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Loneliness. Solitude.
As described by the Merriam Webster Dictionary, is the: "...produc[tion] [of] feeling bleakness or desolation". While Solitude, as per Oxford Languages, is: "the state or situation of being alone".
A term I have long accepted and found comfort in. I love being alone. To bask in the depths of my thoughts, and free myself to individuality.
But I have foolishly mistaken loneliness as solidarity. Both are the same, but it does not make them equal.
ย It is through loneliness that I seek solace, and through misguided solidarity that I find myself starved of affection willingly choked down to the point of asphyxiation.
Only he stands by my side, but even then, no one else but I, can rid the terms I've grown accustomed to. In whichโif only he, can provide me with affection...Then I will rob him of anything else until all he knows is the orbit of my loving despair. For he too, is lonely.
Until there is two less lonely people in this world.
You sigh as you make up another excuse for your co-worker's question.
She makes light of it, saying how 'You're always never online' to respond to her funny work memes through the work group chat.
"Oh, my notifications must be bugging again." Pulling out your phone and taping on the screen. You barely watch the video. Only opting for a quick haha accompanied with a cute emoticon.
She seems to preen like a bird when her phone dings with a notification.
Today was a horrible day.
First you woke up late, so you had to rush to work with a seemingly less than average appearance. Eyebags underneath your eyes. No food. No lunch. You were extremely late.
With no bus screeching to a halt from the morning rush, with no calm scrambling into our normal routines, You had bolted out of the bus with speed that led to a stitch on the side of your body.
The young boy and his friends had already gone from the nearby 7-Eleven.
The elderly grandma and her two granddaughters were already finished with their morning walk. Leaving the two with their busy mother in a cafรฉ.
Leaves are already scattered on the pavement.
Cars honk.
It's nothing new. Nothing odd. All rushed. All too pushed far into the future of your normal routine.
Now you were dealing with co-workers who seemed so persistent with chatting every single second.
Forgetting your earphones didn't help, so now you're trying to block everyone around you with the poor-condition work headphones. Instead of it being called 'second-hand' wear, it's so terrible, it could be considered ancestral!
You click on another email. Going through the ministrations of your boring work life. With your headphones on, and hoodie upโbecause an open office actually makes things worse for those who enjoy individual workโyou focus on your work entirely.
It must be nice to work out and about, you think to yourself. Your gaze looking at the promotional posters plastered on the wall about 'Work Safety' and the premises of not misusing a forklift.
A cup of coffee lands on your desk. To your left, specifically.
You tilt your head back. Your cheap work headphones nearly falling back along with your hoodie. You're greeted with the sight of a cute, adoringly, boyish smile.
His ash-blond bangs curtain over his forehead, from this view alone, you're greeted with his crinkling eyes. Oh how perfectly blue they are.
He takes in your appearance but makes no comment. If anything, it seems like his eyes soften even more. He doesn't say a word, instead he walks back. Leaving you behind.
You look back down to see the cup of coffee he's gifted you. The paper-cup steams out a brew that you bring closer to your nose. A whiff. It's sweet. A mocha. Chocolate disguised in calibrated coffee. Of sweetness that melts under the sharp frills of your tongue. You sip, and melt. The way the hot liquid soothes your aching heart was nothing more than needed.
Your mood softens slightly. A moment's worth of rendered normalcy.
Only for it to worsen when you receive a request for a personal meeting with your direct manager through Microsoft Teams. Taking the headphones off, you quickly gather your stuff and head towards your manager's office.
He's not a bad person per se, understanding when he needs to be and in full support with his employees. However, with recent pressure from upper management to get everything within a three-day time frame and to consolidate financial billings and invoices to get revenue was straining everyone.
You knock on the door. When a muffled 'come in', is heard. The silence is disrupted by a wooden creak. You noddedย yourย head in respect, before closing the exit behind you. Each step to the free seat was a second of mental degradation and internalized humiliation. Preparing for the worst.
He says your name. Turning his monitor around to show you data you've missed.
The whole meeting only went on for fifteen minutes. you beg to differ.
You mindlessly nod and hum along to every critique. He offers a weak smile.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I just need everything out and invoiced so upper management can get off our backs. But you need to help me, so that I can help you. The pressure is on me too."
"I understand." You whisper.
When you closed his door, you felt drained. Instead of walking back to the office, you beeline towards the kitchen. Makingย yourself a mug of coffee to drown out the pressure.
Beep. Whrrzzzz! The coffee machine goes off, but you walk past it in favor of the instant coffee.
Once made, you head back to the office, looking much duller.
You ignore everyone. Hoodie up. Music blasting. You're reminded as to why you don't indulgeย yourself with the chatter of your co-workers. You were only here to work.
The barista-made mocha is left ignored. Getting colder and colder by the second of unintended isolation. Leaving only grounded bitterness as it's replaced by something instant. Artificial.
It is the idea that we are born to work, and to live, and to work that you find yourself content with such a dystopian thought. It's routine, and simple. You are only here to work and to work until the money you have made was nothing but paper knives jagging through your calloused skin within this capitalistic society.
The monitor bleaks into your eyes. You fail to notice how the sun sets and filters through the windows.
ย Your co-workers have already left.
It is just you in this office.
When you notice, your heart stings a bit.
"Couldn't they have at least said goodbye?" You mumbled. You slump back. Fingers tired from the careless typing. You take off your headphones and rest your head back. Staring mindlessly at the ceiling.
But you asked for this, no? You only came here to work. Not to mingle. You bask in being like this. You need to focus on your work. Push everyone else away.
You are happy being alone.
You love solitude.
You are happy.
