Valentine's Day requests - PART TWO

[gollumpanties]

6. an, onkey, canon
7. mon, xingdae, AU
8. miin, seho, AU
9. tucker, xiuhun, AU
10. iole, xiulay, AU
11. haze, onkey, AU


6. an, onkey, canon

It happens one morning at breakfast. Kibum has been awake for nearly an hour already and time is running short before they have to leave the dorm for the day’s schedule, so they’d drawn lots, as usual, to see who got the thankless task of waking their leader up. Jonghyun picks the short straw, which makes Taemin whoop in triumph and do a victory lap with Minho around the table. Jonghyun pouts, but leaves the room. A second later, Kibum hears the sound of a door being kicked open, along with the reverberating tones of Jonghyun’s voice.

“Wakey wakey, hyung! You have thirty seconds to be upright or pictures of your drooling face are going up on every SNS platform I can get my hands on.”

“You know, I think that would work like magic on almost anyone except Jinki hyung,” says Minho thoughtfully.

“He doesn’t seem all that concerned with his appearance, it’s true,” Taemin agrees.

“Disgusting,” Kibum comments, looking up to see Jinki stumble out of the bedroom, wiping what Kibum can only assume to be drool off of his face.

And that’s when it happens.

“Oof!” Kibum doubles over in his seat, hand clutched to his chest.

“Are you okay?” Taemin asks.

“I don’t know-” Kibum says breathlessly. “I think so..”

“What’s wrong?” Jinki pads over to them in sock-clad feet, yawning hugely. His hair looks like a bird’s nest.

“Augh, it happened again,” Kibum winces. “I feel really weird.”

Jinki pushes back his hair, laying the back of his hand against Kibum’s forehead.

I don’t think you have a fever,” he frowns. “Are you okay to go out today?”

Kibum smacks his hand away, insulted by the idea that he might stay home sick.

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “You worry about finding a hat to cover that disaster until the stylists can get to it.”

Jinki smiles sleepily, not perturbed in the least by Kibum’s irritation.

“Be careful,” he says. “Take it easy if you’re not feeling well.”

Kibum fists a hand in the front of his shirt as he watches Jinki burn his mouth on a hot cup of tea. He’s fine. He’s fine.

“I don’t feel fine,” Kibum insists. “I really think this is the kind of thing you need medical attention for. You have to help me.” They’re on a break between show recordings and Kibum has finagled a moment alone with the only person he can think of. “It’s like my heart doesn’t work quite right anymore. Instead of just going daDUM daDUM like a normal heart, sometimes it goes like dadaDUM da… DUM daDUM. It’s like it’s trying to beat out this funky club rhythm and it’s scaring me. What if I have a heart murmur? What do you think?”

Minho blinks slowly at him.

“You do realize,” he says, “that I’m not actually a doctor, right?” I only played one on tv?”

Kibum shoves him aside in disgust.

“You’re no help at all.”

Over the next few days, Kibum monitors the situation carefully. googling his symptoms compulsively until Jonghyun accuses him of being a hypochondriac.

“I bet you can’t even spell that,” says Kibum viciously.

“At least I’m not searching the internet for-” Jonghyun peers over his shoulder “-’18 Home Remedies for Heart Disease.’ Geeze, what, are you eighty years old all of a sudden?”

“Stop screenwatching!” Kibum screeches, flinging his upper body over his laptop screen. “I don’t look at whatever’s in your shameful browser history!”

“What’s going on?” Jinki sticks his head around the corner. “I heard yelling.”

“Jonghyun is invading my privacy!” Kibum points an accusing finger.

Jinki sighs. “Jonghyun, why don’t you just leave him alone?”

“This is blatant favoritism,” Jonghyun complains, “and I, for one,will not stand for this kind of in-group division of affection. You never stop Kibum when he commandeers the ipod jack in the van for his own personal sing-alongs.”

Jinki coughs awkwardly. “I think Minho’s beating your high score on Flappy Bird,” he suggests mildly.

Jonghyun tears from the room with an enraged shriek. There are sounds of conflict from the next room, but Kibum finds himself watching the corners of Jinki’s eyes crinkle instead.

“That ought to keep him busy for the next ten minutes at least,” Jinki offers.

Kibum can only nod mutely.

"I think I might have a sleep apnea," Kibum says.

Minho sighs a great sigh. "You were awake when it happened, though."

"What if it's a very rare kind of sleep apnea?" Kibum suggests.

"The kind that happens when you're not actually sleeping?" Minho blinks innocently.

"Bend over so I can hit you in the head," Kibum demands.

"I think you're being silly."

"Repeatedly."

"Okay, so you had trouble breathing," Minho holds up his hands in surrender. "I believe you. I just think there are probably a lot of simple answers to all this. You're overthinking it."

"Answers like what?"

"Like maybe you have asthma? Maybe you're allergic to something?" Minho sees the look on Kibum's face. He sighs again. "Maybe the air itself is in awe of your very presence and was too scared to go into your exalted lungs for a moment."

Kibum stares at him critically for a moment. Minho flinches when he raises his hand, but Kibum just pats him on the shoulder.

"I'd vote for you for a medical degree," Kibum tells him kindly.

"That's not how you-" Minho gives up. "Okay, hyung."

No matter how good Minho's advice may or may not sound, Kibum still has trouble matching up his various afflictions with any likely cause. They're multiplying too. Not only is his heart doing weird stuttery things more often, but he's finding himself regularly short of breath, even while sitting still. He gasps to breathe while watching Taemin crush Jinki in a game of Halo infection, wheezing until he can't see the leader's lower lip stuck out in concentration. He is subject to random flashes of hot and cold. He shivers when Jinki steps wrong in dance practice, turning his ankle just a little too far in the wrong direction. Kibum huddles in the corner while they take a quick water break, and he wishes that Jinki wouldn't spend his entire break rubbing Kibum's arms and ignoring his ankle, because now Kibum feels far too hot.

Several times, when it gets really bad, he almost considers taking their manager aside and begging to be sent home, but that would be letting the group down. He has a job to do, a role to play, and he can't let a little uncontrollable sweating get between him and his obligations to his bandmates. His duty to SHINee.

