2.2 | A Lifetime Of You ✓

chapter 4

The alarm buzzed on Joon's bedside table in the morning, but it had no realistic effect because Joon was already awake. He had been awake for quite a long time now, and it was safe to say that he had not even gone to sleep. Joon's restless body was sprawled out on his bed, his pillow under his elbow and sheets in a mess. 

"Daughter…" He whispered softly. "Why did you have to be married…" 

Seo Cyan. That man had a lot of admirers. People who looked up to him and said, that's what I want to be like. But that came along with a lot of gossip and rumors, unwanted talk and unsolicited theses on his life. At the smoking room, Joon regretted asking his co-workers anything about Cyan. Some said he was married to a very rich woman. Some also said that he wasn't able to get it up (Joon choked at that part) and the woman left him because of that. 

People always sought out to belittle someone whom they couldn't win over. In his own little world, Seo Cyan was like a peaceful saint. Minding his own business. Neither doing nor speaking ill of others. But from the angle that Joon saw him, Cyan seemed to beg for affection. His little smiles, the way his tired eyes crinkled when he saw Joon, or the way he rushed to complete his work on time… maybe to spend a little extra time with his daughter. 

Joon didn't know what kind of a father Cyan was. But he did know that Cyan had denied going on the MT in the weekend. 

"My daughter has a piano recital," he said with a polite smile. He had a charming twinkle in his eyes, almost as if he was proud, and he wanted to brag. "At an arts centre in Gangnam," he added. 

"Your daughter," Joon gulped, "how old is she?" 

"Four," Cyan held up his fingers. When his phone lit up, Joon peeked in to see a child's photograph on the screen. She didn't look much like Cyan. Except for the eyes. Same, big and brown, full of a subtle innocence. 

Joon didn't know if he had the right to like Cyan or not. But the heart didn't bother about the rules set by society. His heart paced up a little every time he saw Cyan, and he wanted to talk to him. Call his name. Look at his face all day long. That's how crushes were supposed to be. 

Like someone was crushing your heart. Painful. Yet, foolishly addictive. 

______

Even though Cyan and Joon had escaped one company dinner, there wasn't a way they could escape the one the team leader had planned impromptu for that night. Cyan's face shrunk to the size of a small bean when he was offered a shot glass of soju. 

"No thanks," he said sourly, and pushed the glass back towards the team leader. "I have to drive back home." 

"What kind of a man are you? I drank straight up four bottles when I was your age, Mr. Seo!"  Manager Yook slapped Cyan's back loudly and guffawed out a laugh. "We'll call a designated driver for you." 

"I uh…" Cyan licked his lips, "my daughter's at the daycare so I can't return back home drunk. Please understand." 

"That's why you need a wife!" Someone sitting on the right side of Cyan's shouted, and cacophonous laughter erupted from almost all men on the table. Their laugh was ugly. Mixed with the humid vapor of grilled pork and the smell of liquor. And they weren't anything rare or designical — they were the norm. 

Joon didn't laugh. He kept looking at Cyan's downcasted face and thought again, of a faraway, impossible fantasy.

One where he was happy. 

"That's not true," Joon countered, "men and women are equally needed when it comes to raising children. Of course, mothers are important, but fathers need to be there for their children too." 

"You…" the team leader pointed his drunk finger at Joon's face, his elbow resting on the table and face dusted pink from alcohol, "you speak a lot, don't you?" 

"No matter you never get calls from your children, Sir. When was the last time you actually talked to them?" 

"You bastard —" the team leader stood up with a jerk and the table pushed forward, spilling the three bottles of soju and the hot charcoal grilled directly on Cyan's lap. 

"Supervisor!" 

"Mr. Seo!" 

"I'm fine," Cyan hissed, his hand jerking away from the scalding oil and coal. He stood up abruptly, his shirt now stained with alcohol. The man grabbed his back and ran away from the table to the inside of the restaurant, maybe to the washrooms. 

Wordlessly, Joon glared down at the people on the table as hard as he could. Then, he followed Cyan to the dinghy washroom stalls. It was dimly lit, with a few spider cobwebs hanging from the door and making the atmosphere much more grim than it already was. 

"I uh…" Cyan licked his lips, his eyes stinging red and defeated, as he kept his hand under the gushing cool water of the tap. Joon could see his reflection in the mirror, and see himself looking at Cyan's reflection. "Sorry you had to see that." 

"Why are you the one saying sorry?" Joon said, the veins in his neck and forehead ticking with inexplicable irritation. He wasn't the one offended. Yet, he felt this urge, the need to defend and lash out. "Those people are the ones in fault, not you." 

Cyan chuckled. And then looked up. 

"Why are you so good to me?" 

Joon had no answer to that. Instead of blabbering something about the butterflies in his stomach, he decided to say, "Wait here, I'll get you some ointment. And go see a doctor tomorrow —" and cut himself off with a sharp intake of air when Cyan started popping the buttons of his shirt. 

"Sorry, it's just… the stench is too bad. While you're on it, can you get me a t-shirt too?" 

Leaving Cyan all alone, in a washroom of a barbecue restaurant, where there were about two dozen drunk men from their company outside… without a shirt? In just that flimsy, half see through wife beater? 

Joon's selfish, childish, jealous self didn't allow that. He knew that Cyan was well capable of defending himself. That man had slender fingers and his knuckles could hurt if he tried to hit someone, but deep down… Cyan looked vulnerable. Sad. And Joon wanted to be the only one who could see that side of Cyan. 

"I'm asking too much of you, aren't I?" Cyan said, looking at Joon through the mirror. "I… need to get home, Lala must be waiting." 

"Wait," Joon said, as he started peeling away his own shirt from his shoulders. "Wear this. I'll be back with the medicines." 

Wide eyed, Cyan simply accepted that token of graciousness. And then bowed his head and smiled.