Chapter Text
Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t care about much.
He cares about his dog, Pandora. His roommate, Seokjin. Fitness. Art. Music. What he writes, he supposes. The list is short.
As his life tumbles to his destined decomposition, he knows there’s not much he’ll miss. He’ll be buried six feet under knowing he lived as a successful failure with a makeshift family of three. He watches the stars as they get covered in smog progressively more every night, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Quite the life he lives. Powerless.
He walks over the thin grates of the city sidewalk, canopying over a dark abyss. They’re rickety and echo. The ones who stay on the solid pavement shoot him looks of perturbation as he dances and jumps.
Jeongguk doesn’t care. The shoes he wears everyday are beaten and worn anyway.
He’s become accustomed to the chatter he stirs and the backlash that orbits around him. It stopped bothering him a while ago—his writing draws in enough to last. A simple swear at him is like his skin being pinched between fingertips. Painful in the present but no lasting wear. Besides, he has thick skin.
It’s not his fault, it's his job. His income.
Outside his job as a journalist, Jeongguk struggles with meeting people. He can’t recall the last time he made a friend (who wasn't his roommate’s friend), but it’s not like he needs one. His days are simple. Wake up. Exercise. Work. Sleep. Repeat.
Jeongguk’s acclimated to being alone at this point. The universe is better off this way. He has everything he needs in the palm of his hands.
He’s come to realize that as long as the Earth spins, the solar system exists, and the stars still shine, he’s not really alone. Within the solar system, he’s safe. Safe as long as the planets continue to turn and life goes on. The universe will keep him company when society shuts the door on him.
Loneliness is much different than being alone.
༉‧₊˚✧
“Jeon!”
Jeongguk startles and his arm sticks mid-air from where it’s swiping his ID to clock-in. It beeps at him, confirming that he’s present for another day of work.
The person who called him flies past in a whirlwind, flinging a dense stack of papers into his arms.
“Due by the end of the day!”
Jeongguk huffs and shrugs his messenger bag higher up on his shoulder. He travels the unvarying route directly to his cubicle. It’s petite and dingy, as are the other thousand in the room. His is particularly messy. It overflows with paperwork and fly-away documents.
The media assumes that JJK (Jeongguk’s pen name), sharp-tongued columnist, sits as a hawk at the top of the publishing building. They believe he has his talons sunk into the crevices of the city, ready to sink into the prey he desires. He supposably sits stoically with his feet propped up on the backs of others.
For being the publisher’s top-rated, promoted journalist, Jeongguk receives the same treatment as every other low-ranked employee in the building. Jeongguk wants more than this, but he has to put in the work. Jeongguk wants to be more than the ‘brutally curt journalist who ruins people’s careers’. He works and works until the sun collapses in the evening, and he finally leaves under the cast of the moon.
He wants a luxurious chair in his own office—an office that has more area than a bathroom stall. He wants to be able to put his pen to paper and write freely without the shackle chained to his wrist.
Jeongguk knows that he’s replaceable. The publisher can boot him from the company, leaving him stranded in the universe stripped to only his final paycheck and no name.Jin still encourages him to fight back and push for a promotion.
That reminds him. He needs to text Jin to tell him that he’ll be home late.
Slinging his bag to the floor, Jeongguk chucks the mass of paper onto the already hefty mountain. He pulls his headphones from where they’re hooked into the collar of his dress shirt, and stuffs them into his ears and begins to tackle his workload.
He’s a small bird. One with an anchor around its ankle, stopped from flying a new route. Always the same.
Hours later after slaving over the mountainous work, Jeongguk finds the office vacant. The cleaning staff is finishing their rounds, and the lights are flickering off and on.
He sighs and wipes a stiff hand over his face. His phone is flashing with insistent notifications. Jeongguk picks the device up and sees the onslaught of messages from Jin. Jeongguk finally glances at the time display to see that it’s half past nine pm.
Marking a final strike across the page he’s working on, he reluctantly rolls away from his desk, collects his bag along with the finished documents he received earlier and exits the maze of cubicles. He bids farewell to a cleaner he passes by, and he drops the documents into the inbox at the front desk.
His ID releases him from work, and Jeongguk ventures outside into glittering Seoul.
The city is alive, but he feels so, so dead inside.
✧
Jeongguk arrives at their apartment approximately forty minutes later, and he unlocks the door to cold air. Jin is sat slumped on the couch, legs crossed and phone in hand, with the television playing quietly.
