Work Text:
Wonwoo's life split into three: his life at home— with the seemingly unrelated pair of boys who'd followed him one day, his life at work— which consisted of roughly translated transcripts to be passed onto interns and coworkers who'd silently take care of the others, and his life as an alcoholic— spending every night at Hoshi's bar with his moonshine.
Tonight's dinner consisted of fries, takoyaki, and moonshine; Wonwoo seems to have forgotten about the curious boys at his apartment for the night.
He'd always wonder what their names might be, they had never told him. It seems as if they didn't know, as well. They've only said that they were both born on the eighteenth of February, and one of them is older by a year.
Wonwoo felt as if he'd found a temporary home with them. They share a bed, they eat breakfast together, they find things to do in Wonwoo's free time together, but Wonwoo only feels a brotherly type of connection with them. They agree when he states the thought out loud during dinner once.
"You know my order. It's always been the same. Add takoyaki for tonight, I'm feeling like seafood." The usual chatter in the bar was deafening; a tidal wave against the dry sand, disrupting in a sense.
Wonwoo's usual seat was sturdy, as if his weight had never bothered it in the couple years he'd been sitting there, in the same seat, ordering the same thing every night. Takoyaki had never been something that suited Wonwoo's taste, the octopus was too unexpected when he'd chew, and in times, it made him feel like he wanted to puke the loneliness out of his system.
Maybe tonight wasn't the night for that. The takoyaki tasted wonderful; the octopus had been removed only for him tonight.
Hoshi is an enigma waiting to be solved, and Wonwoo wants to solve the puzzle that is Hoshi. Yet he had never exerted effort into doing it, so how will he find out? He doesn't know, but he wants to.
"How come you're here every night? No children? A wife? Family?" Hoshi asks, leaning on the counter, polishing a shot glass.
"I come here to forget the problems I've solved today. Tell me," Wonwoo pauses for a sip of his drink. "do you remember the problems you've solved?" Hoshi hums, patting the table and placing the polished shot glass down.
"Maybe I do.” He chuckles, the sound is coming from the bottom of his stomach. His expression quickly changes into its previous state. “D’you have someone at home with you?" He fills Wonwoo's shot again once it's been fully consumed. The question seems sincere.
"Yeah, I have two boys. They live with me— for now." Wonwoo nods, drinking out his shot and eating a bit of fries. Hoshi hums again, fixing up orders for the other customers. Hoshi and Wonwoo— they've had conversations less than words could summarize. A silent understanding between them.
"You have a girl?" Hoshi piques, mixing a cocktail of orange juice and tequila, probably for a minor.
Wonwoo looks blankly at the ceiling, "No," The air is stiff but terribly comforting, the perfect moment to open up, Wonwoo thought. "I think- I think love is like playing the devil in chess; you know you’re about to lose five minutes before it even happens, so you just let it happen. Then, it becomes a memory." He says slowly, as if communicating with a child. "I'd rather be living life alone. It’s better than forcing yourself onto something you don’t want."
Hoshi hums, nodding in agreement. "Are you happy?" Wonwoo almost misses the question, but he doesn't.
"Am I happy? I've never asked myself that, but am I satisfied? Absolutely."
Hoshi turns around to deep-fry the fries and form the takoyaki into the tiny spheres that they are, "What is satisfying about the life you live now? Do you think you've served your purpose?"
Wonwoo shakes his head, "Do I even have a purpose?"
The conversation halted at that, Hoshi leaves to serve orders for a small while.
"I always get asked these questions," He returns behind the counter, half facing Wonwoo. He clears his throat, a high pitched mocking voice at the ready. “'Oh deary! How's your life been? You have a wife now? A sufficient job?' I'd always reply with 'It's okay. I don't have time. It's paying.' " Wonwoo snorts into his glass, making moonshine drip onto the clean surface of the counter due to his stifled chuckling and shaky hands. Hoshi just accesses the spillage and wipes it clean.
"That voice was terrifying, please don't do that again." Wonwoo just continues to laugh at the burlesque before Hoshi stops his laughing by saying something along the lines of, "You should smile more," or something. The ringing in his ears continue to rid him of his well-deserved hearing. "I'm sorry— I should what? I couldn't hear you." Wonwoo leans in closer, enough to make sure that nothing Hoshi says slips away from his grasp.
