Chapter Text
luminarium
noun
1. a large-scale architectural art installation, designed to be an immersive aesthetic experience of light and color;
2. an object providing light, as in a lamp, torch or candle. In early English used specifically to refer to spiritual or religious sources of light;
3. (figurative) a person of particular brilliance, inspiring others in their field.
Prologue: in medias res
Nice ran down the street in the pouring rain, his feet pounding against the pavement, breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat, in the drums of his ears. The sound of it was so loud it was drowning out everything else, even the footsteps of the men pursuing him. But he knew they were there. He became too experienced at being prey; could feel the presence of a predator at his heels even without looking. So he ran.
It was pointless, he knew. He was almost out of strength. He really should have worked more on his stamina; he had known it to be his weakness, yet done nothing to defend it. Allowed himself to believe no one would exploit it. But now the hour of the wolf had come, and he was nowhere near as prepared as he had imagined. Yet there was no other choice. What else could he do, but run?
His thoughts ran ahead of him, behind him, scattering in all directions in a blind panic.
What was going to happen to him? That path felt too frightening to explore. After all, he knew exactly what the answer would be. He had been on the other side of this particular equation far too many times.
How did he ever end up here? Now, that was less clear. There were so many tangled threads. So many bad decisions. A whole spiderweb of mistakes, some not even of his own making, that pulled him precisely to this point; this night; this mindless escape. It was consequence, chasing him tirelessly throughout his whole adult life - only now choosing to manifest as a group of burly men out for blood.
Perhaps he should have known it was always going to come down to something like this.
He furiously searched his mind for someone to blame. He thought of Moon, with her pretty face and venomous tongue, her naive set of values and stubborn need to demand that he upheld them. Of Shang De in his shadowed office, the puppet master at play, ruling over lives of lesser men without sparing them as much as a thought.
He thought of the man he'd met at a certain flower shop, with his Cheshire-cat smiles and cryptic advice. The way he'd almost managed to make Nice feel like he had any measure of control over his life.
If power was a river, he was never meant to leave the shallows.
As he rounded the corner and ran straight into someone already standing there, crashing into them at full speed, he thought resentfully of another day, those long weeks ago, when all this mess had yet to begin. If only he'd had enough sense to realize then the trouble that was brewing.
If only he hadn't let himself believe he could get away with everything.
Chapter 1
There was a speck of dried toothpaste in the upper left corner of the bathroom mirror.
He couldn't stop looking at it. Tried to. Realigned the toiletries along the edge of the sink to be exactly an inch apart. Wiped the tap and hung the rag back on its drying bar, pulling on the bottom until the edges were even. Cast a glance at the corner of the mirror. Checked his reflection; brushed a hand through his hair, adjusted the collar of his shirt. Corner. Looked down at his watch, confirming what he'd already known: that he should be leaving the apartment within the next two minutes. Corner.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The stain was too high to reach with just his hand. How did it even get there? He'd need to grab a step-stool from the kitchen. Go all the way there and back… and even then, dried toothpaste wouldn't come off easily. He'd need the window cleaner, too. And to take his blazer off so it wouldn't get splashed. Roll up his shirt sleeves, probably.
Too many steps. He'd miss his train for sure. There was always the next one, of course, but what if it was delayed? It didn't happen often… but it did sometimes. It could happen today. All it'd take was a single instance of misfortune, and he was never particularly lucky. Then he'd be late for work. He couldn't afford that, not today. Well, not any day, really, but especially not today, with such an important client meeting hinging on his performance. Mr Shang would be furious with him. He could almost hear it: "Nice, you can't even handle getting to the office on time. Are you so utterly useless that I can't even trust you to uphold the most basic terms of your contract? "
Nice watched his own reflection in the mirror wince. Mr Shang wasn't particularly tolerant of mistakes on the best day. If a client of this magnitude slipped through Treeman's fingers because of something Nice did, he'd certainly be punished for it. Fired, he thought reflexively, and almost laughed at his own naivete. Treeman couldn't fire him. He knew too much. If the company ever decided to get rid of him, they'd have to literally get rid of him. And they wouldn't think twice about doing it either; he knew that only too well.
His hands were shaking. He gripped the edges of the sink to steady them.
"You're not dying for a toothpaste stain," he told his reflection. It didn't seem convinced.
