Why?”

He reviews you like you’ve grown a second head or some other unexpected abnormality. His tone is serious, stern, “She’s not a very kind person, Y/n.”

“I mean— neither are you. I wouldn’t consider the two of you very fundamentally different," you mutter through your scoff. “I’d go as far as saying your compatible in several way.”

He tsks, jaw jutting to the slide. He closes his eyes and doesn’t speak for a while. He couldn’t begin to express the offense you caused him.

“I’m not nice, but I consider myself rather kind,” he opens his eyes gradually. “I wouldn’t consider anything about us fundamentally the same.” His gaze is sharp.

You want to run away from the chill in his stare, but you withstand. “I’ll try to be more intentional with my words moving forward.“

He scoffs at you, averting his gaze. 

You look at your fidgeting hands, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You peek at him.

“Are you looking for me to accept your unspoken apology or something?” His eyes shift towards you with displeasure.

“I’m not looking for you to say anything,” you shake your head, “What you say is up to you.”

He softens slightly, “You offended me.”

An awkward silence washes over you once you realize you have nothing you particularly want to say in response. You scrabble in search for an answer he might be anticipating.

He starts talking before you can come up with anything, “But its fine, I’m sure you feel offended often. I’m certain I’d be offended if my colleagues repeatedly watched me be verbally abused by my equal without coming to my defense.” He starts turning back towards his computer, “Seems like I answered your question.”

"I wouldn’t say ‘verbal abuse,’” you step further into his cubicle.

He studies you over his shoulder, “What would you consider it? Bullying?”

You open and shut you mouth. That is what you would consider it. That’s your word exactly.

He nods triumphantly, “Right.” He turns back to his computer.

You were loosing again. This was so frustrating. He’s already back to doing his work before you can finish thinking of a come back. You blurt, “How do you feel about what she said about us?” in a rush.

“Its a rumor,” he says it like he’s bored.

“You’re not embarrassed?”

“No.”

You hum in response. 

He turns to you over his shoulder, “Why would I be?”

You shrug absently, “I don’t know, I found it embarrassing.”

The silence between the two of you lingers for a moment.

“Do you find me embarrassing?”

That jarred you. He was asking you a lot of questions again. “Hypothetically,” you let the syllables roll of your tongue uncertainly, “No.”

Jaemin nods, “Good, me neither.” He turns back towards his work and begins typing almost immediately.

You’ve gained more than you expected from that comment. Emotionally and physically. Your shoulders visibly relax and you let out a breath you were unconsciously holding. “Good.”

He nods with his back to you, “Correct.” He doesn’t need to say anything else but he got the last word.

You walk back to your desk dazed. A bit confused. A bit knowing. A bit warm.

You became a walking contradiction between the time you approached Jaemin’s cubicle and the time you returned to your own. Happy and sad. Relieved and disappointed.

It would’ve been nice to have him as someone to talk to before today. Someone whose maybe not a friend, but genuine. Its possibly you’ll consider reasons to visit him in the future. 

You look over your cubicle wall for his head. You don’t see anything. He must be slouching. 

Before you look down, you hear a distant yawn and catch his arms reach above his head from his seated position. He straightens his posture. Rolls his neck. He peeks over the divide almost apprehensively and catches your eyes over your wall. He doesn’t waver. Neither do you.

You slowly lower yourself into your seat.

He watches you for a second longer.