"I said you should smile more, maybe it'll be better than frowning." Hoshi looks up at the clock up on the wall behind him, it says quarter past three in the morning. He then proceeds to clean everything by the time all the customers, except Wonwoo, had left. Wonwoo watches him silently, moonshine shot still in his hand, paper cup and plate satisfyingly clean atop the counter. Wonwoo rises, tumbling a bit and composing himself. He was slightly buzzed, only ever so slightly. He never drank past his limit, he knew when to stop and avoid the consequences of the dusk.
"How much is on my tab?" Wonwoo dusts the imaginary dust away from his trousers and coat. He has never spotted a single speck of dust inside Hoshi’s bar, it was as clean as a newly washed plate.
"Affordable." Hoshi says from under the counter, fixing up glass bottles to donate in the morning.
"Right. Put tonight's meal on the tab for me, will you?" He just waves goodbye to the tufts of black hair emerging from under the desk and pushes the entrance open slightly, enough to fit him.
He had stayed for half an hour after closing and Hoshi let him.
♠️
Wonwoo wakes up with both sides of the bed empty, the boys gone. The wafting smell of kimchi fried rice flowing through the warm air of Wonwoo's apartment. He drags his feet over to the dining table, sitting himself in between the chairs that the boys occupy. He hasn't brushed his teeth, disgusting, he knows. He figures that it's a waste of toothpaste and water to brush your teeth before breakfast.
"What time did you go home last night? Your dinner went cold." The boy with the sharper nose asks as if Wonwoo hadn't been missing dinner every night for the past month in exchange for moonshine and fries.
"Split the food between you two for now, I'll call if I'll eat here." He chews the rice thoroughly.
"Stop doing that, that's disgusting." The other one says, his eyebrows furrowing together after Wonwoo does it louder and pointy nose copies him.
They eventually finish eating— Wonwoo treads over to the bathroom while the boys play with the vinyl records hung above the couch.
Wonwoo dresses himself in his usual white button-up, paired with khakis and an oversized wool sweater dyed royal blue. The armpits are ripped, maybe Junhui will stitch the holes closed for him later in the day, but first, he has to arrive at work.
The morning traffic in Anyang bothered Wonwoo very much, yet he thinks none of it. It's not under his control that people are hazed with sleep at half past five in the morning. The minimum amount of time he has to be stuck in traffic is thirty minutes, or less, if he's lucky.
The usually petty drivers perhaps had a good breakfast today, for Wonwoo was fifteen minutes earlier than usual.
Once he's all seated at his desk, he calls for Junhui. "Morning, think you could fix, um," Wonwoo lifts up his arms above his head, seeing Junhui physically flinch. "these...?" He removes the sweater vest before Junhui nods, mumbling about something like having enough time before doing actual work. Wonwoo clears his desk of translation requests as a thanks.
A couple minutes into Junhui stitching his sweater vest for him and writing due dates down to be organized, Jihoon shuffles in, briefcase in tow. Wonwoo keeps his eyes on his planner, pen clicks fill the air.
"You know those magicians who hold a briefcase up in the air and pretend that it's stuck?" Jihoon and Junhui hum simultaneously, "You look like them, Jihoon. You trying to tell us you've decided that fame's your thing and you're gonna abandon us any minute?" Jihoon scoffs, grumbling about entertainment and the list of things he doesn't consider a job on his way to the desk beside Wonwoo's.
Wonwoo gets a pain similar to having shoved up ground pepper into your nose after going through an English paper about pepper. It burns under his nose, sinusitis forging on. The clock shows three minutes after twelve; lunch. The lunch hour in Anyang has never been as busy as the ones you see in K-dramas set in Seoul. Wonwoo never wants to visit Seoul—what will he achieve if he does? He'll just be forced to adapt; he's fine the way he is in the present, and in Anyang.
Junhui hands Wonwoo his sweater vest, all patched up and nice again. Where does Junhui get his thread? Wonwoo abandons the thought and goes out for lunch. With the chances of no fries and takoyaki to comfort him, he just buys ramen from a small nearby stall. Savory and affordable, definitely his style. The pet store cats are calling out to him in the wind, by the form of cat fur in the air. Smoke and pollen are also blending in the air.