"You're being irrational," Nice tried again, reaching back to faint memories of therapy sessions he'd long since stopped attending. "Your mind is jumping too far ahead and making you afraid of something that might not even happen. It's not productive. Focus just on the next step you need to take."
He knew it was true. But he didn't feel it. The possibility on the "what if" side of things weighed too heavy on his heart regardless of how probable it really was. Besides, it wasn't really helpful in this case, seeing as the next step he needed to take was still undecided. Risk missing the train to clean the stain? Or leave and tolerate the thought of it remaining here for the rest of the day?
It wasn't as if he could afford to be distracted, either.
Screw it. He was doomed to anxiety regardless of what he chose. So he chose to flick his fingers through his hair again— not look at the upper left corner of the mirror— and leave, shutting the bathroom door behind him with maybe a bit too much force.
To his credit he made it all the way to the front door before doubling back to angrily pull his blazer off and reach for the step-stool.
He did miss his train. But there was always the next one.
***
Of course the downside of arriving at the office later than usual was the fact that Moon was already there. Nice hated coming in after her. Not only because she never failed to point it out, but also because it meant he wouldn't get an ounce of goddamned peace and quiet until the workday was done and they went their separate ways. The only time he enjoyed being in the office was when it was empty. At least then he could be himself for a bit, without any role to perform.
No such luck today. Moon paused dramatically when she saw him enter and put her hand to her chest.
"You're late!" she exclaimed with mock horror. Nice rolled his eyes.
"It's six thirty." Technically speaking their shift didn't start until seven, and Shang De wouldn't arrive with the client before nine.
"Exactly! I came in, like, 10 whole minutes ago! I was worried, you know," she crossed her arms and rested her weight on one hip, all pretense of surprise giving way to disdain. "When I didn't see you, I wasn't sure if you got hit by a car, or just finally climbed so far up Shang's ass you wouldn't show up anymore."
"Yes, I imagine it would make your work that much more complicated if you didn't know where to bring me coffee," Nice said sweetly, moving to his desk to start unpacking the documents he brought. Moon flushed furiously, as he'd anticipated she would; she hated the way Treeman turned her into a glorified hostess so it was always the easiest point to drive a barb at to rile her up. With that in mind, he pushed harder. "Don't you have your own work to do today? Oh yes—" he paused as though only just remembering, "you're to keep Mr Tian's wife company while I'm presenting him with our business offer. How could I have forgotten."
"Go choke on your 'business offer', asshole," Moon bit back. "You know you're not getting anything for it. All the credit will go to Shang, as always."
"Yes, that is how being a company CEO works."
"Sure it does," she fell silent for a moment, and then looked pointedly at Nice's chest. "You have a stain on your shirt."
Nice looked down in a panic, turning towards the window to better inspect the fabric. Did he get any of the window cleaner on himself after all? He was so careful! He couldn't afford— his shirt was clean. There was no stain. He glared at Moon, who was now smiling with all the smugness in the world.
"That's low," he pointed out. Moon shrugged.
"A win's a win," she declared, and then marched out of the office towards the break room. Nice let her go, unwilling to drag the verbal sparring out even if it meant conceding her underhanded victory. In this round, at least. He knew there would be others.
He focused instead on the things he'd actually meant to do before the entire… Rube Goldberg machine his morning had turned into threw his plans all off kilter. He thumbed through his documents, making sure they were all in place, then set them down at the corner of his desk aligned precisely to its edges. He took his blazer off, hanging it neatly on the backrest of his chair, and finally went to Shang De's main office to verify if it was ready for the client visit. It was a large, open space, with separate areas for individual work and modest group meetings, for now mercifully empty, shadowed and quiet. Nice didn't put any lights on, knowing the sun would be higher and illuminating the office well by the time the meeting actually took place; right now, the light of the morning was enough for him to do his job, and he enjoyed the ambience more this way. He went around the room checking every detail - from the number of chairs set around the conference table (ample); through the availability of pens and sheets of paper in case notes were to be taken by hand (sufficient); to the amount of dust gathering on flat surfaces (none). Everything seemed well. But well didn't cut it here, not with Shang De, and definitely not when Nice was involved. Things needed to be perfect. Treeman had to present the very image of professionalism and sophistication. It was Nice's entire job to ensure this held true, and it would be his responsibility if it didn't.