Kibum thinks he has it under control. He can ride through each new wave of lightheadedness, he can wipe his palms on the leg of his pants, and no one need ever know that his life is in shambles. He finds out just how wrong he is one day when he's sandwiched in the very back of the van between Jonghyun, who is listening to his music loud enough that Kibum can hear it bleeding out around the edges of his earbuds, and Jinki, who is dozing off in stages. His head lolls off to one side, and Kibum can hear it bounce off the window. He can feel his chest start to tighten painfully already, but he reaches over to pull the leader upright long enough to make a pillow for him out of a balled-up sweatshirt. Unfortunately, he miscalculates how hard he needs to tug on Jinki's arm, so he ends up with his arms full of warm, sleepy boy nuzzling into his shoulder. Kibum can't breathe. He tries to shove Jinki upright again, but Jinki's too heavy and has started to cling, treating Kibum's side like it's a far more comfortable pillow than Kibum knows it is. He knows for a fact that he is bony and prickly in unexpected places, with jewelry that threatens to jab the unwary, but Jinki is cuddling him like a giant teddy bear and Kibum's heart is beating an irregular tattoo in his chest. The air in the van is too close and he is overheating. He tries to fan himself with a hand, but Jonghyun stares at him funny. Jinki's hand is warm and heavy on Kibum's stomach. Kibum is just going to go crazy. That's all there is to it. The moment the van stops, Kbum tears away from Jinki, out of the backseat, pushing past Taemin and Minho to sprint up the stairs ahead of everyone else. He just needs to be alone.

Of course, "alone" is the one thing Jinki will never let him be. He follows Kibum out later, trailing him when he slips outside to get a breath of fresh air.

"Are you alright?"

Kibum jumps at the sound of his voice.

"I'm fine," he says quickly. He's not fine.

"You don't sound fine." Jinki comes closer. Kibum steps back. "You don't look fine."

"Well, I am," Kibum snaps. I'm not, he thinks. I'm really not.

"You've been acting strange all week," Jinki says. He grabs Kibum's hands, and the worry on his face makes Kibum's heart trip over itself even more.

"I'm just feeling a little strange," says Kibum, reluctant to give in even that much. Once he says it, though, he feels a little bit of the weight on his chest melt away.

"Strange how?" Jinki probes. "If you tell me, I’ll do what I can to help.”

“I don’t think its something you can help with,” Kibum laughs somewhat mirthlessly.

“Try me,” Jinki is stubborn when he wants to be. Kibum shakes his head.

“Why do you care?” he asks.

“What?” Jinki looks startled. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

“I know you’re the leader and all, but I’m not messing up in shows or in practice, so it’s nothing that’s affecting us as a group.It’s just…” Kibum tries not to look Jinki in the eyes, tries not to think about the way his heart is thudding painfully right now, like it’s slamming itself against his ribs, trying to escape. “It’s just that sometimes I feel weird and I can’t figure out why.”

“Weird how?” prompts Jinki. His hands are warm and he doesn’t pull away, even though Kibum is shaking.

“Sometimes…” Kibum hesitates. ‘Sometimes I have trouble breathing. Like I can take as deep a breath as I want, but I’m not getting any oxygen and I get all lightheaded.”

“Hm.”

“And sometimes I just start to shake and it’s like my legs don’t work anymore. Like when you get wobbly legs after a long practice, only I’m not tired.”

“I see.” Jinki is smiling faintly

“But most often it’s my heart acting weird,” says Kibum. “Sometimes it won’t stop racing and other times it’s like it can’t remember what rhythm it’s supposed to be beating in.”

“Anything else?” Jinki really is smiling now and Kibum wishes someone would let him in on the joke.

“Just little things,” he says. “Sometimes my mouth goes dry or I start to overheat for no reason.”

Jinki steps a little bit closer. Kibum’s throat is tight.

“Does it ever happen when you’re alone?” Jinki asks.

“Not really,” Kibum says.

“Did it happen when you and Jonghyun were watching that drama a few days ago?”

Kibum thinks about this. “No.”

“Okay. Did it happen that time when Taemin locked himself in the closet and you went to go break him out?”

”No.”

“And what about when you go off to have those secret talks with Minho?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Kibum says. “No.”

“But it happened when we were all eating breakfast together. And it happened when we were coming back from getting snacks that one time and I waited in the elevator for you. And it happened in the van just now.”

“And it’s happening now,” Kibum’s eyes widen. “It’ you. You’re the one causing it.

Jinki’s smile right now isn’t that huge one he gets sometimes where it takes up half of his face, but it still looks like ten thousand watts.

“And I think I might know what it means,” he says.

“How?” Kibum demands.

“Because I recognize the symptoms.” Jinki is very close now, close enough that Kibum should back away. He doesn’t. “They’re the same things I feel whenever you’re around,” Jinki says. “I know what it means when I feel those things.”

“What does it mean?” Kibum whispers.

“Love.”

Jinki kisses the corner of his mouth softly, the curve of his smile pressed to Kibum’s lips. Kibum’s heart might have stopped or it might be beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. He knows that he’s lightheaded and his knees appear to have stopped responding. He clings to Jinki’s shoulders.

“Oh.”

Kibum is having trouble breathing, but when Jinki kisses him again, it’s like a heady rush of oxygen to his starved lungs.

“Oh,” he breathes again.

“Yeah,” Jinki laughs. “Oh.”

Kibum blinks a few times.

“Is that okay?” Jinki asks.

“I think so,” says Kibum, and when he kisses Jinki back this time, the loud pounding of his heart in his ears is still scary, but in a way that Kibum think maybe he can handle.

It’s the sound of love.


7. mon, xingdae, AU

“Yixing!”

Yixing kept walking, steadfastly ignoring the voice behind him. Lu Han nudged him with an elbow. When he looked over, Yixing saw his friend smirking at him.

“Looks like your admirer is back,” said Lu Han.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Yixing said. “You’ll only encourage him.”

“Why are you trying to discourage him, exactly? Last I checked, you were painfully single.”

“He specializes in love spells,” Yixing rolled his eyes. “His entire approach to love is based on tricks and artifice.”

“I think you may be jumping to conclusions here,” Lu Han said.

Yixing just gave him a look. Unfortunately, this gave Jongdae time to catch up to them. Jongdae leaned up against Yixing’s arm, grinning up at him in a particularly greasy manner.

“Yixing,” he said, “you’re looking magical today.”

Yixing sighed. “Come on, Lu Han, we’re going to be late for class.” He tugged Lu Han’s arm, walking away quickly.

“If I followed you home, would you keep me?” Jongdae called after them.

Lu Han cackled. “Please never make him stop,” he said. “This is where I get all my entertainment in life.”

