Settling In
by nahco3
There's a knock on the door of Ji-Sung's new office. He’s just booted up his laptop and logged into the company’s wireless, using his brand new user name and password.
"Come in," he calls.
The door opens. "Mr. Park?" the man asks. Ji-Sung stands up and shakes the hand he's offered. "Nice to meet you, I'm Ryan Giggs. We spoke on the phone."
"We're thrilled to have you here," Giggs continues, "I hope you're settling in well."
Ji-Sung nods. "Yes, um, everything is good." Giggs' accent is much harder to decipher than his English teacher's had been.
"Let me introduce you to the rest of the team," Giggs says, leading Ji-Sung out into the hallway, and then into a conference room. Ten or so men, all in suits, are milling around.
Giggs makes introductions briskly, and Ji-Sung smiles and does his best to remember faces, names and job titles. Then Giggs starts the meeting, and Ji-Sung focuses all his attention on the power point presentation, which is just dull enough to be comfortingly familiar.
Ji-Sung drives himself home from work that day, exhausted. He means to spend some time unpacking, so that his apartment seems less depressingly empty, but he doesn’t have the energy for it. He still has rice in the rice cooker from last night, so he eats that, with some leftover beef and kimchi, while watching football on tv. His landlord had helped him set up his cable the night before, thankfully. He mutes the sound, even though he knows he should be practicing his English. He falls asleep on the couch.
The next morning, he wakes up early and goes for a run. It rains lightly, and it's quiet, just the sound of his breathing and his feet hitting the pavement. The sky is low and grey, and he can see his breath. It's peaceful.
He showers afterward, jerks off quickly, not thinking about anything. He puts on a suit and tie and drives to work. He eats lunch at his desk because he needs to finish the projections for the budget meeting at 3, and they need to be perfect. They are.
He settles into a routine, one which mostly involves working late and eating dinner alone. He goes to the bar with some of guys from work, but watching Ferdinand and Rooney persistently flirting with girls in short skirts just makes him feel awkward.
He sometimes sits with Cristiano Ronaldo, who orders coke without rum and watches van Nistelrooy intently. When girls come to talk to them, Ji-Sung lets Cristiano take over, lets him charm them with his halting English and ridiculous hair. It saves Ji-Sung from explaining why he never brings anyone home.
He's lonely, but it isn't the end of the world.
One Tuesday morning in January, Ji-Sung gets to the conference room a few minutes early. Cristiano brings some sort of Portuguese doughnut things - malasadas, Ji-Sung thinks they're called - to every Tuesday meeting. Ji-Sung thinks Cristiano does it because van Nistelrooy gives his weekly presentation on bug fixes every Tuesday, and every time van Nistelrooy eats a malasada he spends the rest of the meeting licking sugar of his fingers, in a manner that borders on the pornographic. It's the kind of thing Ji-Sung would gossip about at the water cooler, except he brings his own water bottle with him, and he also likes Cristiano too much to make fun of him for his obviously doomed crush.
Except instead of it just being Cristiano in the room, nervously checking his hair in the reflective table, Giggs is already there as well, with a slight, dark-skinned man. His suit doesn't fit him terribly well, and he isn't wearing a tie.
"Park," Giggs says, "I'd like you to meet the new liaison between Ferdinand's team in engineering and you guys in accounting. This is Patrice Evra."
"Nice to meet you, Evra," Ji-Sung says, shaking his hand. He has a firm handshake.
"You too," Evra says, smiling. His teeth are very white, and the skin around his eyes crinkles. Giggs is already gone, probably grabbing a malasada before Cristiano gives them all away.
"You should call me Patrice, though," Evra continues. "None of this boarding school bullshit." He shakes his head, laughing. "The English, man."
"My name is Ji-Sung," Ji-Sung says.
"Ji," Evra counters, "it's easier." He smiles again, and Ji-Sung thinks, sure, why not? There are worse nicknames. Then the meeting starts, and Ev - and Patrice sits next to Ji-Sung, and spends the entire time drawing an elaborate picture of a horse giving a power point on his yellow legal pad. Ji-Sung leans over and adds a quick sketch of himself, asleep in one corner, before he can stop himself. Patrice smiles at him, quick and deadly, and just like that, Ji-Sung is totally fucked.