Pandora comes scampering over to him, yipping, and weaving between Jeongguk’s legs. He giggles at her and serves pets and rubs in greeting.
The younger grins sweetly at Jin as a peace offering. He places his bag on an empty hook and shoves off his dress shoes. He moves trepidatiously towards the kitchen to wash his hands and to explore the inside of the refrigerator. His dog follows closely at his heels.
“Jin-hyung, where’re the leftovers?” he calls out. Jeongguk doesn’t receive an answer.
He shuffles through the random containers in the fridge, the alcohol, the protein shakes, and the produce. Nothing.
“Jin-hyung?” he asks again. He looks around the kitchen, and there aren’t any pots left out or plates in the sink. He’ll just wait for the other to say something.
He shuts the fridge and crouches down to the floor to snuggle Pandora. She licks his face eagerly, and Jeongguk has to pry her away once his face feels sticky.
“Hello, Pan-ah,” he coos, nuzzling his nose into her soft, brown fur. The dog leans against him and accepts his affection readily.
“Gguk-ah.”
Jin is still in the other room, so Jeongguk stands with his dog scooped up in his arms, and they go over to him. The other stares at the television.
The air is stale for a few beats, and Jeongguk infers that it’s best to stay silent.
“I was going to treat you to dinner. I made a reservation.”
Jeongguk knows there’s more to what he’s saying, but he asks the obvious anyway, “Why can’t we go then?”
The older man finally looks at him. “Jeongguk, it’s almost ten thirty.”
He pauses for a second.
“I made the reservation for seven as a surprise, but of course, you can’t come home at a normal time,”
He deflates, “Hyung—”
“No. I already know what you’re going to say,” Jin cuts him off, standing up. He pitches his voice to mimic his own, “‘I need to be there to get promoted. I need to show them that I’m capable of handling a lot of work!’ They’re using you! They know they can walk all over you because you put in the work. I know you’re trying, but sometimes you need to let go and protest.”
Inside, Jeongguk sinks. The weight of the day pulls at his bones. Jin’s words reverberate through his ribcage.
Jin stands directly in front of the younger and places a warm hand atop his shoulder. Pandora’s eyes track his movement.
“Please, think about yourself, Jeongguk.”
He retracts his hand, Pandora kissing it on its fleeting path.
“I’m going to my room. There’s gotta be something in the fridge that’ll suffice.”
Jeongguk sets Pandora down, and stares at the floor. Jin passes through the apartment and has one hand on his bedroom’s door knob when he hears: “I’m sorry,”
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I want you to do better for yourself,”
“I’m going to try to come home earlier next week. And…and I’ll buy you dinner!” Jeongguk stands with his hands on his hips.
Jin stares at him. He pushes open the door to his bedroom.
“Jin-hyung?”
He halts. “Yes?”
“I love you. Thank you for caring,” the younger murmurs.
Jin smiles for the first time that night. “Love you, too. Eat and sleep well.”
Jeongguk eats a meal out of the random containers in the fridge. He drags his fatigued body and mind to bed to sleep. With Pandora snuggled into the crook of his legs, he falls asleep awaiting another repetition of a monotonous day when his eyes reopen.
Jeongguk dreams of another world where he isn’t always the brunt of feeling hopeless.
༉‧₊˚✧
He awakens at six am to the whirring of the cars outside his window and the sound of the garbage truck trudging down the streets. Groaning, he smacks his hand against his phone to quiet the alarm, and he sloshes his leaden legs over the side of the bed. Somehow throwing his body into an upright position, he hobbles to his closet to grab a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and his sneakers to put on at the door. Jeongguk dresses hastily—he’ll get sweaty anyway.
Now fairly presentable, he exits his room to go to the kitchen where he quickly snacks on a banana. Pandora, sensing her owner’s disappearance, trots to him, and waits for a piece of fruit.
He huffs at her playfully, “Good morning to you too, Pan.”
His voice is groggy but airy as he knows if he woke Jin before the sun arose, he’d be triggering an irreconcilable war. He made that mistake once, and he refuses to do it ever again.
The companions finish their small snack, and Jeongguk goes to brush his teeth.
“You wanna go for a run, Pan-ah?” he asks the dog, seeing her sitting by his running shoes with the leash in her mouth.