It was like this every day. Every day, Yixing would go to his classes and somehow Jongdae would find him and hit on him in the most over-the-top way imaginable. Yixing could only assume that he found it funny, because he didn’t give up even after three weeks of being ignored. Lu Han was no help whatsoever, just laughing every time Jongdae came up to them, no matter how many silent pleas for help Yixing sent in his direction.

“You are the worst friend I have ever had,” Yixing told him.

“What do you want me to do?” Lu Han asked. “Blow him up? Because I could do that.”

“That’s your solution to everything,” said Yixing.

“It’s a good solution,” Lu Han shrugged. “Most things could do with a good explosion or two. Listen, if you don’t want me to blow him up, and you’re not gonna curse him, your best bet is just to-”

The wall next to them sneezed. A second later, someone popped into view where there had been only empty air a moment before.

“Oops,” said Baekhyun.

Yixing grabbed Jongdae’s best friend by the ear.

“Ow ow ow, careful-”

“What are you doing here?”

“Jongdae promised me he’d help me get even with Kyungsoo after The Event last week if I found out what you were saying about him,” Baekhyun winced. “I didn’t think you would ever know I was here. Usually my invisibility holds.”

Yixing sighed. “Lu Han…”

Lu Han held up his hands. “Hey, unless you want me to blow him up, I don’t know why you’re looking at me.”

“Deliver him to the waiting arms of his friend, would you?” Yixing asked grimly.

“With pleasure.”

Yixing didn’t like the devious look on Lu Han’s face. The two started to walk away, Lu Han’s arm slung over Baekhyun’s shoulders far too casually. Lu Han leaned down to say something into Baekhyun’s ear.

“Don’t you dare tell him anything about me!” Yixing shouted after them.

Lu Han just waved and grinned. Yixing groaned. He really was the worst friend Yixing had ever had.

His suspicions were confirmed when Jongdae slid into the seat next to them a few days later when Yixing was out to lunch with Lu Han at their favorite restaurant just off campus. Yixing gave Lu Han a dirty look, but Lu Han smiled innocently at his kimbap. There was no way Jongdae would have known about their lunch plans unless Lu Han had told him or Baekhyun, but there was also no way to make Lu Han feel shame. Yixing wasn’t sure Lu Han was even capable of the emotion.

“What are you doing here?” Yixing asked Jongdae instead.

“I have a question for you,” said Jongdae. He looked serious enough that Yixing blinked.

“What is it?”

Jongdae continued to look serious for a moment, then he grinned. “I just wanted to know if you’d put a spell on me~” He made two little finger guns, pointed at Yixing. Lu Han choked.

Yixing stared at Jongdae. Jongdae stared back.

“No,” said Yixing. “I put a spell on him.” He jerked a thumb towards Lu Han.

“Wait, what?” Lu Han looked up, aghast.

“Nothing.”

Jongdae laughed. “What kind of spells do you specialize in?”

“Curses,” said Yixing, deadpan.

“Haha,” Jongdae grinned.

“He’s not kidding,” said Lu Han, still looking vaguely perturbed and touching his face carefully, as if he could feel any spell Yixing had left there.

Jongdae blinked. “Wow,” he said. “Interesting.”

When he got up to leave, Yixing had a brief moment where he thought that maybe he had scared him off. The thought was just a little bit disappointing. Not that he would miss the really bad pickup lines. It was just that… people usually edged away after hearing what Yixing studied. It was a little bit of a letdown to think that Jongdae was just the same as everyone else.

Of course, the momentary disappointment passed when Jongdae turned around at the door and blew a huge kiss to their table. Yixing waved away the illusory lips that floated across the room towards his face.

“I must leave,” said Jongdae, “but I shall return another time! Farewell!”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Yixing glared at Lu Han.

“You told him,” he accused. “Just who do you think you are?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lu Han looked smug. “I’m a motherfucking sorcerer!”

People at nearby tables turned to look, and a passing waitress frowned at them. Lu Han was going to get them kicked out of every single restaurant in town, Yixing groaned to himself.

The cold shoulder Yixing gave to Jongdae was even colder than usual over the next few days. It was perhaps unfair to take out his irritation at Lu Han on him, but Yixing had work to do. He had classes to pass. He was a busy man, he told himself. He didn’t have time to think about losing one annoying admirer. He didn’t feel guilty when he walked quickly past Jongdae in the halls, brushing him off before he could say more than two words. He wasn’t bothered by the look on Jongdae’s face. He didn’t miss it at all. Not even a little bit.

Yixing sighed to himself. It was all Lu Han’s fault anyway.

When he heard a knock on his dorm room door one evening, he was in the middle of practicing a particularly irritating curse. Lu Han was still in hiding from Yixing’s ire and he couldn’t very well practice on anyone else, so Yixing was currently occupied trying to make one of his eyes swell shut. The knock caught him off guard, so he opened it without thinking about what he must look like. His luck being what it was, the person at the door was none other than Jongdae.

“Listen,” Jongdae started right away, “I think we got off on the wrong foot so I asked Lu Han where you lived and- oh my god!” His eyes widened at the sight of Yixing’s eye. “Are you okay? Geeze, just- here, come sit down. I wouldn’t have- what happened? Are you okay?”

Yixing found himself pushed backwards into a desk chair while Jongdae ran around like a chicken with his head cut off. He grabbed a towel and ran it under ice cold water before holding it to Yixing’s face.

“Did something sting you?” he kept going without letting Yixing get a word in edgewise. “Did you eat something? Is it a food allergy? Do I need to call someone? I-”

“I’m fine!” Yixing finally interrupted him, grabbing Jongdae’s wrist. “I did it to myself.”

“You what?” Jongdae looked horrified.

“I study curses,” Yixing explained patiently. “I needed someone to practice on. You just knocked before I could use the countercuse. Look.” He waved a hand and the swelling instantly went down.

“Oh,” Jongdae said. He sat down on the floor next to Yixing’s feet. “I just- You scared me.”

“Why?” Yixing was suddenly aware that this was Jongdae. Jongdae was sitting on the floor of Yixing’s dorm room, with not so much as a bad pun in sight. “Why would it bother you?”

“... I don’t like the idea of you being hurt,” Jongdae said, after some hesitation. There was a faint tinge of color to his cheekbones. Yixing wanted to touch it. He didn’t.

“Why not?” he asked.

Jongdae looked up, surprised. He looked at Yixing like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Why not?” he repeated. “Why does the thought of you being hurt bother me? Why wouldn’t it? I-”

“Don’t say you like me.”