That Friday, Ji-Sung is heading to the office microwave to warm up his leftover fried rice for lunch. He has some figures of last quarter’s sales he'd really like to get done before the weekend. Since Patrice's office is right there, Ji-Sung knocks on Patrice's door, before he can stop himself.
"Come in," Patrice calls, and Ji-Sung opens the door.
"Hey, Ji," Patrice gives Ji-Sung a huge grin, "What can I help you with?"
Ji-Sung thinks fast. "You like Manchester United?"
Patrice’s grin gets wider, if that's even possible. "Do I like Manchester United?" he repeats. "I mean, I guess I like them a little but. Slightly. Somewhat. Enough to move to this fucking grey excuse for a city."
"That might be more than a little," Ji-Sung says, keeping his face as straight as he can.
"Well, don't tell anyone," Patrice says. "I tried talking to Rooney about football the other day and he started babbling about systemic economic disadvantages and Everton."
"He's an investment banker," Ji-Sung says, "systemic economic disadvantages are his life."
"I mentioned that," Patrice says, and his eyes are fucking twinkling." Ji-Sung's chest aches a little bit. "He wasn’t too pleased."
"I cannot imagine why," Ji-Sung says, "because he really is such a balanced and sane individual."
Patrice cracks up. "And here I was worried you'd be another stuffy accountant, Ji."
Ji-Sung puts a finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret is safe with me," Patrice says. Then: "So, why were you asking me about Manchester United?"
"I have tickets to the game tomorrow," Ji-Sung says, which is a total lie, but whatever. It's a lie he can quickly make the truth. "And um, the person I was going with blew me off, I was wondering if you'd like to go?"
Patrice shakes his head and grins. "I'd love to, man, I'd love to. But Ji, if I'm the first person you're inviting to this, you need to make some friends."
"I'm working on it," Ji-Sung says, with a quick smile. "Email me your address and I'll pick you up?"
"Sure," Patrice says. "Now go, some of us actually work for a living."
Ji-Sung shuts the door behind him and rushes back to his office. Time to go pay way too much money for some scalped tickets. This is bad. This is really bad, and also heart-stoppingly good, and terrifying.
When Ji-Sung picks Patrice up, he's wearing an old United jersey and a pair of jeans. He looks unfairly attractive. Their seats are good; close to the halfway line and not too far back from the pitch. They cost more than Ji-Sung really wants to think about, but it's not like he has anyone to spend his money on. It's nice. The drink beer and yell a lot.
Afterward, Patrice says, "I didn't expect you to be so into the match."
Ji-Sung shrugs. "I used to play when I was little."
"Me too," Patrice says. "Were you any good?"
"Better than you," Ji-Sung replies, straight-faced.
Patrice laughs, leaning in against Ji-Sung. "I bet you were, Ji, I bet you were."
Patrice starts dropping by his office after that, once or twice a day. They talk about football, and gossip about the other guys at work, mostly. They start going out to lunch together, too. Ji-Sung likes to take Patrice to the Korean barbecue close to the office, because it’s cheap (Ji-Sung refuses to expense their lunches) and convenient.
"You homesick?" Patrice asks, their fourth time there. The waitresses recognize Ji-Sung, since he goes by himself sometimes, too. Patrice notices things like that.
"Yes," Ji-Sung says, carefully separating his chopsticks and folding their paper wrapper to make a stand for them. Patrice imitates him, although his paper chopstick stand is a bit less sturdy than Ji-Sung's.
"I got lonely a lot when I was a kid," Patrice says. "My dad was a diplomat, so we moved around a lot. It always took me a while to adjust."
"I'm not as lonely now," Ji-Sung says, because he isn't, and because he needs Patrice to know that.
"Good," Patrice says, smiling. "I'd honestly be a little offended if you were." They're silent for a minute. Ji-Sung tries to keep his face down, until his chest hurts a little less, so his eyes don’t tell Patrice everything he can't.
"Did you hear about the offer van Nistelrooy got from that tech company in Madrid?" Patrice asks.
"I heard he got one; is he taking it?" Ji-Sung asks, taking a sip of water.