The bell rings as he enters the store, the mewling of the cats and their kittens just beside Wonwoo mixes with the endlessly irritating scratching of the dogs in their cages from the background. The owner greets him with a nod and a smile. A cat is silently peering at him in the midst of mewling kittens, the gaze turns back down, and the cat is peacefully resting. Wonwoo pets the kittens and their mothers but not the sleeping cat.
He returns to the office after rolling away cat fur off his hands, shedding season has started. A new request marked urgent in big, bold red letters from a stamp placed strategically on his desk to disregard the other translations in queue. It says English to Korean under the stamp, most probably from a curious citizen. "When is it due?" Jihoon asks, while Wonwoo skims through the six pages worth of content. It's a pamphlet about the phenomenon of white lies and how they can still affect every little thing. A psychology magazine free gift, by the looks of it.
"April fourth, next week, Wednesday.” Wonwoo scratches his cheek while checking his watch. “Huh, today’s Wednesday."
Jihoon hums, "It is.” He’s writing in his notebook again. “Good enough. I'll roughly translate the first three pages by the thirtieth and leave the rest to you, Wonwoo. But I'll help with the final translation." Wonwoo nods, "I'll most probably inform you about the pamphlet tonight or tomorrow morning."
When it comes to Jihoon, work is work, after all. Wonwoo and Jihoon have been friends since college days, being beside each other during Economics does that to people. Luckily, Jihoon had sprouted the plan that they enter business together, which is currently why they're here in this small but comfortable office space right now. Leasing had been difficult, at least for Jihoon, he was responsible for the work space and Wonwoo only had to pay his part. The journey of it was as smooth sailing as smooth sailing gets. It provides food, shelter, and money for Wonwoo to use for his alcoholism.
They all clock out together after a moderately paced day at work, each going separate ways. Wonwoo heads for Hoshi's bar, and as Wonwoo looks back, Junhui and Jihoon are walking together, talking comfortably between themselves.
The bar is barely full, except for an old man by the counter and two exceptionally young-looking adults sitting in the far corner by the walls. By the few seconds of Wonwoo going to his usual seat, Hoshi already had his shot filled with moonshine and a cup of fries was sitting beside it.
"Thanks." The imaginary dust was once again piling onto Wonwoo's lap after Hoshi's elongated silence.
"Can you tell me your viewpoint about lies?" The sudden question startled Wonwoo out of his moonshine-staring daze, shot glass being held up by the tips of his fingers.
"Lies, huh?"
He scratches his chin, there's stubble growing. "I'm not very fond of them, actually. Why waste all the time in the world constructing something as fake as plastic when you can just tell the truth? Sure, it may hurt others but are you not already hurting others by lying to them?" Hoshi nods, cheek laying on his palm while leaning on the countertop. "For example: You have a child that asked you how children are made. You don't have to tell them right away, you can wait until they're old enough but you don't have to lie since they eventually have to know."
Hoshi hums, "I see."
Wonwoo downs his shot, tilting his head up to let gravity control the remaining droplets of moonshine. Hoshi watches as Wonwoo drinks, tracing his bobbing adam's apple with his gaze.
Someone drops on the seat next to Wonwoo. Blonde hair, pink faux fur scarf, hot pink stilettos, a matching dress, perfect curves, bunchy cheeks, and sharp eyes. "That's Seungkwan, or Peach, if you want. He performs here." Hoshi explains before sliding over to Seungkwan and taking his order.
Wonwoo waits for Hoshi to return, he does, after a few minutes of chatter with Seungkwan. "Is your bar under government watch? Because it'd be a problem if it were. Not that I'm saying Seungkwan being here is bad or something, but aren't we shunned by, like, everyone in this fucking world?"
Hoshi nods, "It's not under government watch. And I agree, people can be like that."
Wonwoo nods, "When's his show starting?" Hoshi doesn't look up from the shot glass he's polishing. "Around nine."
A knowing glint shines in Hoshi’s eyes, his face indifferent. “We?”
Wonwoo eats a fry, and waves his hand around. He asks, “What’s wrong with that?” Hoshi pulls out a box of cigarettes and offers Wonwoo a stick but he denies, Hoshi shrugs and lights it up.
