Serpent // Baekyeol

Prologue.

◎ Chanyeol

"Oh my god, Chanyeol. I haven't got the papers for the meeting! The rate documents with all of the charts! Son, would it be too much to ask you to go and fetch them?" My father asks. He's always been a polite man, despite his status. He's never been too authoritative, which is why the role of an assistant suits him so well.

A sorrowful gaze lands upon my face and I can't say no to the small smile and faint dimples. I agree, looking at my non-existent watch before leaving the coffee shop, already missing the strong aroma of coffee beans and cigarettes.

The city air, however, makes up for the loss. Car exhaust, humid heaviness and mild laughter and chatter. I've always liked the city. I've been here my whole life, exploring new parts of the intricate, heritage-full city every second of every day. It's the perfect setting for me to blend into. To never get into my trouble. I've never been scolded and I don't plan on being anytime soon.

Arriving at the building, I show my badge quickly to the receptionist in a teasing manner as she always knows who I am, her cheerful but equally stern stare easily recognisable matched with my clumsiness. She's friendly, but mild.

Jumping quickly in the elevator, I am thankfully alone, sighing frustratedly as I try to remember what my father wanted. Papers with charts on them, it should be easy for anyone else. Anyone except me. I'm constantly messing things up. It's why I had few friends in gym class, I was considered bad luck. Sutjasanyeol is what they called me. Kids in my school were particularly clever when it came to nicknames.

The elevator bing brings me from my daze abruptly and I look up to see the familiar office I've always dreaded. Every cubicle is sadder than the last, a dying plant, picture of an unamused child or even some kind of cat ornament. It's the same thing on each one.

Once I reach boss' office, I knock on the door hastily, hoping he'll still be here. Thankfully, there is a gruff mumble, almost like a bark from an aggressive police dog. Although boss may seem angry, with his untamed eyebrows and small, devilish eyes, he's quite the entertainer. Most likely due to years of having to uphold conversations.

"Ah, Chanyeol-" he stops himself, standing up. It's hen that I notice his weak knees, the sweat on his neck staining his usually perfectly pressed collar. I swallow hard, hoping I haven't done anything bad. "I-I have something for you to do. A big task, not for your father. For you. Do you understand?" His voice screams panic, an underlying tone of guilt. I can see it through his expression too, but out of pure fear and intrigue decide not to go any further.

"U-uh, yeah?" I don't exactly want to speak informally to him, but when he's doing it to me I don't see a problem. Besides he seems like he's in a rush, and I don't know why but I feel eyes on me. Perhaps it's just his strange presence. Something seems eerie.

He stuffs something into my hand so quickly that his blunt nails scrape against my skin, his palms moist and uncomfortably close to my chest. I have no idea what's going on but my heart is beating ten times faster than it should and I'm pretty sure an eye is about to pop form it's socket. Looking up, I let my thumbs feel the item in my hand. A powdery substance inside a plastic bag.

"Sir, why would I need to deliver powder paint?" I ask, looking at the substance strangely? It doesn't have a paint aroma, but it feels like powder paint. I wouldn't know what else it could be. Flour?

"Just go to this location. Make sure the door is red, Make sure you're in the right place. Walk to the front counter. Be quick. Leave it on the desk. Don't bring attention to yourself." There's a wrinkle on his forehead, a frown on his lips. Does he have some kind of baker client? An artist client? Is this for some special recipe?