He made the rounds of the room again. Chairs. Papers. Dust. He spent a few thoughtful minutes standing by where he was relatively sure Tian Hu would sit and looking at the windows, considering the angle at which the sun would hit them from hour to hour; whether or not the glare of it would be unpleasant. Decided to roll the blinds halfway down on the east-facing windows just in case. Scanning the office for any final touches, he was almost satisfied, but… something was missing. Some decorative element, perhaps? Nice took the mahogany statues Shang De had brought from his last business trip to Indonesia from its usual spot in the corner by his desk and set it on a shelf directly in Tian Hu's field of vision. There. Now the space was ready; now it was perfect.
By the time Nice left Shang De's office and returned to the space he shared with Moon by its entrance, his mood was vastly improved. Moon was typing furiously at her computer, pausing only now and then to sip at her coffee and frown at the screen as if whatever she saw there was personally offending her. He considered commenting on that - something about giving herself wrinkles, perhaps - but decided against it. Curiously, when he stepped behind his own desk across from hers, there was a cup of coffee sitting there as well. He eyed it with suspicion.
"Did you spit in it or something?"
Moon huffed without tearing her eyes away from the screen. "You wish I spat in it. Would probably be the first exchange of bodily fluids you had with a woman in years."
Nice sat down and rested his chin in his hand without a word, waiting patiently for her to process her own words. It took a second… but then he saw her blink and straighten up, looking at him with momentary panic before she finally burst out laughing.
"Oh my god, I walked right into that one, didn't I?"
"You did," he agreed, grinning. "You spend too much time around straight people, you know."
"I mean, clearly!" Moon dabbed at the corner of her eye to clear a stray laughter tear without ruining her eyeliner. "Oh, you get a free pass for that one. That was just silly."
"Save it. I don't need a free pass to get at you."
"I'll remind you you said that next time I win," she promised sweetly and hid behind her computer screen again.
Still smiling, Nice picked up his files and got to rehearsing his presentation for a hundredth time. He supposed it wasn't awful to have someone to talk to now and again.
Moon left some time before nine to pick up Tian Hu's wife as she'd been instructed. Soon after, Shang De appeared with Tian Hu himself in tow. Nice awaited them by the open doors to the main office, clad once more in his blazer and the best professional-yet-welcoming smile he could muster - which was pretty damn good, if he said so himself. Exchanging pleasantries with Tian Hu, he observed Shang De out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his mood. Shang De was a difficult man to read, skilled at hiding his true emotions beneath the veneer of stoicism; it made him dangerous to cross, but also occasionally off-putting to clients, which was exactly why he employed charming, likable assistants to smooth the company's image. It also made him… challenging to work for. Nice was usually quite good at guessing what to expect from his boss, but it didn't seem to be the case today. It made him uneasy. As if that wasn't enough, Tian Hu decided to sit a little to the left from where Nice assumed he would, almost ruining the whole room arrangement. He did compliment the statue, though, and once Nice got going with his presentation, the sense of preparedness made him relax bit by bit. There were no questions he hadn't prepared for. Overall, as hours rolled slowly by and the meeting approached its end, he was starting to embrace the thought that he managed to do a good job.
Once all the statistics were cited and all legal minutiae explained, Tian Hu sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the conference table.
"I will admit, all of this sounds very convincing, Mr Shang," he said, smiling. Nice felt some of the tension in his shoulder blades dissipate. "Nevertheless, I would like an opportunity to review the documentation myself, if possible."
"Of course," Shang De gestured for Nice, and he handed Tian Hu a folder with all the necessary copies that he had prepared ahead of time. With that, the meeting officially concluded, and Nice relaxed somewhat as he listened to the customary exchange of platitudes that accompanied Tian Hu's departure. It was over. He survived. It'd be business as usual for a time.
"Would the same time tomorrow be amendable for you?" Shang De was asking Tian Hu as they stepped out of the office. Nice followed behind on autopilot, only half-listening.
"Yes, by all means," the client replied, and then, "though perhaps over lunch? Your office is impressively elegant, Mr Shang, but a touch… sterile, for my taste? Understandable, of course, with how much you travel, but it doesn't exactly put one in a companionable mood."
"As you say, I do not work locally as often as I'd wish."
