Korn's workload had doubled since they started overhauling the machines. If he thought he'd had to write a lot of reports when things weren't going well, that was in the past because he was writing even more than he'd ever thought possible. They were constantly testing and retesting the new equipment. Checking if the system was able to handle the modifications and improvements without putting a strain on the older machinery still working with the old specs.
The QC department had started giving Korn daggers. P'Song no longer offered to buy him lunch and it wasn't just because she didn't have the time. She was pissed off at him because they were forced to work overtime just to check every item that came off the factory floor against the old standards and the new requirements that had come down from management.
"Do you know how many product lines we have?" She asked him at the end of a day they had all spent doing more troubleshooting than actual production.
"Uhm..."
"You don't, do you?" She answered before he could think of anything to appease her. "We have to check every single one of them. Every. Single. One. Do you understand how long that takes?"
"A long time?"
She harumphed and didn't talk to him for a few days. That was the extent of their interaction. Korn didn't mind it. It was a relief not to need to keep up with office politics. And his focus was still on making their workplace as safe as possible. He didn't care if everyone hated him, as long as they did their part to ensure a positive outcome.
The extra work left everyone stretched thin. the situation was dire enough that the interns were redirected to their department. It meant Nack was back in his sphere. Luckily, he wasn't any less busy. Korn only had to deal with him staring longingly after him whenever he happened to cross the bullpen set up to accommodate the interns and any temporary staff members.
It was busywork. Dotting their I's and crossing their T's. It was also necessary.
Any trouble they went through to ensure they could keep up with an evolving market, and still be competitive, would carry the company forward for years to come. If they did it right, there was every chance they would not have to do it for a very long time.
"Did these manuals come with the original casting moulds," Korn asked holding a box with several large binders.
"We didn't design them, they were bought from a company in Bangkok?" P'Dan informed him.
"Do you know if they are still operational?"
"Why?"
"If we can subcontract some of our needs to a company that already does this, it might reduce our overheads."
"I doubt it."
"You doubt they are still in business?"
"I doubt we'd make a saving." He said shaking his head. "Check the two last pages. Part of the reason the machines were in such disrepair was because they were so expensive to maintain. If they charged that much just for an annual service, imagine what they would charge for anything brand-new."
Korn checked the file and sure enough, the maintenance costs were almost the same as the cost of replacing each unit. There were service receipts tucked into the back pocket of the folder and Korn realized they had paid the company a hefty sum every year. That is until it had been decided that redirecting the budget to marketing was better than spending it on machines that broke down more and more often.
"What was the service contract with the company? Do you know?" Korn had a sinking feeling in his gut and he wanted time to look into it before he came to any conclusions.
"That was before my time. I may look like I've been here since the age of time. But this is only my sixth year." He said with a laugh at his own joke.
"Can I hold on to this?"
"That's yours," P'Dan said as he waved him away.
Korn opened the first page and at the very top was a note:
All personnel are required to wear the company issue coveralls and steel-toed boots.
Hard hats will be provided for select areas only.
He could remember Mew's reaction to the assertion that he could be naked under his coveralls. The strangled sound he'd made had sent all Korn's blood rushing to his cock. He had wanted to continue making fun of Mew but his arousal was too close to the surface.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Nack asked accusingly.
"Hhmm...what?" Korn asked, breaking out of his reverie.
"Nothing." Nack said with a pout, "I came to give you this. P'Song said you were waiting for them, so you can figure out how to torture them tomorrow."
Korn couldn't keep up with Nack's comments; his mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Mew. He looked at the documents Nack was still holding and at the very top was the summary of the product tests. He'd been waiting for those.
"Thanks," he said to Nack and received a grunt of sorts.
"Who were you..."
Korn looked up, surprised to find Nack still standing in front of his desk. He wasn't doing a good job of pulling his attention from the report or getting thoughts of Mew out of his mind but he had no clue what the younger man wanted.
"Was there something else?" He asked solicitously.
"It's nice to see you happy."
Korn wasn't sure but he thought that was what Nack mumbled. He was looking at the interns receding before he could think of a sensible response. It was silly for him to be so distracted. Yet Korn had to admit, thinking about Mew made him happy.
They talked a few times a week—whenever he was lucky enough to get home early enough or not too tired to keep his eyes open. He could smile if he wanted to. Especially if he could remember Mew's laughing off his embarrassed groan. Or the way he said Korn's name when he wanted him to stop with his jokes. Or the fact that there were times he sounded like he didn't want Korn to stop joking at all.
As long as Korn knew what he was getting himself into, he didn't have to explain himself. There was no chance he would overstep as long as he watched his step. As for Nack. He did not need to be jealous. Korn wasn't interested and that wasn't going to change. Having a kid with a crush on him wasn't something he liked but he wasn't about to take responsibility for an adult capable of making decisions for himself.
So, he put the matter out of his mind and returned to the work.
~
Mew missed him. He missed talking to him, missed touching him, missed tasting him. It was ridiculous to be so addicted already. Yet once he had acknowledged how he felt, it was impossible not to want more. Therein lay the problem. Korn was comfortable with the way things were and if he wasn't so greedy, he would have been fine with it too.
He still believed that the best course of action was distance. There was safety in it. Of knowing he couldn't just call Korn and ask him to come over. The knowledge that he couldn't do whatever he wanted (like drive to Chiang Mai uninvited) because he didn't have the right.