“Why can’t I say it?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“I think I know what my own feelings are,” Jongdae said stubbornly. He stayed sitting nex tto Yixing’s chair, but he sat up straight now, looking Yixing right in the eyes. “I know I joke a lot, but that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it. You refuse to believe that I could be sincere. It’s because I study love spells, isn’t it?”

“It’s easy for people like you to take love lightly,” Yixing said. “Everyone knows that-”

“Really?” Jongdae interrupted him. “Everyone knows? Do you know what else everyone knows? They know that people who study curses are antisocial and filled with mistrust for everyone. They know that people who study curses love to inflict pain on others and are only happy when someone is hurting.”

Yixing recoiled slightly. “You’re saying that, just because of what I study, I’m-”

“I’m saying that everyone is wrong,” Jongdae insisted. “I’m saying that everyone doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Come on, anyone who looked at you could see that that’s not true.” He looked off into the corner of the room. “I study love spells because I want to study love,” he said quietly. “I want to know what makes it tick and how it feels. I want to know everything about love.” He looked up at Yixing again. For the first time Yixing noticed the softness to his eyes. “Is it so hard to believe that I would like someone who teaches me about love every time I see him?”

Yixing had nothing to say to that. Jongdae’s words had torn down every single one of the arguments with which he had shielded himself, every excuse he had given himself to dismiss Jongdae’s advances as playful nothings.

“I guess I kind of undermined myself by joking around so much,” Jongdae said, the corners of his mouth curving up. “It’s easier to say something that scares you if you make a joke out of it though, isn’t it?”

Yixing searched for some response to that. “I scare you?” he said finally.

Jongdae laughed out loud. “Well, you do study curses,” he said.

This time Yixing smiled back. Jongdae stood up, one hand extended to Yixing.

“Let me take you out?” he ventured. “To prove the sincerity of my feelings.”

Yixing thought about it.

“Go out where?” he asked.

Jongdae smirked again, very much like his old smirk. “I know where Lu Han is hiding out.”

Yixing grinned back at him.

“It’s a date.”


8. miin, seho, AU

Junmyeon loved watching Sehun. He loved it when Sehun would stretch out on the floor in a particularly warm sunbeam. He loved it when something would catch Sehun’s attention, his ears twisting back and forth, perked up at some faint noise, tail twitching back and forth alertly. He loved it when Sehun would climb up to the very top of the bunk bed Junmyeon had bought for him, realizing that he liked to be up high.

(Junmyeon hadn’t thought Sehun needed much help getting up high, considering his height, but then Sehun had almost pulled a bookshelf down on himself trying to climb it. A bunk bed had seemed like a good idea after that.)

Junmyeon also loved it when Sehun was at his most elegant and aloof. Partially because he was so pleasing to watch, all sleek and lazy movements, but also because he was so much fun to ruffle up.

Sehun was currently occupied lounging on the sofa and taking up as much room as he was physically capable of, long legs stretched out and hanging over one of the arms. He had been sitting in the armchair a minute before, but had moved when Junmyeon had tried to join him. He allowed Junmyeon to sit next to him in the tiny space he left open on the sofa, as long as Junmyeon kept petting him. He wouldn’t dignify the activity with a purr, but he looked affronted whenever Junmyeon tried to stop. They stayed like that for a while, watching tv, which in Junmyeon’s case meant actually watching, and in Sehun’s case meant making sarcastic comments. Sehun was in full Superior Cat Mode. Some people found his generally condescending demeanor intimidating, but Junmyeon knew how cute he looked curled up on the bed in the morning, and he knew all about Sehun’s secret love of bubble tea and small children and the smell of cookies, so whenever Sehun got like this Junmyeon had to try hard not to laugh.

Sehun was also ridiculously easy to tease.

First, Junmyeon stopped petting him. He let his hands just sit in Sehun’s hair, fingers at the base of his ears, but unmoving. Sehun’s eyes slanted to the side, staring at him. Junmyeon ignored him. Sehun huffed very very quietly. Junmyeon knew he wanted to butt his head up against Junmyeon’s hands to make him start petting again, but such a request would be below his dignity right now. Sehun huffed again, slightly louder. Junmyeon bit back a smile. When he didn’t get a response, Sehun lapsed back into sullen silence. His body language told Junmyeon fine, it doesn’t matter, I didn’t want to be pet anyway, but his tail was lashing in frustration. After another minute, Sehun tossed his head to knock Junmyeon’s hands away.

Now was the moment.

Junmyeon leaned down slowly. Sehun was still steadily ignoring him. He brought his face down close to the side of Sehun’s head, next to one of his ears.

Then he blew.

Right into Sehun’s ear.

Sehun tried not to yowl, but he rolled right off of Junmyeon’s lap, right off the sofa, and sat on the floor, staring up at Junmyeon. His face was the picture of wounded pride.

“What was that for?” Sehun demanded.

Junmyeon laughed and slid off the sofa to sit next to him, arms wrapping around Sehun.

“You’re so cute,” he said.

Sehun grumbled, but then Junmyeon started to pet him again, scratching right behind his ears and kissing the side of his jaw affectionately.

Sehun purred despite himself.


9. tucker, xiuhun, AU

A stitch in time saves nine. It saves nine. Nine lives were were saved when you pulled together the fabric of space and time, ruching together the pleats of the universe to bridge that gap. You leap across the void to prevent that horrific catastrophe. Nine were saved. When you lie in bed at night now, sandpaper eyes staring at an unseen ceiling for hours… try not to think about what happened to the tenth.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, this morning, on my way to the station, I tripped over a wad of paper shoved under the edge of my dormant. I’m holding it now and it appears to be some sort of comic book. The title and pl synopsis both seem to be written using some twisted system of unintelligible runes. I’m not sure how to read them, but somehow they draw my eyes to them They speak to be in their eldritch tongue, calling my name.

“Sehun,” they say, “Open the cover. Sehun, run your fingers over our pages. Feel the ink against your skin, the fine, smooth surface of wood pulp spread thin and covered in stories of such wonder, you mortal mind is incapable of understanding the secrets held herein.”

I find myself drawn to this strange comic book. My hands seem pulled towards the bound paper, as if pulled in by the magnetism of the staples holding it together. Also, the art looks really, really nice. I’d like to read it, but as I am on air at the moment, it would be a serious neglect of my duties as a community radio host. I am setting it aside for the time being.

