Chapter Text
It was only when he served the last table at Paradise Dynasty that Jinyoung realised he hadn’t watered his Adiantum fragans in almost a week. His fingers were trembling as he brought the plates—xiao long bao, the restaurant’s spécialité —anxious, unable to remember how the plant looked when he had left the apartment earlier that day. He could picture the Calathea (or Newton as used to call it), standing in the dark on its shelf, its leaves turned towards the ceiling as they always were at night, some dryness at the tip of its leaves. He could picture his copy of A Little Life, its cover a bit tore from spending so much time in his hands or commuting with him, at the bottom of his bed, bookmark sticking out.
He remembered the morning breeze, the morning headache, the morning coffee but not the Adiantum.
Jinyoung had had this passion for plants for weeks. No, for months. He had lost track of time. Weirdly obsessive hobby was however a more accurate description of his relationship with them.
He collected them. Every two weeks, if not every week, he’d come back home with a new piece, always different from the previous one. After a while, he realised he liked the way they filled the void in his flat and within himself. He figured they comforted him in his never-ending loneliness.
However, plants needed care and time.
Jinyoung barely had any of the latter. But he cared. More than anything.
“You’re okay?”
He raised his head, trying his best not to showcase any sign of surprise. Being brought back to reality after spending so much time being drowned in his own thoughts had always been hard for him.
Jackson Wang, his long time colleague, was standing a few feet away from him, a bunch of stained white clothes in his hands. His shoulders had loosened up a bit since they had closed the restaurant—not that he was ever tensed to Jinyoung’s knowledge—and he had undone the first three buttons of his shirt, revealing his collarbones and his toned skin.
Jackson and Jinyoung weren’t friends. They were close as coworkers (kind of), but not close enough to be able to call themselves more than that. They had never truly hung out—apart from that one time when Jackson had invited all their crew for a drink because that was the kind of thing Jackson would and could do. (Jinyoung still had a picture of all of them, raising their glasses, cocktails, whiskeys, and wine, laughing, blood rushing to their cheeks, wearing more casual clothes than usual, pinned not far from his fridge. They all looked radiant, but Jackson was brighter. It never failed to make him smile.)
But Jinyoung was tired. He was tired and irritated.
All because of an Adiantum fragans .
“Why would you ask?”
Jackson seemed taken aback as Jinyoung’s words reached his ears. He didn’t mean to sound harsh. He didn’t mean to be as bitter as he was. But he was tired, so tired and the words had left his mouth and his tone was out of control. It was too late. An uncomfortable silence had settled itself between the two men, left alone in the then empty room, making Jinyoung more tensed than ever—him, who never dared to disrespect his coworkers, who spent so much time thinking about the words, their meanings and how they assembled themselves to create sentences, conversations. But it was too late. His fingers were pressing into the sponge with which he was cleaning the tables, getting rid of various bread crumbs and droplets of wine.
Jackson didn’t seem mad though. He looked baffled. It felt awkward, which was weird. It never felt awkward with Jackson Wang. You never felt awkward with Jackson Wang.
“You… you’ve been literally cleaning the same table for fifteen minutes now.”
Jinyoung’s eyes widened. He looked down. His fingers had held the sponge so firmly that it had released water and soap all over the wooden surface.
Oh.
Fuck.
He hadn’t realised how pensive he had been; in fact, he struggled to get a grasp of reality then—was anything he was experiencing truly real? were his plants actual living beings?—it was confusing, he didn’t like it much. Especially since he was meant to be so down to earth, so settled, so anchored. But he wasn’t enjoying what life had to offer him that winter. He wasn’t pleased having to visit his family for Christmas break, he wasn’t pleased being so damn tired all the time, he wasn’t pleased his back hurt him every single day.
“Hmm I think I really need a break.” he sighed.
“Wanna have a drink after our shift?” Jackson offered. “There’s this nice bar down the street… Grafton… Grafton’s Pub is it? Anyways, they have some quite good Irish craft beer over there. Kilkenny, Murphy… you name it. Could do you some good.”
Jinyoung lifted his head, still lost in his tired thoughts. Although Jackson’s proposition was interesting, heck, exciting even, he’d rather go home and let his body rest against his bedsheets, lights off, windows wide opened, the deadly winter wind invading the room until he couldn’t bear the temperature any longer. He found it hard to feel alive but the wind helped. He wasn’t so sure he could have made the same statement about a pint of Murphy. Jackson would have probably said otherwise.
He shook his head.
“As appealing as the offer sounds, I’d rather head straight home tonight.”
A sudden but genuine laugh escaped his colleague’s lips, brightening his face almost instantly. There was this thing about Jackson, this aura—charisma was probably the word—that made him so attractive, so different from Jinyoung that he couldn’t explain yet. You couldn’t not smile when working with him, as most if not all their colleagues would say. Jinyoung didn’t smile much at work, but Jackson was such a driving force he couldn’t help but obliged. Jinyoung was envious of how he never seemed tired or stressed-out no matter how long the day had been, how many drinks he would have served, nor how many logistic problems they would encounter throughout the day. It was breathtaking at times, seeing him run between the clients and the kitchen, a smile—always candid—spread across his face, while Jinyoung was taking orders, drained, his back more tensed than ever, as their day was coming to an end.