"Apparently so," Patrice says. "I heard he told Sir Alex to go fuck himself, and cleared out his office this morning. I guess the old horse is moving on to greener pastures."
Ji-Sung laughs. "That's a terrible joke."
"I know." Patrice grins.
Ji-Sung shakes his head. "Poor Cristiano."
"Poor Cristiano? Poor everyone. You know how much work we're going to have until Sir Alex can be bothered to hire a replacement?"
Patrice is right about that, of course. Ji-Sung still takes long lunches with Patrice, even though he really shouldn't, and to make up for it, works until seven most nights.
He's sleeping at his desk when Patrice comes in, without knocking.
"Wha?" he asks, his voice still rough with sleep. He rubs his eyes and tightens his tie. Patrice licks his lips, maybe unconsciously, and gives him a long look. He's leaning against the door frame of Ji-Sung's office, like he belongs there. Ji-Sung smiles up at him for no real reason. Patrice smiles back.
"Come meet the new guy," Patrice says.
"Oh, thank god," Ji-Sung says, getting up. When he gets to the door frame, Patrice grabs his shoulder and reaches up to fix his tie, his hands brushing gently against Ji-Sung's chest. The temptation to kiss him is incredibly strong, but then Rooney walks by, and says something that vaguely resembles, "Hurry up, there's food!" and Patrice drops his hands.
"Was that even English?" Ji-Sung asks, trying to hide the fact that his face is coloring.
Patrice laughs, and it comes out a bit shaky. "Don't ask me, Ji, I can never tell."
In the conference room, there are bagels. "I'll go get you one," Patrice says, because he's better at pushing through crowds of people than Ji-Sung is. Then he's gone.
"Park," Giggs says, "I'd like you to meet Carlos Tevez."
Ji-Sung holds out his hand, and Carlos Tevez gives him a huge hug. "Great to meet you!" he says.
"I'll just leave you two to get to know each other," Giggs says, before drifting off.
In the next five minutes, Ji-Sung learns that Carlos is married with two kids (daughters) but that his family stayed in Argentina.
"I couldn't make them move here," he says, dolefully.
"Manchester's not so bad," Ji-Sung says. "I'd be happy to show you around the city."
"Wait, you like Manchester?" Patrice says, re-appearing with two bagels.
Ji-Sung blushes a little bit. "Yeah, I guess I do." Patrice grins at Ji-Sung, and next to Ji-Sung, Carlos grins and nudges Ji-Sung's shoulder.
"Going to introduce me?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Patrice, this is Carlos Tevez, and Carlos, this is Patrice Evra." Patrice and Carlos shakes hands, before Ferdinand calls Patrice away.
"No hug?" Ji-Sung asks.
Carlos laughs. "He didn't seem too huggable."
Ji-Sung is about to disagree, but manages to stop himself.
It's late on a Friday afternoon in August, when Ji-Sung runs down the hallways to Patrice's office.
Patrice looks up, startled. "Are you ok?" he asks, rising from his desk.
Ji-Sung nods, catching his breath. "van Nistelrooy just offered Cristiano a job. And he's taking it."
"You're kidding."
"Not even a little bit. He just came to say good bye to me."
Patrice starts laughing. "Sir Alex is going to be fucking furious, Ji."
Ji-Sung grins back at him. "I know."
"Tell you what," Patrice says, "let's avoid some of that fury by leaving early. Go get dinner somewhere, go to a bar?" He pauses for a second, then adds, almost testingly, "pick up some girls?"
Ji-Sung freezes up a bit. "I don't think Manchester girls like me much," he says.
Patrice gives him a look. "I don't believe that. Come out with me, I'll show you."
"Well, it might have something to do with the fact I don't like girls much," Ji-Sung continues, hands in his pockets.
They're both quiet for a second. Then Patrice grins at him. "Manchester boys, then?" Patrice asks. And Ji-Sung is about to tell him everything, about to lean forward and - when Carlos comes in.
"Did you hear about Cristiano?" he asks.
Around 11:30 a few days later, Carlos waltzes into Ji-Sung's office.
"Lunch?" he asks, furtively.
Ji-Sung nods enthusiastically. "I've been ready for the last ten minutes. You should have asked sooner."
