Office Antics, Episode 8

[sutecha]

Title Office Antics, Episode 8
Rating PG-13
Word Count 9578
Pairings Baekyeol, Kaisoo, Hunhan
Summary [office!au] Twelve guys and one software startup.



Episode 8: Work in Progress (II)
| the breeze feels oh so soft |

The thing about Kyungsoo’s dreaming habits is that he dreams about his life. But he doesn’t dream in a way that’s particularly interesting or introspective, or even remotely insightful. There’s no fantasy flair to it, no life-changing revelations that spark a revolutionary change to his life. He doesn’t dream about the past or the future, or even an alternate reality.

Instead, he dreams about work. He dreams about going through his morning routine, hopping into his car, and sitting at his desk for hours at a time. He dreams about mundanely drawing vague diagrams and charts. He dreams about getting up to get coffee or food then going back to his cubicle and typing and clicking until he wakes up unfailingly in the morning at 7:30 sharp and does it all over again, this time in real life.

But somehow, today, he misses his wakeup time. He successfully phases out the three alarms he sets to wake himself up (somehow managing to groggily turn each one off in succession and slip back into slumber). One moment he was dreaming he was at his desk, the next moment it felt like he was being dragged through his dream state by the neck of his collar, and thrusting him into a world of rumpled sheets and a bright sun streaming through thin curtains, and an alarm clock that cheerily displayed “3:30 pm.”

His mind muddled by sleep, he only had the capability to drowsily blink, arduously lifting his head and making an attempt to comprehend the time before giving up and flopping back down, nestling his face in his comforter nest.

He sinks into a comfortable medium between sleep and wake, mind blanketed in rest with the cogs of conscious thought just beginning to churn underneath, mind milling between loosely connected trains of thought, like how his sheets feel mind-blowingly comfortable, how he needs to bury his head in them a little more because the sun’s shining in his face, how that’s actually kind of weird because that never happens in the morning, how, oh, that’s because the sun rises in the east and his room faces to the west, how that means that it’s afternoon now, how it’s a weekday, how it’s…afternoon now, how it’s-oh shoot-

Kyungsoo eyes snap open and he jolts up, head twisting to look at the clock again-3:45 this time (it is the freaking afternoon now)-and his heart plummets in his chest in fear as he rips his sheets off and dashes to desk, frantically grabbing his phone and hitting the home screen button.

It hits him like a train. For the first time in his life, Kyungsoo is running late.

There’s about 28 notifications on his phone, and after mentally dismissing the 20 Snapchats (1 is from Chanyeol, probably a picture of food, 2 are from Luhan, probably awkward pictures of Sehun sleeping at his desk, another is from Minseok, probably an ‘artsy’ photo of his coffee cup, and the other 16 are from user “TaoZiAwesome,” and if Kyungsoo had to hazard a guess, they consisted of nothing else but Tao’s state of the art selcas taken at various bathrooms at certain hours of the day), he deduced from the five texts that Kris would like to know “where the fuck” he was, and to “get his ass in the office as soon as possible,” that Junmyeon had “started the meeting without him,” and was “really sorry [that Junmyeon] had to go through Kyungsoo’s desk to retrieve the proposals,” but also that frame Kyungsoo used for the picture of his family on the right side of his desk was “really nice, where did you get it.” He also figured out that Chanyeol would have liked to known “where r u at” at around 2, and finally, as of 20 minutes ago, according to Baekhyun “the meeting was over. Since Kyungsoo’s proposals were so precise, he “didn’t really have had to have been there anyway,” but it would still be nice if Kyungsoo came in today “so they could talk about the direction of next project.”

Then, at the very bottom of the notification stack, somewhere around 9 PM last night, just right after Kyungsoo had passed out on his bed, Jongin had messaged him over facebook with a simple “hey,” and “hope your vacation was fun, will you be in tomorrow?” Kyungsoo inwardly curses at himself for not staying up for 5 minutes more before quickly typing a return message: “it was nice, thanks, and yes,” he would be in later today.

He hesitated for a minute, wondering if throwing in a emoticon would seem a bit creepy, scrolling up through their previous messages to see if it fit with his usual pattern of speech. He quickly decided, yes, it was appropriate, because his regular emoticon-to-text ratio was approximately 1 to 1.75, which was plenty low to justify throwing in a smiley (he was starting to feel a lot like Chanyeol). It was then, with his thumb hovering over the send button, that it occurred to him that sending the message in the first place might be useless, since Jongin would be arriving at the office in (Kyungsoo checked his watch), 40 minutes anyway. So he scrapped the message, hoping fervently between now and then that Jongin wouldn’t see the telltale ✓ Seen Wed 3:48 PM, and think Kyungsoo was, well, rude or something.

After sending out a few other apology texts (Kyungsoo made sure to word the one to Kris especially apologetically), he threw his phone on his bed, yanked a few articles of clothing out of his closet and hurriedly pulled them on before running the bathroom, splashing water on his face, picking up his keys, phone, wallet, and laptop, and racing out the door.

He’s slightly less thankful he lives on the fourth floor as he impatiently waits for the elevator, drumming his foot on the ground as he taps the elevator call button (he’s a firm irrational believer that tapping it multiple times does, in fact, speed up the elevator). After checking his watch six times, he gives up and takes the stairs, racing down the steps as fast as his legs can take him (with a slight disappointment in his calculation abilities, he hears the cheery ping of the elevator arriving on the fourth floor just as he hits the landing of the third).

Society is judgmental of those who aren’t timely, but he was pretty sure running late to work didn’t warrant that glare that grandmother on the second floor sent him, or the condescending giggles of that first grader he passed as he leapt of the curb of the sidewalk and into the parking lot, or the haughty flick of the eyebrows that salary man gave him as he passed by, muttering into his cellphone.

He gets to work in record time, and it was probably thanks to those three stoplights he nearly ran (they were yellow when he entered, not preferable but still perfectly legal), and he hurriedly hiked it up to the back entrance, fumbling nervously with his ID as he tried to card himself in, hitting the wrong password more than four times before finally getting the satisfying click and green light of admission and barreling down the hallway.

The receptionist at the front desk also gives him a look of disapproval as he skirts past her desk on the way to the elevator, and Kyungsoo unfortunately has to bear it for a bit more that usual to get a squirt of hand sanitizer when he passes the dispenser (when the gel hits his fingers, it does kind of look like-oh stop, he’s more mature than that), long enough to see her eyes flick down to his pants and back to his face, her lip curling in minimally concealed disgust.

