Love In The Time Of Coffee | Yunho [Ongoing]

13 | beauty and the assistant

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TIMESKIP, TWO HOURS LATER. PERHAPS now I could well say the foreign weirdness had left the building. Mysteriously strange yet fantastic Mingi who had been manhandled by his friend in the midst of attempting to be my friend, I thought. That was the last I saw of him; last I heard, he'd left shortly after.

Work had me cradling previous issues of Du Jours, XL's editorial, while standing outside Yunho's corner office. (The one past the oversized poster that sums up as pseudo-motivational shit, in Yunho's opinion. These are words that may contradict his claims about never cussing around me.) Although I was lacking the uncharacteristic eagerness I normally come knocking with, because I couldn't dismiss yesterday's breakroom event as easily as its orchestrator. And the orchestrator says it shouldn't matter. But, more than anything, I want it to matter since it not mattering makes me feel cheated. Obviously I thought wrong by thinking we'd found common ground.

My knuckles rapped on the door of the last place I wanted to be, double-teamed with being the only place I wanted to be. Who cares how long it took to trek all the way here, no one would. This was, inarguably, the next best thing to Lang's executive big boss domain on the other side. According to Editor Lee, from Seonghwa's account, it could even give Lang's office a run for its money. However, there has yet to be so much as an expression of dissatisfaction or bitching of unfair treatment from the lot. ("Why does he get the best?!"  "I didn't sign up for this." "The guy's not even going to be here come next Valentine's Day. Haha more chicks for us.") For the first time, I beheld grownups come up under the same umbrella and agree that if anyone deserved the most coveted part of this building, it was New Guy, whom they knew barely until months ago. And when Yunho leaves, chances were it might stay unoccupied; in the weeks following, the first Jeong Yunho Memoriam would be proposed, and the weeks after that, instituted. Sole purpose: to flaunt. If ever you were in doubt over Yunho's employment at XL, we have proof.

"Come in." His voice carried from the other side. Somewhere birds had begun twittering with glee, angels crooned a joyous chorus, flowers starting to bloom—jocundity permeated the streets of Seoul.

Inside, light poured in from the glass curtains, Yunho held his camera, a paperweight set on a stool which I imagined to be a test subject; behind that stool was a black backdrop. When he raised his head, there was the split moment where his features communicated he didn't expect to be disturbed and didn't want to be. On anyone else, we would term it blatant irritation. It amused me how suddenly I'd become keener, noticing the things that formerly I would overlook. And I was starting to realize how very mortal Yunho happened to be. He was one of us, still he wore it better. Yunho, of course, had switched to his everyday look of playacting pleasance. How shitty it was, I almost wished I counted enough to tell him to drop the put-on.

It overcame me with wonder. Why anyone would think this made them passable for normal in society.

"I thought it might be you." That was either a lie or a truth. If it happened to be true, then it stung. Bad. "Although I didn't think it would've been wise to push my luck." Practiced hands brought the camera up to his face: "Smile." I heard the shutter go off and amidst the nostalgia that came with Yunho snapping me unawares, I couldn't appreciate that he had. Not when I embodied what running on few hours of sleep should look like. Another momento of Conventional Kim to grace his visual diary. "Lovely as always," he commented. Hard to believe otherwise with the way it was phrased. I blame the smile. "How can I be of help, Yong?"

"I never seem to put up enough of a fight," I said. "If I did, you'd take me seriously when I tell you I don't like that."

He raised a brow, closed in. I considered retreating a few steps and didn't. "Like what?" asked Yunho.