"Had to wait for Ferdinand to leave," Carlos says, sagely. "I was worried he would want to come."
"We should leave before he comes back," Ji-Sung agrees. "Just let me get Patrice."
Carlos gives a wolf-whistle. "Is this a date? Because I can stay here and eat at my desk like I have no friends, if you want."
"This," Ji-Sung says, trying to seem dignified and not just pathetic, "is not a date. It is not a date because Patrice and I are only friends."
"Only?" Carlos asks, grinning. "Ohhh, Ji, do you want Patrice to -"
Ji-Sung kicks him in the leg just then, hard, since Patrice has just come in through the door.
"Lunch, Ji?" Patrice asks, and then says, "Oh, Carlos, I didn’t see you." He looks at Ji-Sung, so fast Ji-Sung can't read his expression, then back at Carlos. His shoulders slump, just slightly. "If you guys are going out, I have some work I need to finish up here."
"No, no, you should come!" Carlos says, with all his usual enthusiasm. "Let me just go get my wallet," he says, turning to Ji-Sung and giving him a ridiculous wink. Ji-Sung wants to kick him again, but can't, and I'll meet you guys in the lobby. And then he's gone, leaving Patrice alone with Ji-Sung.
"Sorry to interrupt," Patrice says, as they walk to the elevator together.
"You didn't," Ji-Sung says. "I was just about to get you. I hope you don't mind that Carlos is joining us."
Patrice shrugs and looks away. "No, no, not at all. I like him." They both reach for the elevator call button at the same time, and their hands brush. Patrice pulls back.
Ji-Sung presses the button, darting a look over at Patrice. "Well, he's new to Manchester and I know he misses his family. I understand that; I think he just needs a friend." They step into the elevator. "And since you. And I thought I could help with that."
Patrice gives him a smile then, but his eyes look sad somehow. "You're a good guy, Ji," he says, finally. "You're a good guy."
Patrice is mostly quiet through lunch, letting Carlos tell outrageous stories about Argentina. Ji-Sung laughs along with them. When the waiter comes with their check, Carlos says, "Ji, you paying this time?" and Ji-Sung sees Patrice's eyes narrow.
"Ji-Sung," Patrice corrects, looking straight at Carlos. "His name is Ji-Sung." Ji-Sung looks up from calculating tip, confused. Patrice looks angry; Carlos looks almost amused.
"You call him Ji all the time," Carlos points out, not unreasonably.
"That." Patrice looks over at Ji-Sung, then back at Carlos. "That's not the point."
"Then what's the point?" Carlos asks, now nearly grinning. And Patrice looks over at Ji-Sung and he doesn't look angry anymore, only tired.
"Nothing," he says. "Let's go."
Patrice is quiet the whole way back to the office. When they get out of the car, though, he puts one hand on Ji-Sung's shoulder, holding him in place.
"I'm sorry," Patrice says. "Ji. I just." He shakes his head. "I hope you won't be lonely anymore," he says, finally, then walks away, leaving Ji-Sung standing in the parking lot, confused and pissed off.
"What was that?" he asks himself. Carlos, still standing on the other side of the car, bursts out laughing.
"He thinks we're dating," Carlos says, still laughing, "and I think he's jealous."
Ji-Sung looks at Carlos, hope rising in his chest. "You think?"
"You are actually the most emotionally constipated person I have ever met," Carlos says. "Go get your boy before he does something stupid!"
Ji-Sung goes.
Patrice is waiting for the elevator in the lobby, by himself. Ji-Sung stops next to him, panting a little from running. Patrice looks over at him, puzzled and dark-eyed.
"You," Ji-Sung says, looking straight at him. "You. You realize I didn't actually have tickets to that game when I asked you?"
Patrice looks confused for a second, then his eyes clear and he laughs. "So, was that a date?"
"It could have been construed as one, yes," Ji-Sung says.
Patrice laughs. "I am such an idiot," he says, finally.
"That's ok," Ji-Sung says, "I'm an idiot, too" and kisses him. Somewhere behind them, Carlos gives a loud cheer. Patrice flicks him off, then rests both his hands on Ji-Sung's back, pulling Ji-Sung in closer.