The Winter Olympics are upon us once again! To celebrate and to get everyone pumped up for this exciting event, Head Park Ranger Park Chanyeol has decided to bring back the long-neglected Night Vale Downhill Ski-For-Your-Life-athon. The event was abolished eight years ago, when the race’s winner, Kim Jongin, was the only one to cross the finish line, all other participants having failed to make it past the course’s many pitfalls, swinging logs, and razor wire obstacles. Kim Jongin crossed the finish line with an impressive time of seventeen minutes and forty-six seconds. Impressive because that last tripwire had taken off both of his feet at the ankle. The judges ruled that sliding across the finish line on his stomach was technically close enough to skiing that he qualified to take the first place medal. Kim Jongin now runs a dance studio for amputees and children with prosthetic limbs. He is deathly terrified of snow.

This comic book is really calling to me now. It is sitting on the table next to my microphone and I do not know how much longer I will be able to keep a lid on my curiosity. The cover shows a picture of a man’s chest with an intricate system of clockwork embedded in it, right where the heart would be on an average human. There is an interesting set to his shoulders that is both defiant and welcoming. … Oh, maybe just a few page wouldn’t hurt.

[Rustling sounds.]

There is no dialog anywhere on the first few pages, which is good since I feel that attempting to read those runes would prove to be nothing but an exercise in frustration. The art is black and white, very sketchy at first glance, almost unfinished, but each line conveys such movement and such a sense of reality that I might for a moment think myself looking through a window into a fully-realized world. Perhaps the inhabitants of this charcoal world would find the clear, sharp lines of our reality just as strange. The first panels show a house in the woods. It is dark and cold. The story opens in the winter, on what has got to be the coldest night of the year--the coldest night in the world. in fact. A couple lives in this house and the woman is about to give birth to her first child. He appears a few panels later, and the parents are so happy. Aw, this is so cute. I- wait. Wait, something is wrong. Something is not right here. There is a commotion and several panels are obscured with moving figures. I’m flipping ahead to see what’s going on.

[More rustling.]

The midwife who delivered the boy is a witch, it turns out, and she tells the parents that because he was born on the coldest day in the world, the boy has a frozen heart. She is going to attempt to save him by replacing the cold, frozen heart with a clockwork heart. The parents, tearful, nod their acceptance. They are fearful and anxious at the idea, but they agree. Anything to save the life of their newborn son.

More on this story as I keep reading.

Mayor Kim Junmyeon has called a press conference to answer questions and concerns about the newly-revived Downhill Ski-For-Your-Life-athon.

“I know it was discontinued in the past due to the ridiculously dangerous course,with obstacles that threaten to maim, if not outright decapitate, anyone who comes into contact with them, as well as the near 100% fatality rate, but let me assure you,” he gripped both sides of the podium, lifting it an inch off the ground in his fervor, “let me dispel any fears you may have about bringing back this event by saying that park authorities are taking every precaution to ensure the safety of the event. Additional restrictions are rules are being put into place. For example, all competitors will be required to wear helmets. The main cause of ski fatalities is head injury. Helmets are mandatory equipment for all athletes hoping to participate.” At this point, he started to vibrate gently. “The event is completely safe,” he said. “It’s is completely safe,” he repeated, the whites of his eyes visible like huge doughnuts around dilated pupils and irises shaking with conviction.

Mayor Kim Junmyeon ended his speech by standing up straight, opening his mouth wide, and releasing a cloud of bees which swarmed over the assembled crowd. There were no follow-up questions, as the reporters were fully occupied running and screaming.

Showtime Sport and Fitness will be the official supplier for the event, providing the athletes in the Downhill Ski-For-Your-Life-athon with all their equipment.

I am flipping through the comic book again and the boy with the clockwork heart is alive and doing just fine. Well, if by “fine” you mean “walking through the daily motions of human life with no conception of the sunken blackness of misery or the dazzling heights of elation and bliss.” Strong emotion of any sort just isn't compatible with a heart made of gears and bolts. He remembers how his mother tried to hold him as a child,and he would tolerate it, reciprocating as well as he could with his mild sort of affection, but never really understanding the intensity of the love with which she stroked his hair and kissed his cheeks at night, His teammates in school would rejoice, screaming in triumph after a won game, and he would smile along, slap them on the back, and take quiet pleasure in the successful deployment of tactics. He remembers how gain admirers, shy confessions given to him awkwardly in corners and corridors after hours. He was fond of them all, but could never feel more than the vaguest physical attraction to any of them, any relationship he started fizzling out before long like a damp firecracker.

He goes through his life now with largely superficial friendships, acquaintances close enough to be called friends, but with none of the camaraderie that sinks deep into your bones, knitting people together for the rest of their lives.
… This… this is actually really sad! It’s amazing how well I can understand what's going on without a single intelligible word of dialog or narration, but I really feel like I’ve been given this window into a storybook life here! This character feels so real, I just want to reach through the page and touch him. Imagine living a life without knowing real happiness or love or the exhilarating tingle of sheer terror when you realize for the first time that your reflection blinks back at you just a moment too late.. [sigh] It almost doesn't bear thinking about and I-
…
Did that drawing just move?
…
Yes! Yes, I am quite sure that was a movement I saw there!
..
Listeners, if you can believe this, thefigure of the young man on the page just turned to look right at me! It’s as if he can hear my voice from inside the pages of the book! He’s blinking up at me right now. I can see the gears of his mechanical heart turning in his chest, and I can see the way the breeze blows his coat slightly. He is waving at me now, somewhat shyly. His face is round and kind, with hints of delicate features and a humorous tilt to his chin. His eyes… oh, the eyes that are staring so inquisitively at me right now are of such a size and shape as to put any painting to shame. The curve and point of these eyes can only be expressed in some complex mathematical equation that, frankly, is beyond me to generate. He- … i he blushing? Can he really hear me? Understand me? Oh, no… No, don’t blush? Oh, these are hints of an emotion unlike any we have seen thus far in the story! The clockwork heart is shaking and stuttering. He winces… No! He has fallen to one knee, clutching his chest! If my presence and interaction have caused this in some way, how will I ever reconcile this with my conscience? There must be something I can do to-
What- What is-
Night Vale, hold on, I’m-!

[Silence.]

[The sound of pages flipping gently in the breeze for a moment. The sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps.]

Hello? Sehun? Is everything alright? Sehun, where have you gone?

[Muffled sounds of the microphone being adjusted.]

