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In any case, Seungmin was well aware of the betting. He never partook himself–a move which earned Felix five dollars every Friday–but it wasn’t out of moral superiority. No, he was biding his time and waiting for the opportunity to destroy his coworkers financially.
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The other employees at Seungmin's highly-respectable place of work love to place bets on anything they can. Seungmin has been waiting to wring his coworkers dry, and the arrival of Lee Minho might be just what he needs.
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“We work at a start-up, bro,” Jisung had said once. “I can’t remember the last time I saw Chan in anything other than sweatpants. You don’t have to wear the tux.”
“It’s not a tuxedo,” Seungmin had replied primly. “There’s no satin.”While Seungmin’s place of work was essentially a front for a casino, it was actually a front for what was, at its core, one large, digital scam.
Chan, somehow, didn’t seem to be aware that their product was eventually going to ruin people’s lives, and none of them wanted to break the news to him after he’d worked so hard to get everything set up (by that, Seungmin means he begged Changbin to use his parents’ apartment in the city and then begged Jisung to create the currency).“I was just hoping I could borrow a pen and some paper. Out of everyone,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “you seem the most likely to have that.”
He was correct. Seungmin wasn’t even sure that Jeongin could write.“Don’t wear the Birks again.”
“I’ll wear what I want.”
“It’s unprofessional.”
“This so-called office is an apartment. There are baby pictures on the walls.”
“Yes, and Changbin is wearing closed-toe shoes in every single one of them,” Seungmin said primly.Is this prostitution? Seungmin wondered. It’s technically paying someone for sex. But not in a normal, creepy way. In a clever, screw-over-annoying-coworkers way.
From there, of course, his internal debate shifted to the importance of intent. He wasn’t explicitly paying for sex, and sex wasn’t even really the end goal, and Minho didn’t need the money, and Seungmin wasn’t in a position of superiority at work…
At the end of the day, Seungmin thought, that’s a strawman. It isn’t prostitution, because Minho himself isn’t getting explicitly paid, Seungmin is.
Is Seungmin the prostitute, then? What does that make Minho? Based on the handwriting on the paper, the person who’d written down the bet was Felix. Was Felix his pimp?He continued being horrible to Minho–at one point he stole his wallet, which was actually pretty questionable on his part. He had a talk with himself after that and decided not to do it again.
“It’s over?”
“Yep.” Seungmin laid back down on his back and stared at the ceiling. A job well done.
“Does this mean that we don’t have to pretend like we aren’t together?” Minho pouted. His hair was mussed and he was still slightly flushed. He was gorgeous.
“Correct. We’re in the clear.” A beat of silence. “Thank you for indulging me with this. I’m thinking that we could use the money to go on a trip for our anniversary.” -
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Crying
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With a sense of impending doom, Seungmin raised his pant legs. His argyle socks were identical in pattern, but one was dark blue and the other was black. They didn’t match. His breath caught in his throat. How did he let this happen?
Jisung, who was fifteen minutes late (down from his usual twenty!), walked in and froze before turning to Felix with a clear question in his eyes. When Felix leaned over and whispered to him, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he dropped his coffee, which had surely cost him at least nine dollars.
He ignored the stain, rushing over to where Hyunjin was still sitting at his desk, looking as though he’d seen a ghost. Felix was close behind him, and the rest of them watched as Jisung cupped Hyunjin’s face in his hands and spoke quietly. Felix pulled Hyunjin into his chest, and exchanged a worried look with Jisung over his head.
Despite their efforts, Hyunjin’s hands knit themselves into his hair. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack.
Changbin, whom Seungmin had yet to see that day, emerged from the kitchen. He saw the coffee stain on the white rug first. “Jisung,” he threw his hands up, “you have got to be fucking kidding me.”
When Jisung didn’t respond, Changbin finally took in the rest of the room. He looked to where Chan was leaning heavily on Seungmin’s desk, then at Seungmin, who was still holding up his pant legs. Finally, he turned to Hyunjin with the scariest smile Seungmin had ever seen in his life. “Was it one or two thousand?”
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