If he had an ounce of sense, he would use it to keep things that way.
Yet every time he picked up his phone, he was overcome by the possibilities. He could call. It wouldn't have to be a grand production. Mew could ask Korn how he was doing. Listen to one of his stories. Maybe even tell him one of his own.
Just the thought made him smile.
He picked up his phone and turned it over, opened the contacts, scrolled through them, then realised what he was doing and stopped.
You will not call him. Just put the phone down. He admonished himself.
It took real effort to do what he told himself; place the phone on the coffee table and leave it. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm the jitters that were playing havoc with his insides. Something inside him was itching to get to the phone. To make certain there was no further temptation, he flipped it over so he couldn't see the screen anymore. Then he walked away.
It only took five minutes for him to walk back, stand above his phone and try to convince himself not to pick it up.
Do not pick it up. Do not pick it up. Do not pick it up.
He picked it up and he scrolled again until he found the number but the caller ID Don't Call Him.
Don't call him. It was a simple enough instruction. Surely, he could manage that, right? Mew finally gave up the struggle with himself and went to take a shower. It was completely ridiculous that he was home on a Friday night thinking about somebody kilometres away. It was even worse that he knew Korn didn't even give a shit about him.
He dressed as carefully as he could. Black jeans, a tight black t-shirt that hugged his body like a second skin. On top of the simple ensemble, he threw on a sports jacket. With his car keys in one pocket and his wallet in the other, he debated the prudence of leaving his phone at home. Then he realized just how ridiculous that was.
Determined to do something different, Mew made his way to the hottest club. Sapphire was always pumping. There was an endless supply of willing men. If he played his cards right, he would not have to think about Korn ever again.
The music was loud. The lights flashed too brightly in places and left too many shadows where he could barely make out what was going on. His drink, when he finally received his order from the overwhelmed bartender, was watered down.
Had it always been like this?
Noisy, flashy, empty.
He tossed back his drink quickly. Then asked for another in the hope that a buzz would cover some of the unpleasant spots his mind had suddenly become aware of. He leaned back and looked around. Maybe he would catch the eye of someone interesting.
More than one person smiled in his direction and he smiled back. But his attention was like the strobe lights, he didn't linger for long enough for anything to make an impression. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there. Like a smack to the face, Mew realized he had seamlessly returned to comparing everyone to Korn. Not just how he looked or moved but how he made Mew feel.
There was no way anyone could measure up.
"Would you like to party?"
Isn't that what he came here for? "No, thanks."
"Are you sure? Are you looking for somebody? I could be that somebody." The younger man said moving in close to Mew.
"No. Thank you."
Finally getting the hint, he moved away. "Your loss darling."
"I think I'll live."
The second drink went down a little easier than the first. Washing away the remnants of the encounter but doing nothing to improve on his current view of Sapphire. Mew turned his back to the room. He had to admit that whatever he was looking for, wasn't there. He would have been better off soothing his pain in the comfort of his house.
A few more guys came up to him. Some offered to buy him a drink more than one suggested he follow them to the bathroom or their cars or their homes. Mew had no idea what kind of thinking made them think that was even possible. Except there was a time when it had been. That's why he was in the current mess.
Mew shot every, single one of them down. After his fourth drink, he was finally feeling a little loose; a little mellow. Some of the resistance had leeched out of him. He dialled Korn's number without hesitation. Bouncing on his heels as it rung and rung then went to voicemail. He hadn't considered the possibility of not being able to talk to Korn. Disappointed, he hung up.
He called again in less than a minute. It went straight to voicemail. This time, he mumbled a quick apology and on the tail end of his message, Mew added, "I miss you."
He needed to go home. It wasn't hard to make it past the crush of bodies and out the door when he knew what he was doing. he wasn't so drunk that he'd have any trouble driving but he thought about it for a while. sitting in his car instead of leaving in a rush. using the time to contemplate his situation and figure out what the hell he was going to do. this situation had become untenable and he had nobody to blame but himself
At home in one piece, he threw off his clothes like they had offended him. He lay down on his empty bed after a quick, angry shower. The thoughts he'd tried to keep at bay finally flooding his mind.
He had to find the time to go see Korn. He'd always loved that he didn't have to travel so much. He was finally participating in the design process for a new part to an existing piece of equipment. So, how was it that what he loved was now hateful? All because it was keeping him from Korn?
Korn with his calloused hands and his strength and kindness, his passion. Mew lay in bed and touched his body the way he thought Korn would touch him. Hands-on his neck and torso. Flicking his nipples. Rubbing his cock. Gripping it tight enough that his breath was shaky with the memory of having those hands around him, stroking him, driving him crazy.
He mimicked each action.
Shocked when just the imagination of what it would feel like to have Korn do that to him was enough to make him tighten his hand around himself. But it wasn't his hand. His strokes were different than normal. Not the quick targeted caresses to just the right spot to get him off. Mew was using Korn's technique. Long, slow jerks that took his breath away. Made him all hot and needy and desperate.
He came with a strangled moan. The sudden eruption caught him by surprise. the veil of arousal altering his perception, finally lifting. He could breathe again. He could think straight.
He'd be fine.
He'd be fine if he just stayed away. As he cleaned himself off and tucked himself into bed, there was even a part of him that believed he was finally free. Except, he slept with his hand clutched tightly around the medallion around his neck.