He’s thoroughly self-conscious about being late now, especially as he hears her snipe “kids these days,” right before the doors shut (which throws him off a little, since she doesn’t look any older than her early thirties). But he quickly shakes that preoccupation away, jabbing the close door button of the elevator. As he begins to ascend, Kyungsoo paces the floor of the elevator, attempting to assemble his attack plan for justifying being 5 hours late.

Maybe he could get away with a made up excuse. Like he could say he had a flat tire. But no, that wouldn’t work because his car was there and fully functional. Or he could say he had a family emergency. Except the last time he had one, he gave everyone proper notification, and by sending those apology texts, he kind of missed the window for that. Or he could say there was a huge accident, like the traffic was terrible because of huge 6 car pile up, or he had to go to the hospital with an elderly neighbor who fell down the stairs.

But he really hates lying, he hated the burden of guilt that would probably attach itself to his chest, hated the prospect of giving people false impressions, hated the guilt that would come with dodging blame he deserved.

So he should just go with honesty, Kyungsoo decides as the elevator doors open and he begins to march to the door, briskly and purposefully, because honesty is the best policy and really there are a lot of benefits that can come from being honest, like good faith and respect in the future or something like that, and oh gosh could his hand please stop shaking so he can open the door, and well, he prides himself in being an honest man and so he’ll just tell them-

“I OVERSLEPT,” Kyungsoo throws the door open with a bang, yelling triumphantly, exhilarated by his truth-telling.

He’s met with an awkward silence, the whirs and clicks of the printer apparent in the background as everyone stops to look at Kyungsoo.

Tao, headphones securely strapped onto his head, leans around his monitor to look at Kyungsoo.

“Congratulations. But could you-er,” Tao winces, shifting his headphones off of one ear, “Just go to your desk or something. For your own sake really.”

Yixing just shakes his head as Kyungsoo passes, sparing him a glance before giving him the universal signal of shame. Jongdae just raises his eyebrows as he passes Kyungsoo in the hallway, looking down at Kyungsoo’s waist as he mutters “nice,” as he makes his way down the aisle. Chanyeol bounds out into the hall, stops and looks Kyungsoo from head to toe for a second before cracking up, holding his stomach as he points somewhere below Kyungsoo’s stomach, “Only you, Kyungsoo.” Minseok, sitting in a chair in his office, just peeks over his shoulder for a moment before letting out a poorly sealed guffaw, cheeks puffing slightly as he tries to contain a burst of laughter.

At this point, Kyungsoo agitatedly wonders why it’s so hilarious that he arrived late. Because he’s genuinely concerned about how angry Kris is and he’s fretting about how much of an inconvenience he caused everyone by not being there for the meeting and-

“Is Kyungsoo here? Oh good,” Baekhyun voice drifts out of his office and he briskly walks out, head buried in the laptop nestled on his forearm. He suddenly looks up from his laptop, spots Kyungsoo, and stops dead in his tracks before closing his eyes and turning around, “Just kidding you’re busy.”

“Wait,” Kyungsoo hold out a hand as Baekhyun retreats back into his office, “I’m not…”

Kyungsoo puts his hand down when the door slams shut, “…busy.”

.
Kyungsoo was far from happy when he entered the cubicle. He was still thoroughly worried about what he missed that morning. And it was a worry that was further spurned by everyone’s reactions, specifically the ones where they took a look below the belt and laughed. It’s a worry that can’t even be replaced by the usual nervousness and flurries of happiness Kyungsoo becomes submerged in by the sight of Jongin sitting in his chair and working diligently. Especially when Jongin turns around, slight grin plastered on his face before he freezes, eyes zoned on Kyungsoo’s nether regions as he utters a small, “oh.”

Not Jongin too, Kyungsoo inwardly groans. He feels even more on display than before, and he kind of wants to launch into an uncharacteristic social justice tirade, like maybe something about how a man’s worth is more than his crotch and-

“I have a spare pair of shorts,” Jongin digs through his backpack for a moment before pulling out a pair, sheepishly looking to the side. “If you need them.”

“Shorts…?” And Kyungsoo decides right then and there is a good time to look down, and sees the bottom-half of his body neatly tucked into a pair of plaid boxers.

And, well, there’s nothing else.

“…yeah.”

“I’m sleeping right,” Kyungsoo laments, closing his eyes and dropping his bag lightly on the floor. “Like having a nightmare or something.”

“I am afraid you’re not,” Jongin breaks it tentatively, shorts still stretched in offering. “But if you need these…”

“Oh, thank you,” Kyungsoo takes the shorts from Jongin, quickly bringing it down to shield his underwear from view. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Everyone has off days,” Jongin awkwardly shifts. “Uh, but at least plaid looks good on you?”

“Haha…thanks…” Kyungsoo quickly decides that putting on the shorts here is as good as any other place, stooping and hopping into the pants in a single smooth motion.

They’re a little big, Kyungsoo notes as he tugs on the drawstrings, but they’re pretty comfortable.

“Sorry about that, no one wants to start of their day with an eyeful of boxers,” Kyungsoo jokes, adjusting the waistband with a quick tug. “Much less mine.”

“No, that’s okay,” Jongin turns away, bright red tips of his ears flashing briefly before Jongin draws a curtain of hair over them with his brushing fingers. “We’re all guys here.”

There must be a flu virus going around, because Jongin’s ears were really red, Kyungsoo rationalizes. Just when Kyungsoo’s about to ask Jongin if has a fever, Sehun walks past, boisterous and loud per usual.

“Yeah, and it not like it’s anything Jongin hasn’t seen before,” Sehun calls as he passes by, laughing into a balled fist. “Hey, dude, you finally got Kyungsoo into your pants.”

“What did he say?” Kyungsoo’s pretty sure he misheard Sehun.

“Get it? Get it?” Sehun works himself into a giggle fit.

“Nothing. He said nothing,” Jongin sighs as he responses to Kyungsoo. “Whenever you encounter a laughing Sehun in the wild, the best course of action is always to ignore his existence.”
~o~

| one, two, three; you, soccer, me |
To say Sehun was excited about the prospect of soccer with Luhan would be an understatement. Of course he was far more excited about the “with Luhan” part than the “soccer” part, but hey, at this point he’ll take anything he can get.

Just ask Jongin. Or Tao. Or Baekhyun. Or Chanyeol. Or really ask anyone who had to be within a foot of Sehun for more than three minutes at a time.

“Oh hey Sehun,” an unsuspecting Junmyeon walked over to the printer, pressing a few buttons before waiting for the machine to spit out the copies.

“Hello Junmyeon,” Sehun nods.

