2.2 | A Lifetime Of You ✓

chapter 2

"Should we head back now? I suppose this much is more than enough?" Seo Cyan asked Joon, as they walked back to the entrance gates of the factory. Dusk was falling softly, and the chill in the air was more profound. Joon saw his breath crystallize before him. 

"There's a company dinner." He paused, tone cautiously even. "We're all required to attend." Joon wished his words conveyed his apparent dislike for the company dinners, and he studied Seo Cyan's face with his breath held back.

There was an inky shade of madness dancing behind the heavy lashes of Seo Cyan's eyes. An expression closely guarded and held back, but the emotions splashing around the edges of the walls built around him.

"Company dinner…"

Joon watched his face fall.

"They'll force me to drink. I wished to go home early today," he said, language calm but distant.

"Why," the corners of Joon's lips tugged up, "you didn't enjoy… today?" 

"Oh no, I did," he said with a certain quickness. As if he were afraid of hurting Joon's sentiments. "it's just that I am hungry. And I need to go home sober. I can't get drunk. You know it's almost ritualistic…" 

"How they force us to drink?" Joon exhaled a chuckle. "I am surprised that my liver is still intact, considering I attend at least two company dinners every month." 

"I hate soju," Seo Cyan's nose crinkled up. For a moment, he looked younger. His hair was a shade of dried ink on ages old newspaper, a little unkempt, a little tired. Stray strands framed his face and fluttered in the wind, drawing meaningless shapes Joon couldn't decipher. "Beer, makgeolli, kaoliang, wine, even those fancy ghost blacks, everything." 

Joon put his hands in his pockets and slowed down his pace of walking, in a childish way of showing measly deference by being late. He wanted to prolong that time. The short amount of time he had — because he knew that once they were back inside the company building, they would be supervisor Seo and supervisor Kim. 

Nothing more.

"I can't say I hate it." Joon looked up at the sky. He paused to drink in its beauty, an abysmal shade of lilac, deep pink clouds and the glory of fading streetlights blocking out the stars. "But I dislike the way they force me to drink it. As if it is a way of telling me that I am their underling. I should respect them." 

"Love shots," Cyan chuckled, "that's what I hate the most." 

Suddenly an image of Seo Cyan, linking arms with some so called company superior and forced to down a shot of some popped up in Joon's mind. He wasn’t a jealous man by nature, but that image was horribly unpleasant.  Being in that circumstance, that situation, was humiliating. Also, a form of harassment. 

"Seo Cyan-ssi," Joon cleared his throat, "can I call you that?" 

"Of course." Cyan smiled. 

"Then, do you want to play hooky with me?" 

There was a twinkle in Cyan's eyes as he mulled over Joon's suggestion. A lost, forgotten, buried beneath layers and layers of his subconscious. Cyan hesitated.

"Come on," Joon braved a step ahead, "one evening won't hurt." 

"I have to be back at the company by seven." 

"We'd just have street food, nothing else." Joon cracked a smile. He had always wanted to ditch his classes when he was in high-school, and run away to the Han riverside and spent an entire day leisuring around with a friend. But Joon neither had friends, nor the luxury of leisure. Something told him that Cyan didn't, either. 

"Okay," Cyan said, and looked around to see if anyone was watching them. They had grown into adulthood, yet the harsh drilling of discipline from their youth hadn't left their moulded brains yet. 

Joon found it sad. 

_____ 

"Which university are you from?" 

Joon's words felt alive. Standing before a food truck, feeling the steam of the boiling broth of tteokbokki and fish cakes, clutching the straps of their messenger bags on their shoulders, and eyeing all sorts of food with their hungry, excited eyes. 

"Korea National. I'm from graphic design school," Cyan said. 

"Yonsei." Joon rubbed his hands together to keep his warmth. "Consumer Info science." He wanted to ask more. Ask his batch, his year, his position in the military… his age. He didn't look much older than Joon, maybe just a couple years? But he did look as if he had been carrying a mountain on his back. 

Their shirts were tucked in, the creases on their pants straight and their ties just a little loose on their chests. They looked like salarymen. But somewhere, somehow in time, they felt like high schoolers. All over again. People passed by, enjoying the street snacks, or just the breeze of the river, just like them. 

"Why this company though." Joon toyed with a rice cake floating on top of his bowl. "You're a graphic designer. Isn't this too mainstream for you?"

Cyan looked away, blowing a breath of chilly sigh between them. The muffler was nestled smugly between the collars of his coat. "The pay is nice."

Joon laughed.

Time was still. And in the rushing, fast paced world, Joon felt as if he had carved a corner for himself. Where only he existed. And with him, tranquility. 

"Joon-ssi, earlier, I didn't get to tell you. But I want to say something," Cyan started. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, maybe from the spicy gochujang, or maybe from Joon's wishful thinking. His hair fell on his eyes, dull and tired, somehow childlike and innocent. "Thank you." 

Joon could only stop and stare. 

"This week was one of the worst weeks of my life, but today…" Cyan looked down at the shared plate of tteokbokki and smiled, "it felt like a date." 

Joon choked on the fish cake he was stuffing in his mouth. He wondered how he would have looked to Cyan at that moment. Maybe like a hamster? Dateable enough? On a date. Those words stayed with him. Date. He did feel like he was on a date.

With Seo Cyan. 

Dates were something Joon had never got enough time to go on. And when he had realized that he had spent his youth chasing behind a mirage, he saw that he was all alone. In an endless, deserted state. But then again, deserts had oases. 

Oases. Maybe Seo Cyan was one of them.