Hello, this is intern Kyungsoo here. Sehun seems to have disappeared somehow. All I can see here is his half-eaten ham sandwich and this old comic book here. Maybe I should throw that away for him.

[Sounds of paper being moved.]

… This is a very strange comic book. The writing is like nothing I’ve ever seen before and- are those pictures moving? That’s Sehun there! He’s here inside the comic book, helping someone who appears to be hurt. They’re walking away from me in this panel, but I can see Sehun looking over his shoulder to signal to me. He can see me! He is… He’s telling me to… Oh! The report of the Downhill Ski-For-Your-Life-athon! Oh. Well…

Last I heard, the skiers had left the starting line and disappeared into the forest. The amount of undergrowth, as well as the dense cloud of darkness that shrouds the trees at irregular intervals, make it hard to track their progress, of course. He haven’t heard many bloodcurdling screams though-no more than usual--and we’re expecting the helmets to do a great deal to keep them safe. Sehun is nodding at me. He’s waving me towards something here.. I can’t.. oh, I see. Let me give you now a word from our sponsors.

[The sound of glass being smashed repeatedly for exactly twenty-nine seconds, followed by a single A# chord on harpsichord.]

This message has been brought to you by Harris Teeter.

Hello? This is still Kyungsoo here. Sehun is still inside the comic book, but I’m tracking his movements. The person who was hurt earlier looks like he has a clock instead ofa heart and it’s causing him problems. It’s malfunctioning in some way and Sehun, being the kind, civic-minded individual that he is, has gone into the comic book to help him. They’re looking for someone who can help him, but no one knows anything about clockwork hearts. Your average cardiologist has more experience with flesh and muscle than clocks. Maybe they would have more luck finding a watchmaker who could help them. Sehun is the taller of the two, bending down to listen to some private comment. A hand curls into the collar of Sehun’s jacket, pulling him down so that the hand’s owner can speak into his ear. There is still no dialog written on any of the pages, so I am unable to listen in, but whatever is being said makes Sehun smile just a little. His companion stumbles slightly, hand pressed to his chest. If the comic book weren’t already in black and white, one would probably see his face go just a little bit paler in pain. Sehun is distressed by this. It is his presence and interaction that is causing this malfunction. The clockwork heart was not created to be able to deal with any emotion like what it is encountering now. No other person in this pencil and ink world has ever drawn such a reaction, but something about this newcomer, living in bright colors and clear lines, has wedged itself into the gears and teeth, gumming up the works like taffy. The young man doesn’t seem upset about this, though his face scrunches up in pain every so often. He is thrilled with this new experience. He marvels at the warmth that fills him when Sehun has his arm there to support him, and he is fascinated at he strained creaking that comes from his mechanical heart whenever Sehun smiles at him. Even if these new feelings will overload his heart and kill him, they are worth every moment of pain just to be able to experience something like this--more powerful than anything he has ever know.
Sehun, don’t look at me like that. I’m just repeating what the comic book is telling me. I never said he would die, I said even if. … Have you thought about going to see a watchmaker, or someone who knows something about clockwork and how it could be used to replace a heart?

The young man is looking around in surprise. A thought has occurred to him. He tells Sehun that the witch midwife who delivered him is responsible for his strange heart, and that she might know more about what is wrong with it now. To track her down, they must go see his parents, since they were the last to speak with her before she disappeared.
Sehun is… oh, for heaven’s sake. Sehun s nervous about the idea of meeting the parents. Sehun, you’re going to track down information about a witch midwife watchmaker! There’s no reason to be freaking out about things “moving too fast”! If you don’t move fast, his heart will break down and then where will you be?
Sehun is making a face at me now, but they are going to find the parents anyway. Maybe if I…

[Pages flipping.]

I’m skipping ahead in the story to see what happens. I’m not sure how much time has passed inside the comic book world, but they were able to find the parents who sent them off to a rickety old house by the side of a frozen mountain lake. This is where the witch midwife lives now. They are about to enter the house, and Sehun hopes that there is a solution to be found here, because now, especially after all the time spent together on this search, the thought of watching that clock shudder to a halt once and for all seems unbearable. His companion seems more worried about Sehun’s distress than about the failing bits of metal keeping him there. He reaches out to take Sehun’s had. Sehun looks over at him quickly, unsure how to react, but he only answer he gets in a smile full of confidence and a reassuring squeeze. Sehun takes a deep breath. they will find a solution.
…
Sehun can still hear me talking, and he is waving his arms emphatically for me to go away. There are still things to be taken care of here in the radio station, so now it is my job to take you with all haste to..

The Weather.

[Some shuffling and the sound of heavy breathing.]

This is Sehun! I’m so glad to be back here at last. So much has happened and I have so much to tell you all! First things first.

The competitors in the Downhill Ski-For-Your-Life-athon have nearly all exited the forest now. The number missing is actually far fewer than expected! Only three of the twenty-two athletes competing have failed to appear again, so it would seem that the helmets were an astounding success! The skiers leading the pack are approaching the finish line now, and I am on the edge of my seat to know who the winner will be! The results are coming through right now. It sounds like… yes! Yes, the winner of the race is none other than the head of the City Birdwatching Society, Lu Han! He has just crossed the finish line as good five feet ahead of the two runners-up, Byun Baekhyun and Huang Zitao. Lu Han has not stopped since crossing the finish line, and is now skiing down the asphalt of the nearby street. He is yelling about the “great white chickadee” and telling onlookers to stockpile suet or they’ll never make it through the winter. Officials are in pursuit to bestow the gold medal on him. Congratulations to all our fine athletes!