He puffs in the smoke, and exhales. Wonwoo is suddenly out of breath. He thinks secondhand smoking, asthma, and lung cancer isn’t as bad anymore if it’s with Hoshi.
It’s half past eight by the time Wonwoo finishes his cold fries because he might have spilled a bit of alcohol on it and alcoholic fries does not taste as good as it sounds. Hoshi is gone, walking around, serving orders, cleaning up shot glasses in front of other customers. Wonwoo thinks of the fact that he doesn’t have the right to know whatever Hoshi is doing.
“What’s bothering you?” A smooth voice coos next to him, it’s Seungkwan.
Wonwoo rubs his cheek, “I don’t know. But what I do know is that it isn’t really trivial—for me, anyway.” He looks over to Seungkwan, then to Hoshi, and lastly to his shot glass.
Seungkwan follows his gaze and stares directly at Hoshi. He hums, “Boy problems?”
Wonwoo doesn’t peep or move, it isn’t really trivial. He doesn’t move but he tenses up. Seungkwan would really be a good dart player when it comes to people like Wonwoo.
(“Being in love is too exhausting, when you’re in need of affection, your partner isn’t feeling it, and vice versa. You constantly seek out the other on the wrong times. But we don’t know when my opinion will be changed, so let’s just say my past experiences weren’t exactly satisfactory or fulfilling.” Wonwoo’s throat felt dry after saying that, remembering all his past flings that barely lasted more than three months.
Hoshi nods. A disheartened look on his face. “I simply don’t have the time and energy for that now, I’m turning too old for anyone’s liking.”)
“It is trivial,” Seungkwan pauses and looks at the wall clock in front of them, it says a quarter before nine. “I hope you solve these problems with Soonyoung. He isn’t dumb, but he’s walking a snail’s pace.” Wonwoo looks confused for a second before he slots the pieces together.
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” An idiom to live by, in Wonwoo’s entire opinion. “Hey Soonyoung, mind if I ask a questionable question?” He fidgets with the cup discarded in front of him, Soonyoung shakes his head, and Wonwoo opens his mouth to start when Soonyoung lifts his palm, eyes trained on Wonwoo’s lips.
“Soonyoung?” He lifts a brow, gaze fleeting on the stage where the crowd has gathered around. Soonyoung hums, “I’m guessing he let it slip?”
Wonwoo nods at that, scratching his chin twice. “Why would you keep it hidden, anyway?”
Soonyoung sighs, “What was your questionable question?” Effectively dodging the ball thrown into his court by throwing a different ball into his opponent’s court.
Wonwoo will not let this slip, but he respects Soonyoung’s privacy. The ends of his eyebrows twitch, “Basing on the famous idiom, 'Speak of the devil and he shall appear.' Do people sense that they’re being talked about?”
Soonyoung removes the cigarette placed behind his ear and lights it, “Questionable, indeed,” He inhales the smoke as if it was oxygen, sighing a second later. An extended silence looms over them, “If you have ears, yeah. Why did you ask?” Soonyoung was able to maintain his friendly tone even if his words were laced with coldness. Soonyoung’s exhales mix with Wonwoo’s heavy breathing, and smoke fills his lungs. He feels the fatigue gently pull his eyelids closed, so he lays his head on his crossed arms atop the counter.
♠️
Wonwoo feels like his head is going to split in half, and that means something is wrong. He’s broken routine, a hangover welcoming him first thing in the morning.
“Slept well?” Soonyoung calls from the door, he knows the answer, but still asks.
“Couldn’t be more well-rested, buddy.” Wonwoo groans, and Soonyoung smirks.
“There are painkillers on the table and water in the fridge. You know directions to the bar, right? I’ll be there if you need me.” Wonwoo thinks it might be the worst time for whatever he’s feeling, but he feels it anyway. The fondness bursting in his chest is something to be worried about, since it hasn’t happened during any of his past relationships. A nod is all Soonyoung needs from Wonwoo, and that’s it. The relationship Wonwoo thought they’ve formed— it’s nothing but a couple of existential conversations about how their lives are metaphorical oceans littered with plastic, slowly killing them from the inside.
Soonyoung leaves after taking in the sight of Wonwoo, hungover, on his extra mattress. He leaves an extra pair of keys on the table in the kitchen next to the painkillers. He leaves right after.