And that’s about when Junmyeon should have picked up the copies, bid Sehun goodbye, and walked away. But being as unsuspicious and polite as he was, Junmyeon proceeded down the path to hell with a follow up, “So how’s it going?”

Junmyeon has a great deal of traits that aren’t exactly desirable. One would be unique. Another would be oblivious. The most obvious one would be a severe lack in leadership abilities. But if there’s anything Junmyeon’s not, it’s slow. So he has the sneaking suspicion he’s about to deal with something he didn’t intend to unleash when Sehun takes a bigger breadth than normal at the start of his response. Junmyeon’s worst fears are realized an 15 eye-glazing minutes later, during which he learned more about Luhan, soccer, and the prospect of Sehun playing soccer with Luhan that he ever cared to know.

(For the record, Junmyeon didn’t care at all.)

He was only able to escape at the 17th minute, when he decided there were about a thousand things he could be doing that were far more productive than listening to Sehun ramble. After failing to interject a significant amount of polite pardon me’s, Junmyeon doubles over, clutches his abdomen, and fakes a stomachache, and barrels past Sehun without a further apology.

Sehun managed to trap an unsuspecting Minseok too later that hour, striking up an excited monologue about how he was going to spend the rest of the day with his mentor.

Which would have been fine with Minseok, really, he likes these sorts of conversations, had it taken place anywhere else other than at the urinals. And as if it wasn’t already awkward enough, Sehun violated the unspoken ‘buffer urinal’ rule, choosing to take the unit right next to Minseok, rather than one of the other three that were further away.

Awkwardly nodding, uneasily staring at a corner of the ceiling, and trying to finish his business as fast as he could, Minseok realized one of his greatest wishes was for the bathroom to have higher dividers between stalls. Because out of the plethora of office bonding activities out there, the “peeing with another coworker with less than half a foot of separation” event surprisingly did not make Minseok’s short list.

But yeah, ask anyone. Sehun was pretty much over the moon.

.
Of course, Sehun’s fantasized about the scenario.

He’s replayed it multiple times his mind how he’d like it to pan out. Most of them include Sehun having some innate prodigious soccer skills that he whips out of nowhere and completely wows Luhan with. A few of them include a particularly doting Luhan, who enduringly shows Sehun the ropes of the sport as he grows fonder and fonder of his mentee.

The more fantastical ones involved imaginations of overt flirting, mutual exchanged words and touches that were quintessentially un-Luhan like but incredibly Sehun-idealized that cumulated in Sehun seeming irresistibly appealing to Luhan. And through several events in which Sehun showcased his attractiveness (which ranged from things Luhan would actually care about, like being able to score a goal from an impossible distance like the halfway line, to things really only Sehun would care about, like the ability to appear incredibly photogenic and handsome even while running) Sehun would end up scoring something incredibly cheesy like a sunset kiss in the middle or on the corner of the field or an actual dinner date. (And there was one, Sehun would never admit, took it even further than that.)

But all of them end up with Luhan falling at least a little bit in love with Sehun, one way or another.

Just none of them, Sehun realizes as he sits in the passenger seat in Luhan’s care and the first drops windshield, included heavy
rain.

.
“This, minus the drizzle,” Luhan points to the overcast sky. “Is ideal weather for sports.”

“Is it?” Sehun flinches as a particularly big drop of sky-water strikes him near his eye, and wonders to himself as a second drop hits him squarely on the head, how exactly this constitutes as drizzle.

“Yeah,” Luhan is all smiles as he begins to juggle the soccer ball, popping it off his limbs in practiced coordination. After a quite a few hits, he grabs the ball out of the air and scoots backwards with a level of sheer joy Sehun’s never seen before, “Okay, let’s start.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sehun’s starting to get nervous, sweaty palms almost unnoticeable in the steady rain shower.

“Now it might get a BIT MUDDY,” Luhan shouts, just as the wind picks up and the sporadic drops turn into a more substantial pour of water, cold in liquid form beginning to whip at Sehun’s face. “AND SO BEWARE OF SLIDING.”

He really shouldn’t have worn his $200 basketball shoes, Sehun dryly notes, inspecting the already muddied soles. He had dressed with the intention to impress, but by the time they were through, the grass and mud would make them look worth no more than a crummy $20 pair.

Also, this cheap plastic poncho he had donned (courtesy of Luhan) to protect his nice sweatshirt was not giving him any style points.

And suddenly, the sky decides that right then is a great time to one-up itself and take the storm up a notch, and the general splattering of water transforms into almost biting sheets of wind-blown rain.

“OKAY,” Luhan shouts above the gale. “I’M GOING TO KICK IT.”

And it’s about then, when he’s standing in the middle of a downpour with little to no experience in the art of soccer, that Sehun no longer thinks this is a such a great idea.

“YOU KNOW WHEN I SAID I WANTED TO LEARN,” Sehun yells, tiptoeing in slushy mud. “I KIND OF MEANT WHEN IT WAS SUNNY OR SOMETHING. NOT IN 30-BELOW WEATHER AND IN THE MIDDLE OF A STORM.”

“WHAT I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” Luhan cups a wet hand to his ear, clutching a soccer ball in his free arm.

“I SAID,” Sehun tries again. “CAN WE PLAY WHEN IT’S SUNNY?”

“WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO PLAY WITH SUNNY,” Luhan shouts. “SHE’S TERRIBLE AT SPORTS.”

“NO I SAID WHEN THE WEATHER’S BETTER,” Sehun pauses for a moment, fruitlessly wiping water from his eye. “AND WAIT GIVE ME A MINUTE.”

“YOU SAID KICK IT?”

“NO, NO, GIVE ME A MINUTE.”

“I’M GOING TO KICK IT, GET READY.”

“NO, NO, STOP, OH FUC-“ Sehun sinks to the ground, nether regions exploding in pain.

“SORRY,” Luhan yells as he jogs over to Sehun. “You should have told me to wait.”

“Ugh,” Sehun, crumpled on the ground, can only manage to groan.

“I’m really sorry,” Luhan appears in Sehun’s view, positioning himself to shield Sehun from most of downpour. “Do you need to take a break?”

“Maybe a break for the rest of the day,” Sehun curls up into a fetal position right as he realizes he’s never known true pain until today. “I’m actually not even sure I can stand. Also rain. And general pain. And rain.”

“Yeah,” Luhan stares at the sky. “It’s probably not going to let up huh.”

Sehun just moans in response. At of the corner of his eye he sees Luhan bite the bottom of his lip, staring longingly at the goal.

