#ii. ghost

@fmdhyunmi

In theory, Moonjin didn't have to be at the company building at all that day. There were no items circled red in his calendar, no manager breathing down his neck to make sure he didn't slack off and waste time in between schedules like it mattered whether he was 10 or 30 minutes early – they were always more than punctual anyway. Had he wanted to, he could have probably taken the day off, found some excuse to lounge about at home, in bed, catching up on all the sleep he had missed throughout the year. Yet there he was, holed up in one of the company's practice rooms – one of the many cubicles this hallway held, equipped with nothing but a desk with a computer, an office chair with slightly worn out padding that clearly wasn't made for spending over 10 hours on it if one wasn't a fan of thigh or butt cramps, and a keyboard.

While there was no clause in his contract that mandated spending every hour he possibly could working on something, be it songs, lyrics, research, or auditions, it was his obligation either way – as leader, as someone who had failed his members and company in the past. Therefore, he merely blinked the drowsiness away and took another sip of his coffee when he realized, gaze landing on the clock in the corner of the screen, that it had been a solid 48 hours since he had last gotten any sleep. It had been his choice, to some part, so why complain?

Persistent noise, hard to ignore, unlike the chatter of trainees passing by on the way to their own rooms for the day or the heavy steps of managers ready to give a scolding to some poor soul or another, pulled him from his state of utter concentration and made him turn in his chair, more curious than unnerved. Of course nothing could be made out through the opal glass set into the middle of the door, but actually getting up and checking would require effort he wasn't keen on putting in as things were.

However, as more seconds ticked by and the silence remained disturbed, he did push himself off the chair and stepped towards the door, slowly but surely. If it was some of the trainees who had gotten into an argument again – that happened more than he'd expected, in all honesty –, he knew they'd stop as soon as he appeared in the door frame. There were rumors going around about him, something about how still waters run deep and he was scary because he was always so calm when angry and that meant that he'd do the worst things, supposedly. It made no sense to him because none of them had ever even seen him angry, so how would they know? But at the same time, he didn't really mind. No one got hurt and his peace and quiet was secured by those whispers in hallways he didn't do anything about.

The fatigue had sculpted his face into a mask of seriousness, lips down-turned and tight, eyes narrowed, expression hollow. It wasn't on purpose – he simply lacked the energy or motivation to bother with appearances. So that was how he went outside to greet whomever had caused the disruption in the air of professional discipline this place was usually shrouded in. “What's all the commotion about?”