There's a knock on the door of Ji-Sung's new office. He’s just booted up his laptop and logged into the company’s wireless, using his brand new user name and password.
"Come in," he calls.
The door opens. "Mr. Park?" the man asks. Ji-Sung stands up and shakes the hand he's offered. "Nice to meet you, I'm Ryan Giggs. We spoke on the phone."
"We're thrilled to have you here," Giggs continues, "I hope you're settling in well."
Ji-Sung nods. "Yes, um, everything is good." Giggs' accent is much harder to decipher than his English teacher's had been.
"Let me introduce you to the rest of the team," Giggs says, leading Ji-Sung out into the hallway, and then into a conference room. Ten or so men, all in suits, are milling around.
Giggs makes introductions briskly, and Ji-Sung smiles and does his best to remember faces, names and job titles. Then Giggs starts the meeting, and Ji-Sung focuses all his attention on the power point presentation, which is just dull enough to be comfortingly familiar.
Ji-Sung drives himself home from work that day, exhausted. He means to spend some time unpacking, so that his apartment seems less depressingly empty, but he doesn’t have the energy for it. He still has rice in the rice cooker from last night, so he eats that, with some leftover beef and kimchi, while watching football on tv. His landlord had helped him set up his cable the night before, thankfully. He mutes the sound, even though he knows he should be practicing his English. He falls asleep on the couch.
The next morning, he wakes up early and goes for a run. It rains lightly, and it's quiet, just the sound of his breathing and his feet hitting the pavement. The sky is low and grey, and he can see his breath. It's peaceful.
He showers afterward, jerks off quickly, not thinking about anything. He puts on a suit and tie and drives to work. He eats lunch at his desk because he needs to finish the projections for the budget meeting at 3, and they need to be perfect. They are.
He settles into a routine, one which mostly involves working late and eating dinner alone. He goes to the bar with some of guys from work, but watching Ferdinand and Rooney persistently flirting with girls in short skirts just makes him feel awkward.
He sometimes sits with Cristiano Ronaldo, who orders coke without rum and watches van Nistelrooy intently. When girls come to talk to them, Ji-Sung lets Cristiano take over, lets him charm them with his halting English and ridiculous hair. It saves Ji-Sung from explaining why he never brings anyone home.
He's lonely, but it isn't the end of the world.
One Tuesday morning in January, Ji-Sung gets to the conference room a few minutes early. Cristiano brings some sort of Portuguese doughnut things - malasadas, Ji-Sung thinks they're called - to every Tuesday meeting. Ji-Sung thinks Cristiano does it because van Nistelrooy gives his weekly presentation on bug fixes every Tuesday, and every time van Nistelrooy eats a malasada he spends the rest of the meeting licking sugar of his fingers, in a manner that borders on the pornographic. It's the kind of thing Ji-Sung would gossip about at the water cooler, except he brings his own water bottle with him, and he also likes Cristiano too much to make fun of him for his obviously doomed crush.
Except instead of it just being Cristiano in the room, nervously checking his hair in the reflective table, Giggs is already there as well, with a slight, dark-skinned man. His suit doesn't fit him terribly well, and he isn't wearing a tie.
"Park," Giggs says, "I'd like you to meet the new liaison between Ferdinand's team in engineering and you guys in accounting. This is Patrice Evra."
"Nice to meet you, Evra," Ji-Sung says, shaking his hand. He has a firm handshake.
"You too," Evra says, smiling. His teeth are very white, and the skin around his eyes crinkles. Giggs is already gone, probably grabbing a malasada before Cristiano gives them all away.
"You should call me Patrice, though," Evra continues. "None of this boarding school bullshit." He shakes his head, laughing. "The English, man."
"My name is Ji-Sung," Ji-Sung says.
"Ji," Evra counters, "it's easier." He smiles again, and Ji-Sung thinks, sure, why not? There are worse nicknames. Then the meeting starts, and Ev - and Patrice sits next to Ji-Sung, and spends the entire time drawing an elaborate picture of a horse giving a power point on his yellow legal pad. Ji-Sung leans over and adds a quick sketch of himself, asleep in one corner, before he can stop himself. Patrice smiles at him, quick and deadly, and just like that, Ji-Sung is totally fucked.