Wonwoo stands up, steadying himself on the wall and catching his breath. He walks out of the room and is faced with a sparsely decorated living area and a kitchen. The painkillers on the table glare at him, a pair of house keys set beside the bottle. Wonwoo walks over, taking the bottle of painkillers in his hand. He moves over to the fridge, a smaller unit compared to the one he has at home and the one he always catches a glimpse of in Soonyoung’s bar. He takes a bottle of mineral water, then drags his feet to sit on one of the chairs surrounding the table. Wonwoo gulps down two pills with water, an unpleasant look on his face.
He lays his head on the table, forehead creasing while it lays atop the polished wood. His hands reach over to the keys while he lifts his face up to look at his environment. The apartment is messy, but in an organized way. The pile of clothes are in one corner, the bookshelves store the books stacked horizontally, and the coffee table in front of the couch is littered with boxes of cigarettes, and amidst the boxes stands a lone empty ashtray. The bookshelves amuse Wonwoo the most out of the mess. Books being stacked horizontally means that the owner doesn’t read much, since it is impractical to grab a book under three or four books.
Wonwoo stands up, grabs his briefcase from beside the mattress in the room he slept in. He hesitates in grabbing the keys, but he grabs them anyway. He pushes back the chair he sat on, puts the pills back on the shelf, reorganizes the water bottles in the fridge, and takes the bottle he grabbed with him. Wonwoo looks at the interior for a moment before locking the door.
He takes a cab back to his own apartment, where he’ll find the two boys eating breakfast. The small digital clock in the cab says that it’s a quarter to five in the morning. The skies are still dark by the time he gets home. As expected, he finds pointy nose preparing an omelette and the other one sitting on the couch with Bee Gees’s Horizontal playing on the record player. Pointy nose is humming along to Massachusetts over the sound of the omelette being cooked.
“You should be a singer.” Wonwoo states, sitting on the couch next to the other boy says. He thinks that calling these boys ‘pointy nose’ and ‘the other one’ isn’t all too proper so he dares ask, “It’s been a while since I met you both, do you mind if I ask something personal, per se?” The response he gets are simultaneous shakes of their heads. He heaves a sigh, “Do both of you have names? I’m starting to get tired of addressing you as ‘pointy nose’ and ‘the other one’. Sorry if it’s sudden.”
He hears chuckles from the kitchen amidst the gentle clanking of bowls and plates. “Um– well, you could call us by numerals? I’ll be… two.” Two, who was sat beside Wonwoo on the couch, suggests. Wonwoo nods, agreeing to the suggestion. He leaves the couch for the dining table, which fits enough dishes for three people.
“Could we go buy groceries later today? I just want to try something new.” One asks, his tall nose bumping against his glass of water, Wonwoo nods.
“Do anything you want. I think I have some cash laying around in the nightstand, but I’ll just give some to you, just in case. Is seventy thousand enough?” One smiles that bright smile he always has.
He shakes his head, “I have my own, but thank you anyway. I mean– for the shelter and what-not.”
Wonwoo smiles, “If it’s okay with you, then, sure.”
They pause the conversation and eat for a while, the small sound of chopsticks hitting the bowls whenever one of them eats rice makes up for lost time.
“Heard you got hammered. What is up with that?” Jihoon says, not looking up from whatever he’s writing in that notebook of his.
“Sure, yeah.”
Wonwoo nods, “’For there is too less time on our hands to be lying, there is also too much time to not create scenarios only we could dream of.’ That’s real deep.” Jihoon scowls. The pamphlet is laid neatly on Wonwoo’s desk. Then, it dawns on Wonwoo.
“How did you know I got hungover?” Wonwoo lifts his eyebrow.
Jihoon shifts in his seat, “Um– Junhui and I, we know Soonyoung personally. He told me this earlier today. He said, “Do you know this Wonwoo? Tall, lanky, slim, has a briefcase, wearing a royal blue sweater vest?” Real descriptive.” He fiddles with the ring on his left hand’s ring finger.
“Since when did you have that?” Jihoon and Junhui chuckle in chorus. Wonwoo feels peculiar.
“Before we hired Junhui.”
Wonwoo didn’t visit the bar for the entirety of the week. He had something important due. While he still lives, he figures that he should pour out all of his efforts on every single thing.