“Is it okay…just once?” Luhan glances back down, cradling the muddy ball in one arm and pointing to the goal with the other.

“…Yeah.”

“Here, I’ll help you to the bench.” Sehun feels Luhan slide his arms under his legs and his back, and in an instant he’s being hoisted into the air, princess-style, and carted off the bench at the side of the field.

It’s a far cry from any ideal Sehun’s imagined, as he sits on the bench and watches Luhan juggle the soccer ball again, alone on the field. It’s embarrassing, to be sure, to be paralyzed by a mind-blowing pain in his family jewels, as well as be carried by the very same guy he was trying to impress.

But Luhan’s like a little kid on the field, delightfully weaving and ducking through a field of imaginary opponents, almost seemingly dancing with the ball as he races across the field. When he approaches the goal line, he kicks, shot sailing cleanly into net.

He runs around like a maniac through the rain, wildly excited with his arms thrown up, fingers pointed at Sehun, a face-splitting grin gracing his face, “LUHAN SCORRRES!”

Somehow it’s a lot better than a fantasy. It would nice, Sehun thinks, if sometime in the near future he’d be able to run alongside Luhan, both figuratively and literally, rather than tagging along behind.

But right now, he just really wants an ice pack.

~o~

| the grass is greener on the other side (it’s pretty brown over here) |

It’s odd that Baekhyun’s finished all of his work by 2 today, and he’s left with a strange loss of purpose as he leans back in his chair and stares off out the window.

As he watches a squirrel bounce across a branch, he wonders what he did differently. It’s not like he had less work today. Maybe he worked faster, but that seemed unlikely, since he already worked pretty fast to begin with. Or maybe it was the absence of meeting in the morning.

It takes a few more minutes of staring at the tree outside his window, watching the budding leaves rustle in the spring breeze before it dawns on him. He hadn’t been distracted at any point of the day. The office is quieter right now, about half quieter, if that was an operational metric for sound. He hadn’t heard Luhan’s loud laugh in quite a while, Yixing’s sarcastic drawl, Junmyeon attempting maintain order with attempted sternness (or Kris actually maintaining order with pointed barks). The thumps of office basketball were absent today-Luhan had bought one of those mini hoops and attached it to the wall just outside of Baekhyun’s office-and the whoops and yells from the Office Olympics were gone too. But that was expected because they had been postponed (for “important conference business” that Kris said was supposedly going on today).

And, Baekhyun suddenly realized, Chanyeol hadn’t stopped by at all today. In fact Chanyeol had seemed a little off this morning, slightly agitated when Baekhyun had pulled up at his place, deep in concentration as he clutched a few wrinkled papers and dictated something under his breath. His head was bent down, scanning the lines as he folded himself over his laptop case, barely speaking except for the usual “Morning Baekhyun,” which was below the charts on Baekhyun’s ingrained Chanyeol Cheeriness Meter, which ranged from “creepily enthusiastic” to “somewhat upbeat.” Today, Chanyeol clocked somewhere between “distracted” and “tired,” which was a mild cause of concern.

But Chanyeol had assured Baekhyun that, yes, he was fine, waving Baekhyun off with a distracted flick of his hand as he tugged out another paper from his messenger bag with his right. But Baekhyun didn’t buy it, especially after Baekhyun had pointed out that Chanyeol had put his dress shirt on inside out, there was some crust in his left eye, and that pen he was trying to use probably wouldn’t work because the cap was still on.

And it sounded weird, but Baekhyun was now used to Chanyeol’s nearly undivided attention. After he had parked, locking the doors with a click, he had stalled at the edge of his parking space for a moment, waiting for something to happen without even thinking about it, elbow subconsciously raised for Chanyeol to grab it. But Chanyeol was distracted enough that he began walking across the lane without looking up, face buried in the papers even as a car sped towards him before Baekhyun quickly whisked him out of harm’s way. So it was Baekhyun that had to lead Chanyeol by the elbow today, protectively guiding him through the rows of cars, into the elevator, and through the office. And when they arrived, Chanyeol quickly disappeared into his his own space, throwing Baekhyun a quick “See you later,” before shutting the door with a residual click and leaving Baekhyun standing alone in the hall, arm feeling strangely empty.

There’s something lonely about working for a few hours without being interrupted by a tall grinning figure hanging the door frame, one hand usually bracing himself against one of the sides and the other loosely grabbing the top. And, he noticed when his stomach growled, without Chanyeol’s (usually awkwardly enduring) invitation to lunch, he had forgotten about food completely.

Maybe he’ll go and visit Chanyeol for once. But what if Chanyeol just needed some space, the more paranoid side of Baekhyun’s brain interjected, throwing in a bout of insecurity. No, that probably wasn’t it, Baekhyun decided after going through the list of things he did yesterday in search of something that could have possibly offended Chanyeol. Well, just in case, he could stop by on his way the break room, make it look like it was a casual side-trip, not an obsessive check on their friendship. Yeah, that was a good idea, Baekhyun quickly stood up, promptly hitting his head on the cabinet overhead and dislodging some books, causing a few hardbacks to hail against his back.

Though maybe after this headache subsided and he resorted his books, Baekhyun thought woozily, cradling his head as he sank back into his chair.
.
It is really quiet for a mid-cycle workday, Baekhyun notices when he finally emerges. The usual comfortable background sounds of the office are there, with the various beeps and clicks are there, along with brisk typing and the typical ring of the Tao’s phone and the uncharacteristically polite British-tinged drawl of Tao’s professional voice (Hello you’ve reached the headquarters of EXO-MK Systems, Zitao speaking, how may I help you…? Mhm…okay…)

But other than that, it’s quiet. The usual antics are absent,. With a quick scan on the floor Baekhyun sees that Luhan and Yixing are gone, their cubicles empty. Kyungsoo’s gone too, and neither Sehun nor Jongin are in yet. When he creeps down the hall, he quickly discovers that Chanyeol’s disappeared as well, his door wide open, his coat slung over the back of his chair, and his monitor blank in sleep mode.

.
“Hey,” Baekhyun pokes Jongdae’s shoulder, causing the Jongdae to jump.

“Oh god don’t do that,” Jongdae looks down, gingerly putting his tumbler cup down and checking his white shirt for coffee stains. “Luhan does that, and-I have adverse reactions for reasons.”

“Oops, sorry,” Baekhyun holds his hands up.

“What’s up though?” Jongdae asks, taking a tissue and wiping off the edge of his cup, wadding the tissue up and tossing into Luhan’s cubicle with a free throw like motion. “Hell yeah, a three-pointer.”