That Friday, Ji-Sung is heading to the office microwave to warm up his leftover fried rice for lunch. He has some figures of last quarter’s sales he'd really like to get done before the weekend. Since Patrice's office is right there, Ji-Sung knocks on Patrice's door, before he can stop himself.
"Come in," Patrice calls, and Ji-Sung opens the door.
"Hey, Ji," Patrice gives Ji-Sung a huge grin, "What can I help you with?"
Ji-Sung thinks fast. "You like Manchester United?"
Patrice’s grin gets wider, if that's even possible. "Do I like Manchester United?" he repeats. "I mean, I guess I like them a little but. Slightly. Somewhat. Enough to move to this fucking grey excuse for a city."
"That might be more than a little," Ji-Sung says, keeping his face as straight as he can.
"Well, don't tell anyone," Patrice says. "I tried talking to Rooney about football the other day and he started babbling about systemic economic disadvantages and Everton."
"He's an investment banker," Ji-Sung says, "systemic economic disadvantages are his life."
"I mentioned that," Patrice says, and his eyes are fucking twinkling." Ji-Sung's chest aches a little bit. "He wasn’t too pleased."
"I cannot imagine why," Ji-Sung says, "because he really is such a balanced and sane individual."
Patrice cracks up. "And here I was worried you'd be another stuffy accountant, Ji."
Ji-Sung puts a finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret is safe with me," Patrice says. Then: "So, why were you asking me about Manchester United?"
"I have tickets to the game tomorrow," Ji-Sung says, which is a total lie, but whatever. It's a lie he can quickly make the truth. "And um, the person I was going with blew me off, I was wondering if you'd like to go?"
Patrice shakes his head and grins. "I'd love to, man, I'd love to. But Ji, if I'm the first person you're inviting to this, you need to make some friends."
"I'm working on it," Ji-Sung says, with a quick smile. "Email me your address and I'll pick you up?"
"Sure," Patrice says. "Now go, some of us actually work for a living."
Ji-Sung shuts the door behind him and rushes back to his office. Time to go pay way too much money for some scalped tickets. This is bad. This is really bad, and also heart-stoppingly good, and terrifying.
When Ji-Sung picks Patrice up, he's wearing an old United jersey and a pair of jeans. He looks unfairly attractive. Their seats are good; close to the halfway line and not too far back from the pitch. They cost more than Ji-Sung really wants to think about, but it's not like he has anyone to spend his money on. It's nice. The drink beer and yell a lot.
Afterward, Patrice says, "I didn't expect you to be so into the match."
Ji-Sung shrugs. "I used to play when I was little."
"Me too," Patrice says. "Were you any good?"
"Better than you," Ji-Sung replies, straight-faced.
Patrice laughs, leaning in against Ji-Sung. "I bet you were, Ji, I bet you were."
Patrice starts dropping by his office after that, once or twice a day. They talk about football, and gossip about the other guys at work, mostly. They start going out to lunch together, too. Ji-Sung likes to take Patrice to the Korean barbecue close to the office, because it’s cheap (Ji-Sung refuses to expense their lunches) and convenient.
"You homesick?" Patrice asks, their fourth time there. The waitresses recognize Ji-Sung, since he goes by himself sometimes, too. Patrice notices things like that.
"Yes," Ji-Sung says, carefully separating his chopsticks and folding their paper wrapper to make a stand for them. Patrice imitates him, although his paper chopstick stand is a bit less sturdy than Ji-Sung's.
"I got lonely a lot when I was a kid," Patrice says. "My dad was a diplomat, so we moved around a lot. It always took me a while to adjust."
"I'm not as lonely now," Ji-Sung says, because he isn't, and because he needs Patrice to know that.
"Good," Patrice says, smiling. "I'd honestly be a little offended if you were." They're silent for a minute. Ji-Sung tries to keep his face down, until his chest hurts a little less, so his eyes don’t tell Patrice everything he can't.
"Did you hear about the offer van Nistelrooy got from that tech company in Madrid?" Patrice asks.
"I heard he got one; is he taking it?" Ji-Sung asks, taking a sip of water.