"Don't we all!" Tian Hu laughed. Meaningless pleasantries followed all the way out until he was safely deposited into the elevator, and once the door closed behind his back, Nice finally felt like he could allow himself a small sigh of relief.
That is until Shang De turned around and slapped him across the face.
For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Or was it only his mind? This… never happened before. What was the proper way to react?
…he could get angry. Most people would, probably. Say something derisive. Threaten.
He opened his mouth, but no words seemed to come out.
Instead, Shang De spoke in his place, voice low and tight with suppressed fury.
"I gave you one job. A simple task. Prepare the office for the meeting. Nothing more was expected of you, yet you still found a way to disappoint me."
It wasn't true. It wasn't fair. He built the whole offer from nothing; Shang De hadn't even known half of the relevant data before Nice presented it today. There would be no deal without him.
Say it. Say it. Say something. Say anything!
"I'm sorry."
How strange. Whose voice was that, so small and cowering? Surely not his. Surely he did not just apologize.
But he did. It's what he wants to hear. Just tell him what he wants to hear so it can be over.
"Damn right you're sorry." Shang De turned away from him and began to walk back towards his office. "Get out of my sight. I don't want to see you here today."
Nice was left alone, dumbstruck, standing by the elevators, until the sound of Shang De's office doors slamming shut broke him out of whatever trance he seemed to have fallen into. He realized he was shaking and took a deep breath almost out of reflex. His hands hurt. When he looked at them, he saw that his own nails left crescent indentations in his palms from how hard he clenched his fists.
He hit you.
The thought didn't seem real. He could hardly believe it was. If it wasn't for his burning cheek, he'd think he hallucinated the whole scene. Things like that didn't happen. This was work. He was an employee. No way his boss just slapped him. How ridiculous!
His feet carried him stiffly to his desk. He needed to tidy up and leave. Mr Shang didn't want him at the office today, but he had things to do outside anyway. He picked his coffee mug up and took it to the break room to wash it. Then he wiped the edges of the sink; twice clockwise and once counter-clockwise for good measure.
He hit you.
He's never done anything like that before. It never occurred to Nice that he could. Sure, he'd get mad sometimes, yell, even threaten… and he threw that glass paper weight one time. Not at Nice, of course. At the wall. But he did deduct it from Nice's paycheck when it shattered.
He hit you today, though. Just now.
Are you going to do something about it?
"Oh my god, that hag would NOT shut up!" Moon announced loudly, entering the break room and throwing her blazer at one of the chairs. It slapped against the backrest and slid dramatically to the floor. "Are you making tea? I need a cup, like, yester— shit, Nice, WHAT HAPPENED?!"
She stepped right up to him, staring at his face. Ah. He forgot to consider that.
"Did he hit you?!" she asked, incredulous. Then she stomped her foot. "He can't do things like that! Nice, you can't let him get away with this!"
Perhaps Nice should be grateful for her concern.
Instead, the only feeling that came to him was fury.
"And what is it that you propose I do?" he said with icy composure. Moon took half a step back.
"I don't know! Report it to HR?"
"Report it to HR!" he repeated mockingly. "How stupid are you? In case you didn't notice, he owns HR, just as he owns you, and m— everyone who works here."
"So what, you're going to just let him slap you around? Where's your dignity!?"
"How about you worry about your own dignity for a change? You should be glad it was me in there with the client today, otherwise Shang would call on you to giggle and swish your skirt around and imply additional favors if the contract panned out. Or is that something you'd actually prefer? Only one way to climb the ladder for someone of your caliber, after all."
Moon stared at him, once again incredulous, though now for an entirely different reason. "You— what the fuck is wrong with you?!" she whisper-screamed. "I was trying to help you, you insufferable dick! But fine!" she snatched her blazed off the floor and threw him the last, murderous glare. "Do nothing! Let Shang mess you up! Maybe he'll slap some sense into you one day!"
She stormed out of the break room, leaving Nice alone once again. As soon as she was gone, he felt a pang of regret… but squashed it down right away. Serves her right, for trying to talk down to him. Like he didn't know how bad his situation was.
He touched his cheek gingerly. It still stung, and judging by Moon's reaction, it had to be red. He'd have to swing by the toilets and put some makeup on. Can't negotiate with a potential business partner like that.
After all, the company's image must be upheld. And it was ever his responsibility to uphold it.