She barks softly (she knows the wrath of Jin, too), and Jeongguk grins at her. He fastens her collar and her harness to the leash, puts his shoes on, and they’re out the door.
He loves their runs in the mornings. It’s freedom with no one awake. He loves how he can watch the sun crack and spill like a broken yoke in the sky. He loves as it bleeds and spreads like wildfire through the sky.
He acknowledges this as real life. Not the modern day-to-day, but as the everlasting state of the earth.
They run for twenty blocks, and they stop at their usual checkpoint, the park. Pandora always chooses to lay in the grass while Jeongguk performs a routine of exercises. By the end, he’s panting in sync with his dog, but he enjoys it. He craves the harsh feeling of air entering and escaping his lungs.
This is a part of real life. Thrill from change, thrill from development— not thrill from sitting in front of a screen and papers.
They leave, heading home, and completing the same distance from their wake. They’re quiet when they enter the apartment sans their panting breaths, and Jeongguk tiptoes around to prepare for work.
He eats breakfasts and pours kibble into the dog bowl and prepares his usual lunch. He packs the same meal every day. Then, he showers until the water turns cold, but he likes the chill deep in his bones. He styles his hair and smothers a gooey skin product onto his face.
He wishes he could dress better. He just doesn’t have the time or importance to go shopping and splurge on extravagant articles of clothing. He manages with his discounted button-downs and identical pairs of black slacks. His casual clothing consists of ancient jeans, joggers, and oversized tops. Who is he to represent himself anyway?
When he steps over Pandora on his way out, she’s slumbering, completely dead to the world. Jeongguk bends down to place a feather light kiss on her silky forehead.
Jeon Jeongguk doesn’t mind mornings all that much.
✧
“Jeon!”
Jeongguk whips around to his shouting coworker. It’s the same one as yesterday, and he expects another stack of paperwork, but his hands remain empty.
Instead, the worker rushes past him yelling, “Boss wants to see you A-S-A-P!”
Jeongguk resists the urge to roll his eyes. His boss’s calling for him either meant he messed up a miniscule detail in the paperwork he turned in, or there is a favor that needs to be done.
He scans his ID to start the day and treks up the stairs to his boss’s private office.
His boss’s door is ajar when he reaches it, and he lightly knocks against the frosted glass.
“Jeon! Come in,” the executive calls and Jeongguk bows before he tips rigidly into the chair adjacent to the elder.
His boss is an older man, nearing sixty and unmarried. Seemingly, he’s too attached to his job to ever settle down. When Jeongguk looks at his designer suit that’s pressed and smooth, and the office he has, he understands why. The elder’s girth, too, is a telltale sign that the man lives well.
The man is brutal, known for encouraging his workers to shred apart a person who simply breathes wrong. Jeongguk is one of his minions. He spreads rumors and crafts exposés that ruin careers.
The itch of discomfort and guilt sticks to Jeongguk’s skin.
“I have a task for you,” the elder leans forward with his arms against the desk. Jeongguk can smell his cologne from this distance. “I’m assigning you to do a feature on a person of interest. You will be temporarily relocated to ghost this person for five months. There, you will learn about the business and more importantly gather information for your feature.”
Five months? Was he writing a biography?
“What is the assignment? What’s the goal?”
“Take this as a once in a lifetime chance, Jeon, you’re studying a man who has always refused extensive interviews and press. The first real account of him will be yours. You’ll write a large feature article about him and his company,”
The journalist feels perspiration build along his hairline. He thanks his boss repeatedly. He can’t understand why he’s given this assignment when he knows there are better people for such a complex job. Jin’s voice probes at the back of his mind, and Jeongguk can’t shake off the harsh whispering.
“Sajang-nim,” he says, “will I receive a promotion for this?”
His boss laughs boisterously, and Jeongguk can’t tell if it’s humorous or mocking.
“Boy, the feature alone is a promotion as is.”
Jeongguk feels the world crash down around him.
The boss quirks his lips and leans back in his chair. “If you can complete this and your feature receives enough attention, I’ll reward you with a higher title.”
Jeongguk's eyes sparkle, and he knows the universe slows at this exact instance. The solar system matches his airflow: temporarily dwindling and frozen. The elder slides a folder across the table, a brief about the assignment he’s being sent on.
“For the next few months, you will report to the CEO of Kim Corporations, Kim Taehyung.”