With the news out of the way now, let me tell you all about my adventures in the world of the strange comic book! I think you all know most of the story so far--Kyungsoo seems to have done a god just keeping you informed, even if her perhaps spent a little too much time reading into the respective emotions of- well. Nevermind. You know that we found the house where the witch midwife had retired, looking for some way to fix the clockwork heart. She was inside and agreed to do what she could to help. She told us that the gears of the heart were not strong enough to h and emotions like the ones he was feeling now. She then scolded him, reminding him that he had been told many many times not to fall in love. That was… awkward. Not- not an unpleasant kind of awkward, I mean! I just that… neither of us had really talked about it, you know? It was kind of obvious, what with his heart, and I- well.
We wondered if there was any way to fix it, now that the damage had been done, and she revealed something startling to us. His original heart had thawed over the years enough to keep him alive even through the turmoil of love, sorrow, joy, and the entire range of human emotion! The problem was being caused by a reaction between the magical clockwork and the magic used to make a bridge between two worlds. None of us knew how the bridge had been created, but the fact that I am from another plane of reality was what was causing the malfunction in his heart. As long as the bridge stayed open, the machinery would continue to break down until eventually that would be the thing to kill him. Well. Listeners, I was ready to close the bridge right then and there. I was ready to give up my entire life here--my little apartment next to the pond, with windows that look out over softly glowing green waters in the evening; the little grocery store on the corner, where the owner always keeps a bag of apples aside of me when a new shipment comes through. Yes, I was ready to give all that up to stay there with him. Then I remembered this studio. I remembered the joy of sitting here before my microphone and talking to you all. I must have hesitated, because the next thing I knew, he had a hand on my arm and was shaking his head. He would not let me give this up. I almost despaired in that moment. I could not give up this life here, but the thought of leaving him behind seemed unbearable. I’ve never met anyone like him, even in such a wonderful town as ours. But the bridge had to be closed. It had to be cut off for good, and I knew I had to be on this side when it did. I prepared to say goodbye. I knew that tears would only make it worse for both of us, so I refused to let them all. Through the haze in my eyes, however, I saw something that made my own heart shake just a little. He was preparing to come with me. The thought has never really occured to me, but it was true that as long as the bridge was severed, it wouldn’t matter which side we were each on. In all the time we spent together, if never crossed my mind that one day I would be showing him around my apartment here in Night Vale, pointing out the softly glowing green pond in the evening, or introducing him to all of our residents and dear friends here. I never thought I would bring him back here. Here to my home away from home. Here to my recording studio.
He is here now, listeners. He is sitting next to me and holding my hand and smiling as I say all this. The clockwork is ticking away without the slightest hitch. The same cannot be said of the clockwork in my own heart.
His name is Minseok.

Good night, Night Vale. Good night.


10. iole, xiulay, AU

Every day Minseok goes to work in the little coffee shop nestled between a thrift store and a massive chain burger joint. He takes the subway into the city at some ungodly hour of the morning, watching people stumble in and out of the train cars groggily. He thinks that each one of them could do with a cup of coffee, and the thought makes him swell with pride. He’s in the business of providing the daily lifeblood of the working world. He gets to the shop, tying on his apron in the dim light of the very early morning. By the time the doors open, there’s usually a small crowd standing near the door. They could just as easily go to the fast food place next door for their fast, cheap caffeine, but they don’t. It’s another thing that makes Minseok feel proud. No one who had ever tasted his coffee had gone back to drinking anything else.

As the day wears on, it gets busier and he needs more help. Jongdae comes in around seven to help with the morning rush, and then, when the long line of suits and ties starts to build up and stretch out to the door, Baekhyun comes in with the reinforcements. Baekhyun goofs around and jokes with the customers, but he keeps the register running. Jongdae runs back and forth, preparing ingredients and resupplying the pastries in between orders. Through it all, Minseok works steadily, pouring one cup after another, crafting one drink after another as they are called out. He gets into a rhythm where the bustle around him fades into background noise, the only things in focus are the drink orders coming in one by one and the coffee taking shape in his hands.

“Jongdae, stop flirting with Junmyeon!” he can just barely hear Baekhyun complain. “I need a blueberry muffin over here!”

Minseok smiles. The drink he’s making ends up with just a dash of cinnamon, because that’s what the relationship between his employee and the young businessman who comes in every day reminds him of. Warm and comforting, with just a hint of spice to it. Each drink Minseok makes says something about what he’s feeling when he makes it. It’s hard not to be happy surrounded by everything he loves here, so they all end up tasting like magic.

To be honest, he’s not surrounded by everything he loves here. In the late afternoon, when Baekhyun and Jongdae have left, replaced by his student help, Jongin, Sehun, and Zitao, Minseok looks out over the seats, looking past heads and out the windows for one figure in particular. He comes in every day, right as the sun is beginning to set, and every time he has the same drink order.

“Surprise me.”

And Minseok does. Every day he comes up with exotic combinations that he’s never tried before, but that he knows will draw a smile out of the man who leans against the back of the coffee machines to watch him work. He has time to leave images in the foam and milk too, so he always tries out some whimsical new design.

“It’s the tree in the park across the street,” his customer laughs. “It looks just like it.”

He takes a sip of the coffee. Minseok waits for the reaction.

“Perfect. As always.”

The dimple that Minseok has been waiting for makes its appearance. The day never feels complete until Minseok has seen it lurking at the corner of the young man’s mouth, and it always makes him smile back.

“What’s in it?”

“Guess,” Minseok tells him.

The man sips it again, eyes turned up and to the right as he tastes it.

“Raspberry? And… buttered rum?”

Minseok nods in satisfaction. “Your tastebuds are getting better,” he says.

“My tastebuds are being spoiled rotten,” the man protests. “I should stop coming in here. Do you want to hear the song I wrote about the vanilla and cherry from yesterday?”

He pulls out a guitar, strumming softly, and his voice becomes part of the soundtrack of the coffee shop swirling around Minseok, though the beans and the syrups and the creams and through Minseok’s heart.

Now everything he loves his here.

When he closes, he waits until the last stragglers have left, waits for the guitar to be packed away again, and then he turns off all the lights. He locks the door on his realm for one more night, until he comes back to breathe life into it again the next morning. He turns and there, waiting for him, is a smile and a dimple.

“Where do you want to go tonight?” Yixing asks. His guitar swings between them as they walk, before Yixing switches it to the other side so that he can hold Minseok’s hand.

“Home,” Minseok says. He sighs happily. “I want to go home.”

So they do.


11. haze, onkey, AU

It’s been a very trying day already. Jinki had woken up to find that he was completely out of coffee, and by the time he managed to stop at a coffee shop and get all the way through the line, he had been fifteen minutes late into the office. Now he races down the hall, nearly skidding at the corner of his secretary’s desk, just barely making it through the doors before the stroke of nine. Jinki only just has time to collapse into his chair, thought, before Kibum is buzzing through on the intercom.

“You have a conference call in twenty minutes,” he says, “so finish eating your breakfast muffin and get ready.”

Jinki looks down at his desk. Sure enough, there is a carefully-wrapped sandwich from that place a couple of buildings down.

“When did this get here?”

“I heard you were running late so I made Taemin run down and get it.”

“That’s mean. He couldn’t have had more than five minutes notice,” says Jinki through a huge mouthful.

“What else are interns for?” Kibum sounds unrepentant. “Finish eating, you have eighteen minutes now.”