He arrives home on the last day of the week, before the translation is due. The lights in the apartment are turned off and there’s no sign of the boys. Wonwoo walks to the table to find a ripped piece of composition notebook paper taped messily on a casserole dish. He takes a slow second to sit himself down on one of the chairs. He feels this moment is too familiar, but there’s no bottle of painkillers nor a pair of keys present. He hadn’t returned the keys to Soonyoung.
He gently removes the piece of paper off the casserole dish. It’s written in messy boxed characters, “We went to buy clothes in Hongdae. Will be back by half past ten. Hope it’s still warm. Please sleep early.” Wonwoo smiles and pulls the dish closer to himself; it’s kimchi stew. Fresh and very warm, as if it was prepared right before he entered the apartment. He prepares some rice and a glass of water.
In the middle of his meal, the door opens. It’s not the boys, but Jihoon and Junhui. They walk in wearing clothing that are nothing close to their work clothes. Junhui is wearing a turtleneck tucked in his jeans, and Jihoon is wearing a polo shirt with khaki pants, yet he looks so different from how he normally looks with the assigned work attire. He’d never knew seeing his coworkers outside of work would be this new and eye-opening discovery.
Wonwoo is sitting down by the dinner table, holding his chopsticks up in the middle of shoveling as much rice as he can in his mouth, he also had a dumbfounded expression plastered on his face.
He chews and stabs his chopsticks into the bowl of rice. In a muffled voice, “Do you need anything?” comes out, mouth still chewing. Jihoon walks over and sits in front of Wonwoo on the dining table. “Does he need the keys?” Wonwoo grabs a spoon and piles the fish cakes on it. He takes a big bite and eats some noodles. He chews, chews, and swallows.
The right pocket of his coat is very heavy, but not from the weight of the keys. The keys are placed on the table in a matter of seconds, “Thank him for me, goodnight.” Wonwoo opens his mouth to continue but closes it right after Jihoon smiles and nods with the keys in his pocket.
The pair leaves while Wonwoo finishes his dinner, and the boys come back right after his coworkers leave. They must have seen the couple exit from Wonwoo’s apartment.
“Have you eaten?” is the first thing that exits from One’s mouth once he places the paper bags down on the couch. Two walks to the table and downs a spoonful of the stew. He drops on the seat beside Wonwoo.
He pointed at One, “He bought so much clothes when we could have saved the money.” He groans and Wonwoo chuckles.
“Let him be. When have you both went out—”
The sentence is interrupted by One pulling out a pink faux fur scarf, which seemed oddly familiar to Wonwoo, for it looks identical to the one Seungkwan had on his shoulders the night before he woke up in Soonyoung's apartment. Isn't that Seungkwan’s?
He jumps at the voice that answered. “Yeah, how’d you know?” One smiles with curiosity pooling at the edges. Only then he realized that he must've thought out loud. His face contorts into something between confusion and embarrassment.
His hand is automatically placed above his gaping mouth, “Oh…?” The boys have a chuckle, and Wonwoo clears his throat with a flush on his cheeks. “Met him in the bar I frequent, last week, I think?”
One smiles brighter than ever, “Soonyoung’s bar?”
Wonwoo nods, “Both of you know him?”
They both hum in agreement. He shrugs, “What a small world.”
Not one of them says a thing after Wonwoo speaks, only humming to themselves or briskly walking to their room. Wonwoo happens to be the one walking to their shared room, still in slacks and the button-up shirt he's wearing.
While his face is pressed onto the pillows, Wonwoo exhales a deep sigh. His warm breath slowly dissipates away from the pillow, leaving a heated spot on the cotton. He vaguely remembers a moment so familiar, yet he can't pinpoint exactly what it is. He goes through everything he's done this week, but it's all just translating a short pamphlet too slowly. The previous week has been all sorts of blurry in his mind. Every detail has been fogged over by alcohol and a migraine caused by the night before.
Wonwoo's eyelids force themselves shut before he’s even aware of the fatigue falling over him.
♠️
The sunshine behind the blinds are strong enough to keep Wonwoo from opening his eyes. He yawns and sits up, squinting while stretching his arms over his head. There's no soultry smell from the kitchen, the boys are both occupying the spaces beside him. Wonwoo opens his eyes to the digital clock blaring on the bedside table; it's half past five and he's supposed to be driving to work right now, but he's not.