“You better rest for real this time then! You shouldn’t be overworking yourself, you’re too tired for this.”
Jinyoung chuckled. For real this time. He couldn’t remember when he had last truly and properly rested and allowed himself some time to recover from the past couple of weeks. Although he enjoyed the feeling of the winter wind caressing his face, he wasn’t so fond of the season itself. He felt weak, exhausted. And Christmas break wasn’t going to help.
“What are your plans for the holidays anyway?” he enquired, suddenly. Jackson was the kind of person to enquire a lot, not out of pure and vicious curiosity but out of politeness. How have you been? What are you up to this weekend? How was your evening? No matter how bland the question was, he always seemed interested in the answer, he always seemed to care. He sounded so genuine, Jinyoung couldn’t tell whether he was faking all of it or not.
“Visiting my family,” he said after a sigh. “Nothing too extravagant.” He paused. “What about you?”
Jackson nodded, cleaning the bar—the wooden furniture was almost spotless during opening hours thanks to his hard work—but as the end of their shift approached, drops of whiskey and beer would lose themselves between the glasses in which only a soft white mousse remained.
“Not much. I’m staying in town… for once.”
“No festivities for you then?”
Jinyoung crossed his arms and carefully placed his elbows on the edge of the bar, facing Jackson. His dark shirt was sticking to his skin—one of the cons of being a waiter, they all sweated too much, Jinyoung would usually get changed at least once throughout the day as he only wore white shirts and was too conscious of his appearance. Jackson threw the sponge he had used in the sink behind him, not turning back to watch it smash itself against the stainless steel walls, still soaked.
“I never said I wasn’t celebrating though…” a malicious smirk in the corner of his lips. Jinyoung didn’t need to be close to him to know Jackson was keen on parties and various social events that terrified him more than anything. He liked his bed and his plants better. It was weird, peculiar, Jinyoung knew that, but he couldn’t stop himself from finding comfort through them. Sometimes he wished he could get closer to more people. He did have friends, very close ones, whom he cared a lot about, but as time went by, it became harder and harder to meet up, share some time together. And unlike most of his acquaintances, he didn’t have a flatmate.
He could have gotten closer to Jackson, but the two men were so… disparate. Exact opposites. If Jackson was the sun, then Jinyoung was the moon. Most of the time, you couldn’t see both sides by side.
“... I’m a hundred percent sure I’ll have a lot more fun here anyway.”
He smiled. So did Jinyoung.
He wasn’t wrong.
Leaving the city was probably the wrong move for an endless list of reasons. But he didn’t have a choice.
“However… not that I do not enjoy your company but you should head home now. It’s already past midnight and today’s going to be a hell of a day as well if you don’t get some sleep.”
“But the tables—” Jinyoung protested.
“Leave it to me okay? I’ll be fine.” Jackson reassured.
Jinyoung was embarrassed. He wasn’t fond of leaving earlier than he was meant to but his mental and physical state quickly reminded him how bad he both wanted and needed to be home, alone in the dark, and sleep surrounded by his Calatheas .
“I’ll see you later then?”
Jackson broke into a smile. Again. He was just as radiant as he always was. It almost felt unreal, impossible to be this bright so late at night. But there he was. Beaming.
“See you later Jinyoung.”
*
(8:27AM) Wang: Mark is covering your shift for lunch. Figured it’d be better for you to rest a little more today. In case you’ve forgotten we’re staying open a little later tonight (birthday dinner in the Red room) so make sure to be there by 5 pm though. See you.
Jinyoung stared blankly at his phone, eyes itchy, begging to be shut again, unable to come up with any sort of response. His body was stiff beneath the heavy bed cover—working as a waiter had to be the worst choice he could have possibly made for his physical health. He was craving for some rest, some time off so that he could recover from the rush, the stress, and the exhaustion. He blinked several times, struggling to adjust himself to the brightness of the screen. Although he had set it at its lowest level, the light was still aggressive for his dark iris. His fingers began sliding across the virtual keyboard.
(8:35AM) Thanks. This means a lot. I’m feeling a little better today. See you tonight.
He pressed send. Waited for a while. The third sentence was a lie, he wasn’t quite alright. He dozed off. When he woke up again, he texted Mark. He was a lot closer to Mark Tuan than he was with Jackson or any of his coworkers. They were both introverts, enjoyed calm and serenity, and often exchanged on the books they were reading, often giving one another recommendations. Surprisingly, Mark was a heavy reader: he’d often carry around massive volumes with him, some that he’d read in barely a couple of days. Jinyoung figured at first he probably spent his entire time reading, but it turned out Mark also enjoyed going out, whether it was to have a drink and party with friends or wander around Itaewon. Unlike Jinyoung he could put up with social situations very well and fancy them. They would still hang out from time to time, just the two of them, either to enjoy a movie at the theatre or walk in the nearby gigantic parks of Seoul.
(9:07AM) Hey, thanks for covering me today. I’ll make it up to you soon, promise.