“Oh, I was wondering…uh…” Baekhyun trails off as he watches the tissue ball sail into Luhan’s space. “…er…”

“Don’t ask why,” Jongdae shakes his head, swiveling around to retrieve his cup and take a sip. “You look like you want to. But don’t.”

“Er…okay…” Baekhyun goes on his toes, peering into Luhan’s cubicle. There are about six similarly wadded balls of tissues littering Luhan’s space.

“So you were wondering…?” Jongdae glances inquisitively over the rim.

“Oh yeah,” Baekhyun turns back to Jongdae. “Where did everyone go?”

“They’re in a meeting,” Jongdae jabs a finger at the conference room.

“What…for?” Baekhyun peers in that direction, and sure enough he can see a majority of the office sitting around the conference table through the window. And he feels a bit left out when he makes out the forms of Kyungsoo and Luhan, Yixing, along with Kris and Junmyeon and even Minseok. There’s someone standing at the front, form hunched down over a laptop, and Baekhyun had a sneaking suspicion it’s-

“Chanyeol,” Jongdae studies Baekhyun’s expression. “He’s giving a presentation or something at the conference.”

And sure enough, it’s Chanyeol’s head that pops up over the laptop screen, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted in his usual focused look, head turning from the screen to the projection on the whiteboard, checking something, as the machine turns on.

“And so…Kris is making him practice?” Baekhyun watches as the projector suddenly turns on, power point presentation already loaded, the title, Sales Strategies for Start Ups, centered-justified in some font, probably Calibri.

“Kind of,” Jongdae pulls out an orange out of nowhere and begins peeling it. “Though Chanyeol called the meeting himself. He’s really freaking out about it.”

“Oh really?” Baekhyun frowns, he hadn’t heard anything about it. And Chanyeol didn’t look especially concerned now, face breaking out in a large, one-eyed lopsided grin as he laughed at something that someone, presumably Junmyeon, said.

“Yeah, he didn’t invite you?” Jongdae eyed Baekhyun out of the corner of his eye as he tossed bits of orange peel onto a tissue.

“No…he didn’t,” Baekhyun watches as Chanyeol suddenly snaps into a professional mode, face serene as he begins to give the presentation, pacing back and forth and confidently motioning with his hands, laser pointer casually grasped in his fingers.

“Weird, he invited everyone else on the rest of the floor. I didn’t go because I still have some stuff to do,” Jongdae shrugs. “But I thought you’d be the first he’d ask.”

The way Jongdae says it causes Baekhyun’s heart to beat extra loud in that moment, “Why?”

“…No reason,” Jongdae says carefully before holding out a piece of fruit. “Orange?”

“No thanks.”

“Well, more for me,” Jongdae pops the last piece into his mouth, wadding the leftover peels and tissue into a gigantic ball.

Baekhyun turns his attention back to the conference room and Chanyeol looks perfectly fine with his presentation run-through though. Confident, and charismatic even, as he animatedly gives his speech, fingers driving what were presumably his points forward, brows flicking upward at times, every once in a while looking back at his slides and circling things with his laser pointer. It seems to run without a hitch until he gets to his 10th slide, where he suddenly stops talking, standing frozen as his eyes flick up to the ceiling in an effort to remember something. Suddenly his composure melts and he breaks out in a signature sheepish smile as he buries his head in his hands, and as far as Baekhyun can make out, Chanyeol’s saying something along the lines of ‘shit I can’t remember what comes next’ and Junmyeon, with his typical sliver-eyed grin, is just laughing like ‘hahaha~’ and Kyungsoo, back to Baekhyun, hand waving and head bobbing, seems to be trying to coach Chanyeol through this, and Kris, who looks significantly less amused, crosses his arms and mutters too rapidly for Baekhyun to read his lips.

“You could probably sit in if you wanted,” Jongdae suggests just as Chanyeol launches into his presentation again. “Just go up to the door, they’ll let you in.”

“Hmm,” Baekhyun contemplates for a second before stepping out of Jongdae’s cubicle. “I think I might.”

“On your way,” Jongdae holds out the wad of peels and tissue, eyes sparkling with a hint of vengeance. “Could you throw this in Yixing’s cubicle? Anywhere is fine really, though I’d prefer somewhere inconvenient for him like the chair. Or his keyboard. Or just toss it in and let the peels rain all over his floor. Yeah, that’s preferable.”

“….sure.”
.
Right as he walks towards the conference room however, he sees Chanyeol, walking backwards towards the door as well, appearing to talk to Kris or something before he accidently hits the glass just left to the door way, the panes shaking in response. The whole room explodes in a sort of muffled laughter as Chanyeol turns around ruefully, and opens the door, jolting slightly in shock when he sees Baekhyun there in the hall.

“Oh, hey Baekhyun,” Chanyeol closes the door behind him quickly, back braced against the entrance, small smile gracing his lips. He bends his head slightly to runs his fingers through his hair, and when he looks up, he appears tired, at best.

Luhan and Yixing come up to the window behind Chanyeol and breathe against glass, and tracing pictures in the condensation.

“Hey…Chanyeol,” Baekhyun says distractedly, peering just to the left of Chanyeol’s shoulder in an attempt to make out the lopsided shape Yixing just drew.

It appears to be a heart, or at least that’s the shape Yixing’s fingers make right after he points at Chanyeol and then Baekhyun, eyebrows wiggling obnoxiously and tongue sticking out teasingly.

Chanyeol frowns slightly, eyebrows knitting together as he wearily turns around. Yixing and Luhan quickly erase their shapes before feigning innocence, clasping their hand behind their backs and pretending to whistle.

After a moment, Chanyeol shrugs and turns back to Baekhyun, “So, what’s up?”

Luhan begins tracing what seemed to be micky mouse ears, before adding an oblong shape where the face should be and laughing his head off before Yixing quickly erases it. Somehow, Baekhyun thinks, the Sehun is strong with that one.

“Nothing much,” Baekhyun shifts in the middle of the hallway. And they don’t say anything for a minute, and it’s weird because they haven’t had an awkward silence like this since the day they met. So Baekhyun attempts to break it, but the interjection comes out sounding a little to desperate for his taste, “What are you doing in there?”

Luhan and Yixing begin to mouth the lyrics of a song, lips forming words that suspiciously resemble shalalala my oh my, look at the boy too shy, he ain’t going to kiss the girl~

In addition to being thankful Chanyeol can’t see the pair right now, Baekhyun spares a brief second of thought on how he’s managed to remember the lyrics to a Little Mermaid song.