Wonwoo gets himself cleaned up and ready for work. He hadn't eaten but he’ll live.
Traffic welcomes him when he drives from his complex’s parking lot. This earns him time to wonder why the boys weren't awake before him. The train of thought leaves Wonwoo to choose between three hypotheses: they slept later than him, they were extremely tired from shopping, or it was purely a coincidence. He thinks the second reason is the most plausible but it could be anything that he didn't list.
Wonwoo snaps out of it when he notices the soft and warning car horns from behind his car. He drives off to his workplace half an hour late.
“You're late, for once. Rough night?” Jihoon choruses, pen tapping loudly against his desk. Everything feels like every interrogation scene from every crime movie he had seen, and that's not a lot of movies. Wonwoo sighs and just nods miserably while walking to his desk. His briefcase makes a dull thud on the worn out desk.
“Do you have the pamphlet?” He croaks out, voice seemingly unused the whole morning. The force he puts into sitting down on his chair surprises the only two people in the office, two pairs of eyes dart to him. One pair has furrowed eyebrows and the other a concerned gaze.
“You have it,” Junhui interrupts the three-way staring contest, “Remember?” Wonwoo doesn't. His eyes say the same. Junhui looks over to Jihoon, the perplexed crease above his nose is obvious from the side.
Wonwoo opens his briefcase, head almost going in along with the mess of documents. He pulls out the thin and pocket-sized pamphlet. “Oh,” He smiles. “Yeah.” A relaxed sigh escapes his lips. Wonwoo lays his head on the desk, hand grasping at the small booklet. He takes a deep breath and stands up with the pamphlet in hand, goes to place it on Jihoon’s desk and gets coffee.
Another of Wonwoo's addictions is anything containing caffeine; be it coffee, soda, or anything else. So many things in the world could be considered an addiction but Wonwoo, he chose self-destruction. He’s rotting from the inside-out, Jihoon says. He knows, but it's more difficult to explain once he focuses on thinking about it.
The skies are darker when Wonwoo goes out during his break, or maybe it's just his deteriorating sense of sight. Everything he’d crossed paths with was anything but clear. The alley cats turned to him when he crouched down in front of a garbage can, holding a can of tuna, offering it to them. The cats hesitate, but eventually give in. Wonwoo pets them for a bit, after letting the cats sniff his hand first, as a sign of formality.
He dusts off the stray fur on his khakis, he’ll eventually roll the fur off sometime later, if he gets the chance to. Wonwoo eats from that ramen stall again, after a week. He doesn't visit the cats in the pet store this time, but he passes by to check on them. That one cat is still there, gazing into the sky before Wonwoo looks at it from his height. He waves at it and walks away slowly. He sees it raise its paw and do a waving motion in the corner of his eye.
The day in the office is uneventful; the person who requested the pamphlet translation picked it up, paid, and left. They got more requests over the course of the workday, but they're fine.
Wonwoo walks to Soonyoung's bar after leaving work, it's been a hectic week and a good drink efficiently would make it better. He enters the establishment, eyes focused on where he knew Soonyoung would be.
He gets a tiny flinch and a quiet gasp. A shot glass is placed before him, the careful pour of moonshine mesmerizes Wonwoo after a dull day.
“You do know that you have a deathwish, right?” Wonwoo laughs, controlled and a bit strained. Soonyoung just looks at him, hand on his hip.
“You still serve me my death on a silver platter every time, though.” He counters, raising an eyebrow.
Soonyoung just turns his back to him, preparing orders. Wonwoo forgets that Soonyoung is only obliged to entertain him, along with other customers. They're not friends; but mere strangers. He knows nothing about Soonyoung as a person, only that he likes to ask questions and he lives in an apartment that would look very messy if it was another person living in it.
“Keeping busy?” Soonyoung asks again, pouring an ounce of bourbon out for another person sat beside Wonwoo on the stools, eyes focused on Wonwoo.
“Oh, yeah, I needed to work.” Wonwoo's lips pressed to form a small smile, he nudges the shot glass back to Soonyoung. “The request was urgent and we only had a week to work on it, it was fun, though.” He blinks slowly.