"Apparently so," Patrice says. "I heard he told Sir Alex to go fuck himself, and cleared out his office this morning. I guess the old horse is moving on to greener pastures."
Ji-Sung laughs. "That's a terrible joke."
"I know." Patrice grins.
Ji-Sung shakes his head. "Poor Cristiano."
"Poor Cristiano? Poor everyone. You know how much work we're going to have until Sir Alex can be bothered to hire a replacement?"
Patrice is right about that, of course. Ji-Sung still takes long lunches with Patrice, even though he really shouldn't, and to make up for it, works until seven most nights.
He's sleeping at his desk when Patrice comes in, without knocking.
"Wha?" he asks, his voice still rough with sleep. He rubs his eyes and tightens his tie. Patrice licks his lips, maybe unconsciously, and gives him a long look. He's leaning against the door frame of Ji-Sung's office, like he belongs there. Ji-Sung smiles up at him for no real reason. Patrice smiles back.
"Come meet the new guy," Patrice says.
"Oh, thank god," Ji-Sung says, getting up. When he gets to the door frame, Patrice grabs his shoulder and reaches up to fix his tie, his hands brushing gently against Ji-Sung's chest. The temptation to kiss him is incredibly strong, but then Rooney walks by, and says something that vaguely resembles, "Hurry up, there's food!" and Patrice drops his hands.
"Was that even English?" Ji-Sung asks, trying to hide the fact that his face is coloring.
Patrice laughs, and it comes out a bit shaky. "Don't ask me, Ji, I can never tell."
In the conference room, there are bagels. "I'll go get you one," Patrice says, because he's better at pushing through crowds of people than Ji-Sung is. Then he's gone.
"Park," Giggs says, "I'd like you to meet Carlos Tevez."
Ji-Sung holds out his hand, and Carlos Tevez gives him a huge hug. "Great to meet you!" he says.
"I'll just leave you two to get to know each other," Giggs says, before drifting off.
In the next five minutes, Ji-Sung learns that Carlos is married with two kids (daughters) but that his family stayed in Argentina.
"I couldn't make them move here," he says, dolefully.
"Manchester's not so bad," Ji-Sung says. "I'd be happy to show you around the city."
"Wait, you like Manchester?" Patrice says, re-appearing with two bagels.
Ji-Sung blushes a little bit. "Yeah, I guess I do." Patrice grins at Ji-Sung, and next to Ji-Sung, Carlos grins and nudges Ji-Sung's shoulder.
"Going to introduce me?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Patrice, this is Carlos Tevez, and Carlos, this is Patrice Evra." Patrice and Carlos shakes hands, before Ferdinand calls Patrice away.
"No hug?" Ji-Sung asks.
Carlos laughs. "He didn't seem too huggable."
Ji-Sung is about to disagree, but manages to stop himself.
It's late on a Friday afternoon in August, when Ji-Sung runs down the hallways to Patrice's office.
Patrice looks up, startled. "Are you ok?" he asks, rising from his desk.
Ji-Sung nods, catching his breath. "van Nistelrooy just offered Cristiano a job. And he's taking it."
"You're kidding."
"Not even a little bit. He just came to say good bye to me."
Patrice starts laughing. "Sir Alex is going to be fucking furious, Ji."
Ji-Sung grins back at him. "I know."
"Tell you what," Patrice says, "let's avoid some of that fury by leaving early. Go get dinner somewhere, go to a bar?" He pauses for a second, then adds, almost testingly, "pick up some girls?"
Ji-Sung freezes up a bit. "I don't think Manchester girls like me much," he says.
Patrice gives him a look. "I don't believe that. Come out with me, I'll show you."
"Well, it might have something to do with the fact I don't like girls much," Ji-Sung continues, hands in his pockets.
They're both quiet for a second. Then Patrice grins at him. "Manchester boys, then?" Patrice asks. And Ji-Sung is about to tell him everything, about to lean forward and - when Carlos comes in.
"Did you hear about Cristiano?" he asks.
Around 11:30 a few days later, Carlos waltzes into Ji-Sung's office.
"Lunch?" he asks, furtively.
Ji-Sung nods enthusiastically. "I've been ready for the last ten minutes. You should have asked sooner."