The screen went black. He dozed off again. It was early, he could spend some more time buried in his sheets, bewitched by their softness. He would have stayed there forever if he could have, avoiding all contact with any human being, enjoying some endless naps. But he couldn’t. He had work. And he needed to water his plants.
When he finally opened his eyes again, he grabbed his phone, resting not far from his right arm. Three unread messages. A follow request on Instagram. New press articles covering whatever demonstration that took place the day before. He unlocked the screen, slightly irritated. He didn’t quite enjoy notifications, especially when they came out as severals. It either freaked him out or pissed him off.
The first text was from Jackson.
(9:13AM) No worries! I’m glad you’re feeling better already. Take care x
The other two texts were from Mark.
(9:16AM) don’t, it’s fine. i’ll do anything to avoid dealing w that bday party. i suppose u’ll be there tho? hope ur feeling better btw
For someone who read as much as him, he sure as hell did not care about punctuation nor capitalisation.
(9:16AM) also i hear you turned down jackson last night cheeky bastard
He blinked, phone screen enlightening the room, not quite sure how to react to his friend’s last words. He stared blankly at the text for a while, attempting to compose an answer of any kind but no words would come up. After a confusing inner discussion, he decided he’d leave the messages on read until the appropriate answer was found. (Eventually, he’d agree on something along the lines of “Doing better, but can’t wait for Xmas break. ” and “Also, has Wang become so unreachable I cannot turn him down anymore? ”.)
He straightened himself.
He breathed. His back still ached, his knuckles were sore and his legs… his legs were stiff. He had no other choice but to stretch. So he did. One arm after another, one leg after another. He tried his best to be gentle, moving along with his breath, steady and calm, allowing his body to loosen up, and slowly awake itself. He could feel the pain in his lower back fae away, but he couldn’t help but groan as he started working on his knees, stretching out his legs, trembling. He spun his ankles, clockwise. The sensation wasn’t pleasant, he was truly in pain and couldn’t wait for the hurt to wash away so that he could finally get out of bed.
He was dizzy as soon as he left the mattress: his surroundings were blurry, his eyes couldn’t focus on anything, he was unbalanced, without momentum. His mouth—dry until then—was suddenly filled with acid rises. His mind went blank for a second before he became conscious of the situation. He ran to the bathroom, staggering, somehow able to find his way in the small apartment plunged into the dark that he knew way too well. His knees dropped to the tiled floor, inviting the other half of his body to bend over the toilet, shaking.
He wished the following never happened. His throat was sore from throwing up so much already—it was unusual, too unusual for him to process the events, throwing up wasn’t quite part of his routine—he was starving, and craving for a hot shower, but his body was weak, weak, weak.
Maybe he needed more than a break.
He made his way to the kitchen, legs wobbly—hopefully there was still something to fill his stomach, a snack, a fruit, anything. He sighed in relief as he saw a banana cluster waiting in a large bowl, his go-to snack whenever he needed more energy than his anemic body could provide.
As he peeled the fruit standing by the short counter, he observed the calendar facing him, a random monthly planner he had found while purchasing books at the local bookshop, then covered in his thin writing: appointments, events, and ceremonies at Paradise Dynasty, tasks which had yet to be done, breaks. There was no birthday he had to celebrate in December as none of his very few acquaintances were born that month.
His tired eyes focused on the thick red line—Christmas break—for a moment. Another inscription, also written with a bright red marker, whose existence he had somehow managed to forget in the span of two days, showed the following message:
DON’T FORGET TO FIND SOMEONE TO
TAKE CARE OF THE PLANTS!!!
He blinked. Looked again.
(unless you all want them to die over break
which, let’s be honest here, would be
incredibly stupid)
December 15th. Five days left before break. He blinked again.
Fuck.
Finding someone to mind his collection of plants—twenty—six pieces as of that day—had always been quite a tough task. Things were always easier when it came to pets, no matter which cat or dog species you would own, there would always be someone in your neighborhood to look after it. Plants were considered too ‘inert’, too ‘still’ to be even envisioned as beings you could take care of for a certain period of time. Somehow.
When Jinyoung had to leave the city for a while, usually to visit his family, he’d call in Jaebum, a music major living two stories above him whom he had got to know over the months he had spent in Seoul. They weren’t exactly close, buddies seemed more appropriate than friends. They’d run into one another once or twice a month, in between shifts and classes, both stressed out and overworked, and would usually end up chilling either at Jaebeom’s place or his, emptying soju bottles after another, listening to music, just the two of them, trying their best to escape their own realities.
However, Jaebeom had family duties over Christmas, meaning that Jinyoung had no other choice but to cross his only option. Which saddened him quite a bit as he had yet to find someone who genuinely cared about his plants almost just as much as him, and did not make fun of him for having so many of these green beings sharing his personal space.
He couldn’t ask Mark as he didn’t have “la main verte” as he said. (the legend had it that he managed to “kill” a cactus, which didn’t make much sense to Jinyoung when he found out, as cacti do not need much care.)
Who could he ask then?
His eyes glanced at the clock above the sink.
1:30 pm.
He had to get going.