“Oh, I’m practicing my presentation for the conference,” Chanyeol states simply, and Baekhyun’s attention snaps back to Chanyeol. But there’s no follow up invitation, no sign of Chanyeol budging to let Baekhyun in.

“Can I…watch?”

Chanyeol laughs for a moment before shaking his head, “No.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol ruffles Baekhyun’s hair, almost paternalistically. “Maybe next time.”

And then Chanyeol’s off, striding down the hall and out the door, leaving Baekhyun standing in the middle of the hallway, just like this morning, alone and dumbfounded. There’s an uncomfortable feeling that settles in Baekhyun’s chest. It’s a feeling he can’t quite pinpoint. It’s not quite jealousy, it’s not loneliness, nor animosity.

“Chanyeol just went to go get sandwich down at the cafeteria,” Yixing pokes his head out the door, interrupting Baekhyun’s thoughts. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

“Oh,” and somehow that gives Baekhyun some reassurance, and makes his heart feel a bit lighter.

“Hey, how long do you think Jongdae’s going to keep up with that?” Luhan nudges Yixing as they watch Jongdae ball up yet another tissue and toss it into Luhan’s cubicle.

“For a while,” Yixing puts his hands in his pockets. “But I’ll let him. I’d be fucking furious if I were him too.”

“Why…?” Baekhyun’s curiosity is thoroughly piqued at this point, and he’d really like the shift the conversation away from the topic of Chanyeol.

Luhan and Yixing look at each other.

“Well we thought it would be a great idea if we TP-d his house, you know, like threw toilet paperin his trees just for the lulz-“ Yixing starts slowly.

“-but then we realized he lives in an apartment, so that could start fringing on vandalization,” Luhan continues.

“-not that it wouldn’t anyway, but Jongdae wouldn’t sue us,” Yixing nods. “At least ee think. So we decided wouldn’t it be funny if we wrapped the rail of his balcony in toilet paper or something-”

“-and so we did, like snuck into his house because Yixing still has his key from the one time Jongdae went on vacation and asked Yixing to water his plants, and wrapped his whole rail in 12 rolls enough of toilet paper-“

“-but then there was a freak accident,“ Yixing scratches his head.

“-like seriously,” Luhan throws up his hands. “how could we even anticipate that-“

“What happened?” Baekhyun interrupts.

“How do we even explain this…?” Luhan taps his chin.

“Well like it was kind of drizzling that night,” Yixing begins to describe. “Like on and off, and so the toilet paper was halfway dissolving and already becoming a mess by the time we left-“

“-and Jongdae has this super crazy neighbor right above him, right-“

“-I guess it was justified though,” Yixing looks over at Luhan. “I mean her husband did cheat on her multiple times, at least according to Jongdae-“

“-yeah true. Well anyway she’s a pretty intense baker I guess, but we’re just assuming that. She had copious amounts of sugar and we have no idea why-“

“-yeah, anyway, so as far as we can tell, her husband tried to apologize to her that night, and she got super angry, opened one of those 50 pounds of sugar bags and proceeded to dump it down her window, I guess with the intention to pour it on her husband-“

“-but there was a really strong headwind-“

“-and like half of it blew onto Jongdae’s baloney, and coated our TP creation-”

“-and he wakes up really late on Sundays, like one o’clock so he had no idea,” Yixing breaks out laughing. “And that gave enough time for the ants to discover it and to call their brethren.”

“And so when he wakes up the next day, he has the gigantic dripping, sticky and sugary toilet paper wad hanging on his balcony rail, that’s acting like some sort of call signal for all of the neighborhood’s sugar-loving insects.”

“So since his balcony is now basically a cesspool of sugary toilet paper and ant swarms thanks to us,” Yixing points to Jongdae lobbing another tissue wad into Luhan’s cubicle, “We’ll put up with that, because we’re pretty damn sorry.”

“Should we clean it up today?” Luhan looks at Yixing out of the corner of his eye. “Though I don’t really want to.”

“Probably,” Yixing laughs again. “But let’s wait until he explicitly asks.”

“When I think about it though, it’s only going to get worse.”

“True,” Yixing rubs his forehead. “Then let’s go after work.”

“Also,” Luhan looks at Baekhyun, expression seemingly pitying. “I wouldn’t feel to bad about Chanyeol. He didn’t invite you just because he doesn’t want you in particular to see his presentation while his edges are still rough.”

“Yeah, you’ve never seen him concentrated have you? He cuts the weird shit when he gets focused. It’s almost weird. The conference is in a few days, so he’s really nervous,” Yixing looks sympathetic as well. “I’d say he’s almost out of his mind at this point really, and honestly you’re not missing out on much. The presentation is as boring a fuck. I really wouldn’t even want to see it once, much less three or four times if I had the choice-“

“My bad, the line was pretty long,” Chanyeol’s deep voice cuts in as the door slams shut behind him, and he walks quickly, sandwich held like book in his right hand. “Sorry about that.”

“Oops, there’s our cue to leave.” Luhan and Yixing turn around and skirt back to the conference table.

“Hey Chanyeol,” Baekhyun calls out in a voice that sounds small just before Chanyeol opens the conference room door.

“Yeah?” Chanyeol pauses, cocking his head to look at Baekhyun.

“When do you want to leave?”

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol glances at Baekhyun. “Do you need to go already?”

“Well...I mean I’m done with my work. But I can go whenever.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol looks over his shoulder and into the conference room before turning back to Baekhyun. “Well then you leave first. I’d feel bad if I kept you waiting.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll stick around, I drove you here anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Chanyeol begins to unwrap his sandwich. “I can always catch a ride with Kris or Kyungsoo or someone.”

It sounds oddly like Baekhyun’s replaceable and his heart pangs uncomfortably. He doesn’t like that feeling at all, and so he answers, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay, thanks. But if you get bored, you can just head home first,” with a careless wave, Chanyeol quickly slips through the door.

And as the door swings shut Baekhyun realizes the source of the discomfort in his chest. It’s the feeling of loss. It’s the feeling of not being able to monopolize Chanyeol’s attention, even for a moment, for the first time.

He doesn’t like it.

And so he waits for some reassurance, waits for Chanyeol to turn around before the door swings shut, to make eye contact and flash his usual heartening grin reserved for Baekhyun before he makes his way to the projector.

But, for the first time, Chanyeol doesn’t.

And Baekhyun wonders what else he’s taken for granted.

~o~

| do you even lift, part I |

“Jongdae,” Junmyeon peers over the edge of Junmyeon’s cubicle. “Are you strong?”