Soonyoung smiles, “That's good, you’d die of alcohol poisoning if you came here the past week,” He hums, licking his lips. “But well, you're here, possibly to die, I don't know. Perhaps.” He pours more liquor in Wonwoo's shot.
“You know it, buddy.” Wonwoo lifts his thumb up and tries to wink. Soonyoung faux-vomits with a fond upturn on his lips. Wonwoo pretends not to notice it.
“You're disgusting. This is why you don't have a spouse.” He looks at Soonyoung with a smug smile but his eyes mean something different. He knows that Soonyoung knows why he isn't married, and the joke is well received, but the first part is what hurt him the most. Technically, he doesn't know if he's hurt, he just feels a clenching pain somewhere in his chest. He awkwardly laughs it off, it doesn't stop the clenching and it made the atmosphere heavier.
None of them spoke, leaving Wonwoo to down his shot. He groans at the burn traveling down his throat, it dissipated quickly, but he wants more. He gently placed the glass down, not because he wants to break it, but because he’s not mad. He wouldn't be mad because Soonyoung is speaking the truth, but it doesn't hurt less with this as a fact.
Soonyoung pours more into his shot, raising an eyebrow at him while simultaneously checking the amount he's putting in. “You should stop.” Wonwoo bitterly laughs at the irony, he's putting in more but telling Wonwoo to stop. How can one person be so cruel? Wonwoo adds in his list of questions he won't get any closure for. And he drinks.
Silence; a drink. More silence; more drinks. The cycle viciously repeats the entire night.
“It's three in the morning,” Soonyoung massages the incoming headache away for a while, he nudges at Wonwoo, who is looking up at the wooden ceiling. “D’you want me to call Jihoon to come pick you up and take you home?” Wonwoo groans, lowering his head to look at Soonyoung. Soonyoung just looks at him back.
“No…” Wonwoo shakes his head, and a little smile is blooming on his face. “Can I have more, please?” He pushes the shot glass farther from himself, and closer to Soonyoung, to his best extent because he's pretty sure he's drunk.
Soonyoung takes the glass in hand and examines it. “Y’know, you're typically not one to drink this much.” He says, in a matter of fact tone of voice. “You drank more than when you last came here, and that ended you up in my apartment.” He looks up at Wonwoo, who’s focusing on him now.
“A mistake.” Wonwoo murmurs, now looking at the glossy varnish of the counter.
Soonyoung makes Wonwoo look at him in the eye. “No,” He states, turning around and putting the shot glass away. “No more drinking.” He faces Wonwoo once again, with Wonwoo looking at him helplessly. “Also, not a mistake.” Wonwoo's eyes widen and his brows furrow together.
“What do you mean?” Wonwoo leans forward, white knuckles grasping on his khaki pants hard enough to rip them.
Soonyoung leans forward too, their faces inches apart, and noses almost touching. “Don't ever say that whatever choice I made was a mistake, because it certainly wasn't.” The harshness of his tone makes Wonwoo want to curl in on himself, but also makes him want to kiss Soonyoung in the lips. And the latter he does.
He's kissing a palm instead of a pair of lips.
“You're drunk,” Soonyoung states, eyes set on Wonwoo still kissing his palm. “Let's get you home, yeah?” Wonwoo whines on his palm, making Soonyoung's eyes widen and slowly pull his palm away. Wonwoo hides his face, looking down at the table again.
Soonyoung picks up his backpack from under the counter and walks over to Wonwoo to take his briefcase. He takes Wonwoo's right arm from under his head and places it on his shoulders, “Hold tight, sweetheart. Don't want you hurting yourself, alright?” Soonyoung smiles at him, but Wonwoo doesn't know how to react, so he just sends another small smile.
They leave the bar with difficulty due to Soonyoung having his hands full, but they eventually get seated safely inside Soonyoung’s car.
“If you don't mind, you’ll be sleeping over at my apartment again, is that fine with you?” He looks over at Wonwoo next to him, and the man just nods. Soonyoung guesses that it's an affirmative and just drives along. The silence causes Wonwoo to fall asleep with his head leaning on the window.
Soonyoung smiles at the sight and gently lays Wonwoo's head on a throw pillow from the backseat at a stoplight.