“I thought that call was tomorrow?” Jinki says hesitantly.

“They rescheduled. I left a note on top of your sandwich.”

Jinki hastily uncrumples the sandwich wrapper and finds the note in question, slightly grease-stained but legible.

“Oh,” he says. “Got it.”

“Seventeen minutes,” says Kibum, then hangs up.

Jinki shoves half of the sandwich into his mouth, chewing carefully as he reads through his new emails. Several important documents came through after he left the office the day before, so he hits “print”, spinning around to grab the pages. The wheels of his chair catch as he spins back around, and he realizes he’s still wearing his overcoat. In his haste to untangle himself, a heavy sleeve hits the edge of a coffee cup left too precariously close to the edge of the desk. Jinki lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp of pain as hot coffee pours all over his lap and most of his desk.

When Kibum steps through the door a second later, he is just in time to catch Jinki hopping from foot to foot, fanning his crotch.

“I know you’re in great anticipation for this conference call,” he says, “but try to contain yourself.”

“It’s hot!” Jinki wails. “I burned myself!”

“I know.” Kibum takes the coat and the now-empty paper cup from his hands. “There’s a spare suit in the closet over there. Go change and I’ll send this one the the cleaners. You have fourteen minutes.”

By the time Jinki gets back, the mess on his desk has been cleared away and there’s a fresh cup of coffee next to his keyboard. Kibum buzzes the intercom again.

“If you spill this one too, we’re getting you a sippy cup,” he tells Jinki.

“Don’t tell me you made Taemin sprint all that way again,’ Jinki sighs.

“Like I said, what else are interns good for?” Kibum’s eyeroll is almost audible. “By the way, you have two minutes now. If you need another coffee, just scream.”

He hangs up. Jinki is left to wonder if he has a secretary or a babysitter.

The call goes as well as can be expected. At least he manages to make it through without any more minor disasters. When he hangs up, he has a moment to take a deep breath for the first time that morning. There are several emails waiting for answers, but he sits back and finishes his coffee before starting on any of them. He would wonder how Kibum knew exactly how he likes his coffee, but he’s long since given up wondering how Kibum knows anything. Knowledge just seems to find Kibum somehow, along with the most obscure office gossip and half the office bandwidth usage. Jinki takes another sip, raising his cup in solemn salute to Taemin’s 100-yard sprinting skills, and then finally opens his email again.

It takes him a little while to get through it all, especially since several new ones have come in since his arrival this morning. Most of the newest ones are from Taemin, petitioning for better working conditions for the interns, and Jinki feels bad forwarding those to Minho, since he knows Minho will just forward them to Kbum, but he does it anyway. Just as he clears the last email, he becomes aware of voices raised in what sounds like a heated discussion just outside. Curious, he crosses the room to hear better.

“He’s not in,” Jinki can hear Kibum say, his voice piercing even through closed doors.

“I’ve been trying to see him all day,” whines a voice that Jinki can clearly identify. Jonghyun has never been one for patience. “Can you just give him these papers? Just kind of slide them in there along with his other stuff? Just so he’ll take a look at it?”

“This is a request to have your spinny chair privileges reinstated. I can take care of that just as easily as he can. Look, I have my own ‘Request Denied’ stamp right here. Complete with official red ink.”

“Kibum,” Jonghyun pleads, “just let me in for two minutes! That’s all I need. Just let me argue my case for two minutes!”

Jinki opens the door just a crack and peers out. He can only see the back of Kibum’s head from here, but he can picture the disdainful look on his secretary’s face perfectly. When he sticks his head out a little further, he can see Jonghyun practically on his knees before the desk, hands clasped in supplication.

“I already told you,” Kibum is saying, “it’s impossible. He’s out.”

Jonghyun looks up at where Jinki is standing, half of his head outside the door. Kibum turns to look too. His eyes sweep over Jinki once before he turns back to Jonghyun.

“He’s out,” says Kibum, deadpan.

Jinki slinks back into the office, closing the door on Jonghyun’s anguished protests.

Later, when Jinki really is about to go out, Kibum stands imposingly in the doorway, fixing him with a glare.

“Next time I’m attempting to screen your appointments,” he says, “I would appreciate it if you would stop undermining my excuses.”

“Of course, Kibum. I will attempt to exist only at your convenience,” says Jinki mildly.

“Thank you,” says Kibum, ignoring the slightly amused to his employer’s voice/ “That would make my life easier-”

“I live to make your life easier,” Jinki interjects, half-amused, half-wry. Kibum ignores him again.

“You have a meeting down on the third floor in fifteen minutes,” he says, “but the other representatives have arrived, so showing up a few minutes early wouldn’t go amiss.”

Jinki frowns. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m completely ready to go,” he says.” I just can’t find the papers that came through on my email yesterday. I printed them out first thing this morning and now I can’t find them.

“You spilled coffee on them this this morning,” says Kibum, handing him another stack of paper. “You need to organize your emails better.”

“I thought that was your job.”

“I guess it is now,” Kibum sighs. “If you’re going to make a habit destroying your documents, I’ll need to know where to get replacement copies.”

“You’re the best secretary I’ve ever had,” beams Jinki. He looks fondly at Kibum, who coughs slightly awkwardly, his cheeks faintly pink.

“If you were to put, say, a monetary value on that, how big a raise would I get?”

“Jinki raises an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you already running payroll?” he asks. “I was sure you’d have taken that over by now.”

“I’m too busy putting out the fires you leave behind everywhere you go,” says Kibum haughtily. “Like I really need the added headache of dealing with everyone else’s paychecks.”

“I’ll see what I can do about a raise,” Jinki laughs.

Kibum tweaks Jinki’s tie for him. “Do that after you take care of this meeting,” he says. “You’ve got ten minutes now. Don’t run; you’ll be out of breath and I will never live down the shame.”

“Whatever you say, Kibum,” Jinki flips through the pages once, sliding them into a folder before looking up again. “I am as putty in your hands.”

“I wish,” Kibum mutters.

“What?”

“I said I wish you’d shut up and get going, “says Kibum quickly, shooing him to the door.

“It didn’t sound like-”

“Goodbye.”

Jinki finds himself helplessly thrown out of his own office, his own door slammed in his face. He blinks for a moment, then laughs and heads down the hall to the elevators. Kibum might have been being facetious, but he’ll have to see about getting that raise anyway. It’ll be worth it just to see the look on his secretary’s face.