Jongdae turns to look at Junmyeon over his shoulder, “I guess…? I mean I’d like to think so.”

“Awesome, could you think you could help me move these,” Junmyeon kicks a file-filed box with his foot and motions to a few similar sized boxes behind him. “Over to the conference room?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jongdae stands, rolling his sleeves up.

He walks over to the box, sizing it up mentally. It’s not that big, but there is a fair amount of papers shoved into it. But still, shouldn’t be a problem, he thinks as he bends down to pick it up.

“Thanks,” Junmyeon smiles, cringing slightly when he points to his bicep. “I would, but I had arm day yesterday.”

“Arm day?”

“I’m starting to work out, and yesterday was the day I focused on building up my arms,” Junmyeon puffs his chest and holds a body-builder pose for a split-second before wincing and sheepishly relaxing. “Ouch, I’m really sore today though.”

“Ah,” Jongdae eyes Junmyeon’s wiry frame skeptically, bending down and clasping the handles of the box. “Interesting.”

“Lift with your legs, not with your back, so you don’t injure yourself,” Junmyeon hovers over Jongdae. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jongdae begins to stand, gripping the handles even tighter as he starts to rise.

And the box doesn’t budge. Jongdae tries again, lifting with more force this time. He gets the box about a centimeter off the ground before his arms begin to shake and gravity threatens to rip his limbs off, and he releases the box with a solid thump.

“Uh, you can start moving it now,” Junmyeon prods unhelpfully.

“You’re not helping. What’s in here?” Jongdae turns to Junmyeon, massaging his arms. “Bricks?”

“Well, no,” Junmyeon bends down and casually rifles through the files. “At least I don’t think so. Wait…did I…?”

“You don’t think so?”

“Whoops,” Junmyeon begins to move folders more purposefully, suddenly pausing, pulling out a pair of 40-lb dumbbells (with an eerie ease) before tossing them onto the floor. “Forgot that these were in here. I used them to work out my arms yesterday and I guess I just threw them in. My bad.”

Jongdae just stares at the dumbbells, then at Junmyeon’s biceps (which are quite built into respectable masses of muscle, Jongdae notices), and back at the dumbbells again, blinking slowly through the whole process, “How does one simply forget that they left 80 pounds of weight in a box?”

Junmyeon raps his knuckles against his head, smiling guiltily. “I dunno how I forgot, I’m kinda scattered.”

“I’m not even sure scattered begins to cover it,” Jongdae mutters as he crouches down again, hooking his fingers through the box handles.

And this time, Jongdae gets the box about a foot of the ground, arms straining against the weight, tendons popping out of his neck as he tries to walk forward with it. He gets a few knee buckling steps before he’s forced to drop the box on the floor.

“What else…is in there?” Jongdae pants, turning to face Junmyeon, bracing himself against his knees.

“Shouldn’t be anything,” Junmyeon walks over and pokes through the box again. “Yeah, just paper.”

“Are you serious?” Jongdae lets his arms dangle, a jelly-like weak feeling settling into them.

“Yeah.” With an effortlessness Jongdae can only envy, Junmyeon stoops down and lifts the box, smoothly bringing it to the height of his waist, talking to Jongdae over his shoulder as he walks to the conference room. “It’s okay if you can’t. I’ll get someone else to help, like Minseok or something.”

“Seriously…out of everyone…Minseok?”

“I heard my name?” Minseok sticks his head out the door.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon yells from the conference room. “Could you help me with the boxes?”

“Sure,” Minseok waddles over, glancing inquisitively at Jongdae. “Why aren’t you helping out?”

“They’re heavy,” Jongdae defends himself, resting against the wall, cradling his wrist to emphasize his point. “Couldn’t lift them.”

“Oh,” Minseok puts his hands on his waist, sizing up the box. “Okay.”

“Really heavy,” Jongdae emphasizes. “Good luck.”

Minseok stoops down and picks up the box without a hitch.

“Really heavy, huh,” Minseok raises an brow at Jongdae as he stacks the box on top of another and raises both like they weigh next to nothing. “Bro, do you even lift?”

Jongdae gapes. No, he can’t say he does.
.
Jongdae is a lot more self-conscious about his muscles when he walks around the office the rest of the day. Especially when he walks past the receptionist’s desk, where Tao sits comfortably in his brotank, bulked up arms and built shoulders clearly framed and visible.

“So, do you go to the gym?” Jongdae leans against Tao’s desk.

“…yes?” Tao gives him a nonplussed look. “To supplement wushu.”

“Ah,” Jongdae utters as he attempts to inconspicuously compare the size of his bicep with Tao’s.

“What…are you doing?” Tao, still thoroughly confused, notices Jongdae’s efforts and slowly shields his bicep from view with his hand.

“How much can you lift?” Jongdae disregards Tao and slightly flexes his arm in attempt to make it look at least half as muscular as Tao’s. With slight disappointment, he fails.

“I’d say…250 pounds?” Tao slowly moves his arm under the desk and out of sight, still shooting Jongdae weirded out looks. “On bench press.”

“…Oh,” Jongdae suddenly feels exceedingly weak. He immediately stops comparing his arm and stands up straight.

“Do…” Tao looks at Jongdae skeptically. “…you bench?”

“I’ve tried it,” Jongdae looks at his watch, and suddenly remembers he has some work he could be doing right now.

And inevitably, Tao asks, “How much?”

Jongdae looks down and picks his nails for a minute before mumbling, “I got to…85…once.”

“Oh,” Tao bites the bottom of his lip and nods awkwardly. “Nice personal achievement?”

“…I’m going to go do work now.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”
.
“What’s up with people working out anyway?” Jongdae sits as the base of Baekhyun’s doorway, idly fiddling with a piece of duct tape he found on the ground somewhere. “I mean like, what’s the point of sitting in a room, lifting things with relatively high gravitational forces, with the purpose of looking like a beefcake?”

“…huh?” Baekhyun mumbles after a few seconds.

Jongdae can tell Baekhyun’s only half listening, fingers typing a million words per minute, pausing only on occasion to pull up a new window. But he thinks he can find a non-exercise sympathizer in Baekhyun. Frame lean and limbs wiry, it’s clear Baekhyun doesn’t lift.

“Like, do you think we need to work out at a gym?”

“Oh,” Baekhyun swivels around, and shakes his head. “No. In fact, I personally can’t go the gym at all.”

“You can’t lift the weights either?” Jongdae asks hopefully. Maybe there was someone else here that was average as h was (or even better, a bit below) in the fitness sense.