Standing up, you reach your hand out to grabย yourย mug of finished coffee. It isn't until you see the mocha still sitting there. As if waiting for you to recognize its pathetic loyalty. Feeling guilty, you grab it and tilt the cup over your lips. Drinking the cold, bittersweet, mocha. The trails of mixed powder and grounded beans kiss your tongue in culpable disgust. But you still go on.
The cold coffee settles in your stomach until all that's left in the paper cup is stained cocoa.
Perhaps it was the way the letters on the keys were slowly fading from how harshly you pressed on them, or how the sunset's orange was dimming the room into a navy blue. Curtaining the shadows, with onlyย yourย monitor brightening your room.
You raiseย yourย head and look blankly at the flickering monitor. Wondering if all of this is what you are worth for. You pull out your phone. Needing that hit. Needing some assurance.
Some long for longevity...the theme song begins. The screen loads.
The flash from your phone's brightness is all you take in. The way your heart thumps as you become excited into opening the app. To feed yourself into the embers of its perfect love.
But before you could even load into the main screen, the room was engulfed in task lighting. Your blood drains. Fingers automatically pushing the off button. Screen black.
Silence stretches over. Shoulders tense, as you went back to turning on your monitor. LED flashing on your skin. Logging in.
Work. Work. Workโ
"What are you still doing here?"
Your hands still. Hovering over the keyboard. Eyes drift over to your left. Head turning.
His polished derby shoes click against the cool floors. Their calm steady steps find a way to soothe your raging heart into a slow duet. A somber adagio.
All you see is blue. Universally, perfect blue.
"Do you always work overtime?" Christian's hands curl over the back of the office chair on your right. Rolling its wheels over to your desk. Right next toย yours.
"Is this alright?" He asks. Hesitant about whether you were fine with him invading your personal space.
Tilting his head to the side, his ash-blond bangs sway with his forehead. "Was that a nod to the first or the second question?" He quips.
"Both." Somehow, you managed to spit out a decent reply. You never did respond to his very first question, but he doesn't make it a priority to bring it up again.
The presence of another besides you, during these hours where you tend to be confided in solitude was different. His chair was rolled close. If he wanted to, he could have manspread and your knees would have touched. But he didn't.
"All your co-workers are gone. Sienna, Annaliseโ" he fixes his posture "โand...Yongseo?"
"Youngsoo," You correct him.
"Right," he awkwardly chuckles. Embarrassed for getting the name wrong. "Youngsoo," he says it slowly.
"Shouldn't I be asking you as to why you're still here?"
You couldn't help but ask. Usually it would be you, and a few other dedicated co-workers that would stay back this late in the company grounds.
"I wanted to keep you company." He says plainly. As if it were something casual. Factual.
"Keep me company" โyour eyebrows furrow. Disbelief noted through your voiceโ "hm? A bit silly, don't you think?"
He doesn't say anything else though. You could feel his stare burn through you. As if reading through every fold of your brain carefully. Trying to dissect you with the scalpel of his cautious hold. He wouldn't be the type to use gloves to try and understand you. No, he would try and unravel your brain with the tips of his carefully, clean fingers with the touch of a predator carefully pawing its prey. To feel you. To memorize you. To like you. Using you. Until he can stitch your lobes, cerebellum, and brain stem together with blindfolded precision. Presenting it back to you with the hopes of praise and affection in return.
Maybe one day.
"You looked sad." He begins. "After, well- I'm assuming it's after a bad meeting with your boss?"
He cracks you like a code.
Christian doesn't stop. Ambitiously explaining to you why he decided to keep you company. Logically.
"Based on your expression, you looked like you wanted to cry. It's like poorly baked bread came out of your oven despite you following every single instruction." He keeps on going.
Yet he halts, stumbling over his words when he realizes that explaining the poor situation you were in, was about to make, you, cry. It was pin-drop silent. The haze of the monitor fills the tense atmosphere between us. If Christian had leaned closer, he could have heard the way your lips slightly trembled.
He apologizes.
"I'm sorry I shouldn't have." He says. Loud and clear. No mumbles. No whispers. Intent and regret clearly etched on his face.
You awkwardly laugh, looking down. Pressing your lips into a thin line as you tried to think of a way to salvage whatever this was.
He smiles. But it lacks that boyish charm.
"Well, we can be lonely together." He quickly says.
Your head has never looked up so quickly before. "What?"
"Let's be lonely together," he offers. "Over-time buddies." Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees. Eyes on mine.
All his attention to you.
In this moment, and this moment alone, you find another person in this lonely world of corporate dystopia. In this moment, you feel noticed. He sees and hears you. You are noticed. You are heard. You areย seen.
"I don't think this company lets interns do over-time." The corners of your mouth stretch into a smile. It was your first smile today. "But they do say you are an exception."
Time passes as we chit-chat. Losing ourselves in the moment. Settling in the present. When your pack up, he waits for you.
It isn't until the room dims, and only the moon's light sways through the shutters that Christian's warmth is emanating from the glow of his handsome face. His hand reaches out to grab your, tentatively tapping the tips of your fingers. It isn't until you tap back does he shine with glee. Lighting up like a star.
"See?" There that boyish smile comes through again, but it's much softer. Gooey. Dopey. He leans closer, whispering intimately. Almost affectionately. Then those dimples stretch his smile once more.
Even though we're still technically strangers. Acquaintances. It is like he has known you all his life. Like you are all he knows. Only he stands by your side. In whichโyou find yourself wondering how you could find someone so similar. In this life of constant solidarity, you see yourself in a future where you look up to the starry sea in hopes of witnessing the North Star to guide you to security.
Perhaps he is your north star, you take a good look at Christian.
As the North Star is outcasted, and in its sorrowful solitude, it outshines those far beyond him. Hoping to reach out for someone much like them.
In which you realize that Christian too, is lonely. For we are lonely.
"Ready to go home, partner?"
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