"Had to wait for Ferdinand to leave," Carlos says, sagely. "I was worried he would want to come."
"We should leave before he comes back," Ji-Sung agrees. "Just let me get Patrice."
Carlos gives a wolf-whistle. "Is this a date? Because I can stay here and eat at my desk like I have no friends, if you want."
"This," Ji-Sung says, trying to seem dignified and not just pathetic, "is not a date. It is not a date because Patrice and I are only friends."
"Only?" Carlos asks, grinning. "Ohhh, Ji, do you want Patrice to -"
Ji-Sung kicks him in the leg just then, hard, since Patrice has just come in through the door.
"Lunch, Ji?" Patrice asks, and then says, "Oh, Carlos, I didn’t see you." He looks at Ji-Sung, so fast Ji-Sung can't read his expression, then back at Carlos. His shoulders slump, just slightly. "If you guys are going out, I have some work I need to finish up here."
"No, no, you should come!" Carlos says, with all his usual enthusiasm. "Let me just go get my wallet," he says, turning to Ji-Sung and giving him a ridiculous wink. Ji-Sung wants to kick him again, but can't, and I'll meet you guys in the lobby. And then he's gone, leaving Patrice alone with Ji-Sung.
"Sorry to interrupt," Patrice says, as they walk to the elevator together.
"You didn't," Ji-Sung says. "I was just about to get you. I hope you don't mind that Carlos is joining us."
Patrice shrugs and looks away. "No, no, not at all. I like him." They both reach for the elevator call button at the same time, and their hands brush. Patrice pulls back.
Ji-Sung presses the button, darting a look over at Patrice. "Well, he's new to Manchester and I know he misses his family. I understand that; I think he just needs a friend." They step into the elevator. "And since you. And I thought I could help with that."
Patrice gives him a smile then, but his eyes look sad somehow. "You're a good guy, Ji," he says, finally. "You're a good guy."
Patrice is mostly quiet through lunch, letting Carlos tell outrageous stories about Argentina. Ji-Sung laughs along with them. When the waiter comes with their check, Carlos says, "Ji, you paying this time?" and Ji-Sung sees Patrice's eyes narrow.
"Ji-Sung," Patrice corrects, looking straight at Carlos. "His name is Ji-Sung." Ji-Sung looks up from calculating tip, confused. Patrice looks angry; Carlos looks almost amused.
"You call him Ji all the time," Carlos points out, not unreasonably.
"That." Patrice looks over at Ji-Sung, then back at Carlos. "That's not the point."
"Then what's the point?" Carlos asks, now nearly grinning. And Patrice looks over at Ji-Sung and he doesn't look angry anymore, only tired.
"Nothing," he says. "Let's go."
Patrice is quiet the whole way back to the office. When they get out of the car, though, he puts one hand on Ji-Sung's shoulder, holding him in place.
"I'm sorry," Patrice says. "Ji. I just." He shakes his head. "I hope you won't be lonely anymore," he says, finally, then walks away, leaving Ji-Sung standing in the parking lot, confused and pissed off.
"What was that?" he asks himself. Carlos, still standing on the other side of the car, bursts out laughing.
"He thinks we're dating," Carlos says, still laughing, "and I think he's jealous."
Ji-Sung looks at Carlos, hope rising in his chest. "You think?"
"You are actually the most emotionally constipated person I have ever met," Carlos says. "Go get your boy before he does something stupid!"
Ji-Sung goes.
Patrice is waiting for the elevator in the lobby, by himself. Ji-Sung stops next to him, panting a little from running. Patrice looks over at him, puzzled and dark-eyed.
"You," Ji-Sung says, looking straight at him. "You. You realize I didn't actually have tickets to that game when I asked you?"
Patrice looks confused for a second, then his eyes clear and he laughs. "So, was that a date?"
"It could have been construed as one, yes," Ji-Sung says.
Patrice laughs. "I am such an idiot," he says, finally.
"That's ok," Ji-Sung says, "I'm an idiot, too" and kisses him. Somewhere behind them, Carlos gives a loud cheer. Patrice flicks him off, then rests both his hands on Ji-Sung's back, pulling Ji-Sung in closer.