“What?” Baekhyun looks like he’s slightly insulted. “No, training with weights is just incredibly boring.”

“Oh,” Jongdae deflates, and he feels inadequate once again. “Boring?”

“Yeah, I don’t like working out without a specific purpose other than pure fitness,” Baekhyun shrugs. “I need to be in a game or something, like given the incentive of winning to make me want to exercise.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol suddenly appears in the hallway and steps over Jongdae, extending a takeout rice bowl for Baekhyun. “So that’s why you never go running with me.”

“Yeah. Also because of the length of your legs. You’re too fast you know,” Baekhyun eyes Chanyeol’s legs as he pulls out a pair of metallic chopsticks. “I can’t keep up. So I’ll stick to pickup basketball games, thanks.”

“They’re not that long…” Chanyeol looks down himself. “And doesn’t basketball favor tall people too?”

“Your legs like a foot taller than mine. At least,” Baekhyun snorts as he pops the container open. “It makes a pretty big difference. And yeah, basketball does. But that’s why you have to carefully select the right people to play with. Speaking of which…Jongdae?”

“No thanks,” Jongdae feels a bit self-conscious of his height now.

“How about me?” Chanyeol waves his arms. “Recruit me!”

“Rejected,” Baekhyun grabs a bite of food with his chopsticks (and while Baekhyun doesn’t notice the way Chanyeol cringes instinctively at the word, but Jongdae sure does. Poor guy). “On the basis of being too tall.”

“Nooo.”

“Suck it.”

“Oh yeah, so how’s the weather down there hen?” Chanyeol leans in teasingly. “Haven’t been at that height since I was, I don’t know, eleven? ”

“Oh, you know,” Baekhyun mutters through a mouthful of food, hugging the container to his chest. “Clear, with a high chance of you suck and I’m not sharing any of this with you anymroe.”

“Nooo,” Chanyeol makes grabbing motions with his fingers, face pulled into a cartoonish apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, you’re really tall Baekhyun. Food, please?”

“Okay, fine,” Baekhyun gives the bowl to Chanyeol.

“Like tall…for a short person,” Chanyeol snickers, rolling his sleeves up as he prepares to take a bite. And Jongdae notices as the sleeve of the dress shirt is folded back to reveal forearm, Chanyeol’s arms are quite built. In fact, as Chanyeol brings the food to his face there are muscles rippling that Jongdae didn’t realize existed, he observes as he looks back at his own, very smooth forearm.

“Food rights relinquished. Give that back,” Baekhyun mock glares and reaches for the bowl.

“Hey Chanyeol,” Jongdae asks suddenly. “You lift too, right?”

“Huh?” Chanyeol furrows his brows and flicks his eyes upwards as he thinks. “No, at least not since college.”

“But your arms…”

“Oh, I was on a team,” Chanyeol glances down at his forearm and laughs. “Wow they’ve gotten a lot less toned from what they used to be.”

“Used to be?” Jongdae nearly spits.

“Yeah,” Chanyeol flexes his arm. “I used to be, like, actually swoll.”

“Don’t use that to describe yourself,” Baekhyun buries his face in the palm of his hand in pseudo humiliation. “So embarrassing.”

“I could have used jacked,” Chanyeol points out. “Like, I’m jacked up. Yeeeuh, brah.”

“Stahp,” Baekhyun grimaces visibly. “That’s just as bad.”

“Which sport what it?” Jongdae cuts in, wondering exactly what Chanyeol did to get arms like that-

“I did crew.”

Oh, go figure. And Jongdae leaves the room a minute later feeling very, very feeble.

.

With his masculinity thoroughly challenged, (and thoroughly beaten), Jongdae trudges his way to the break room.

“Oh hey Jongdae,” Kyungsoo snaps Jongdae out of his depressed trance, turning around from his newspaper in welcoming.

“Hey,” Jongdae greets listlessly, dragging his feet as he moves to a chair.

“Oh you might want to watch out for-oh…“ Kyungsoo flinches when Jongdae trips over the computer on the floor. “Sorry I didn’t warn you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” Jongdae picks himself up, scrutinizing the machine on the ground. “What’s that for?”

“I’m recycling it,” Kyungsoo reaches back and pats the top of the monitor. “Got a newer one with a quieter fan.”

“No, it’s on the first floor, but I can’t carry it myself,” Kyungsoo scratches his head. “Like I can’t pick up the systems unit at all. I’m weak.”

“Join the club,” and Jongdae lightens up at the prospect of not being weak alone. “Have you noticed how our office has a crazy obsession with fitness?”

“Yeah, and they’re all crazy strong. Makes me feel even more weak.”

“Do you work out?”

“Nope,” Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Don’t have the time. And I can’t pick up any weight.”

“That makes the two of us,” Jongdae holds out a fist and Kyungsoo fist bumps it. It feels better, Jongdae thinks, not being the only scrawny guy in the office.

Kyungsoo pats his stomach and grins. “I joke sometimes that I only have a one pack. No abs at all in this region.”

“I know that feel,” Jongdae looks down at his own flat stomach. “It’s a bad feel.”

“Hey,” a low voice interjects and a hand lands on Kyungsoo’s hair, fingers drumming on the top of his head. “I’m finished now.”

Kyungsoo grabs the hand and leans his head back, face breaking out into a smile, “Hey Jongin.”

“You needed me?”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo hits the computer’s system unit with his knuckles. “Can you help me move this to recycling?”

“Sure,” Jongin rolls up his sleeves (his arms are pretty toned for a high school kid, Jongdae notes with resigned envy). “Do you need me to carry it for you?”

“If you could,” Kyungsoo gets up and picks the monitor up with both hands.

“Sure no problem,” Jongin grasps the systems unit, tilting it and sliding a hand under the box before lifting the machine up without much effort.

“We’ll be back,” Kyungsoo balances the monitor on his leg to give a Jongdae a quick wave.

But Kyungsoo’s pretty clumsy, and the monitor begins to slide of his leg. Kyungsoo does a quick reflexive dance to regain control, catching it just before it hits the ground and smiling sheepishly at Jongin.

“You got it?” Jongin jumps slightly, readjusting his grip on the systems unit.

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo sighs with relief. “Want to go?”

“Sure,” Jongin passes through the doorway, a little too far to the right, and collides with doorway with the corner of the machine on his way out, metal clanging loudly against wood. “Whoops.”

“Haha careful Jongin,” Kyungsoo laughs, an expression of high amusement spreading across his face as they make their way down the hall. “We’re like walking hazards…”

Ah, it must be pretty nice having a mentee.

~◙~

|| episode 9 ||