despite everything - wyx (part one)
pairing. wang yixiang x reader
synopsis. When Chaewon makes you chaperone her on her date with Euijoo, you never expect to get a friend in the form of Nicholas Wang out of it. After more barbecue dinners than you can count and days spent coding video games together, you think that if there's one unwavering presence in your life, it's him. And yet, as you start working together and professional differences go from amusing to irritating, everything changes—and not in the way you'd hoped.
genre. college au then workplace au, friends to enemies to ????? with benefits to lovers, ANGST, ANGST, ANGST, a side of fluff, eventual smut but not in this part, but when the smut starts there will be A Lot of it, did i mention angst, slow burn so slow u wonder if there's a burn at all (there is don't worry)
warnings. they are very bad at communicating and Emotions in general, i'm not kidding when i say slow burn pls bear with me and trust the process, implicit bad parenting uh oh they both have issues, they work at a video game company but i only play The Sims 4 so please excuse any gaming language/technicalities i get wrong lol (and feel free to correct me!!)
word count. 27.8k
author's note. guys i locked in so hard for this one so i really hope you lock in with me and enjoy the ride... this part sort of serves as a really long prologue/backstory for the next parts, but i promise the build up is what makes it worth it!!!!!! ALL OF YOU GET NICHOPILLED RIGHT NOW!!!!! as always thank you @zreamy for betareading i enjoyed all the insults and death threats thrown my way!!!! can't wait to see u on monday as long as u promise not to murder me Xx
playlist
“I couldn’t tell what disgusted me more: him feigning tenderness, or the possibility that it might be real.” Milkfed, Melissa Broder
“Despite everything, it’s still you.” The mirror, said to the main character at the end of Undertale
D-0
It wasn’t always like this.
As you scream your head off at the man in front of you, an accusing finger pointed at him, berating him for something he did at work earlier — or something he said just now, you can’t seem to remember — this is what you think: it wasn’t always like this.
There used to be a time you could look at Nicholas Wang without wanting to smash his head against a wall. There used to be a time you could look at him and feel something akin to happiness.
But now, there’s a vein on his reddened forehead that looks like it might explode any minute. He spits venom at you, neither of you listening to what the other is saying. This isn’t even an argument anymore, it’s a shouting match, and whoever is louder and lasts longer wins.
Chaewon stands next to you, a hand on your shoulder as she begs you to relax and sit back down. Nicholas swats Euijoo’s hand away every time his friend tugs his wrist, ordering with varying amounts of authority in his voice to just quit it.
A voice at the back of your head reminds you how unfair this is to Chaewon and Euijoo. These days, with everyone’s busy schedules, it’s a near impossible task to get all four of you sitting at one table like before. And yet, they still attempt it once in a while, fully aware it’ll be an evening full of ill-intentioned quips and barely concealed hostility. But in your defense, every time you think of trying to deescalate things, or straight-up leaving, Nicholas says something to get you going again, as though he can tell you’re tapping out and knows exactly how to reel you back in.
There’s a singular second of peace, after he insults you in such an outrageous manner that you’re stunned into silence. As you take a breath, getting ready to shout even louder, one corner of his lips lifts into a smirk. It’s quick, barely noticeable, but hating Nicholas has turned you into an expert on every microexpression of his. It’s easier to play with his emotions when you can read his face like they’re the morning paper.
This is how you know: the fucker is enjoying this.
Whatever your next words were going to be, no one will ever know, not even you—when you get like this, you have no idea what you’re saying. Nasty sentences pour out of your mouth before they’ve even fully formed in your brain. Knowing this is amusing to Nicholas while you feel like you’re two minutes away from an aneurysm has made you so angry, if you have to spend one more second in the same room as him, one of you will actually end up in the hospital.
“I’m leaving,” you suddenly announce.
Nicholas scoffs, and you ignore him. You are the better person. You are peace and mindfulness. You are Buddha reincarnate.
Chaewon pleads with you to stay while you grab your coat and bag from her and Euijoo’s couch. “I’m sorry, Chae, I really am,” you tell her. “But I can’t. I just can’t.”
You dare a glance at Nicholas while you’re zipping up your boots. He’s sitting down again, sipping his wine as Euijoo admonishes him. His expression is infuriatingly blank. The only sign that he’s just been verbally abused and abusive is the slight blush on his otherwise perfect porcelain skin.
You’ve never hated someone this fucking much.
“I’m sorry it always ends like this,” you tell Chaewon as you hug her goodbye.
“It’s okay,” she says, clearly lying for your sake. The woman is an angel. Nicholas doesn’t even deserve to know her, let alone be in her vicinity at any time, or eat her food, in her apartment, with her cutlery.
Nicholas Wang doesn’t deserve anything good.
.
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D-2945. 8 years, 23 days earlier
So it isn’t a coincidence—the Euijoo from the Video Game Society is the same Euijoo from Chaewon’s Korean Lit class that she’s been raving about for the better part of the semester. It isn’t like there are hundreds of Euijoos running around, but you assumed everyone in the Society was a STEM major. Most of the boys certainly look — and smell — like it. But out of all of them, Euijoo is easily the best one Chaewon could have picked to have a crush on.
In your first semester as roommates, Chaewon had never once mentioned a boy—so when she came home one afternoon at the start of the spring semester, a blush on her cheeks and stars in her eyes as she told you about the cute guy she sat next to in class, you knew it had to be serious. Although you’re surprised at seeing Euijoo and his friend here, it’s no wonder that Chaewon has a crush on him. With his big, kind eyes and shy but approachable demeanor, he’s practically the male version of her.
You wouldn’t call Euijoo a friend, but you’re on friendly terms. He’s one of the only guys in the club who doesn’t try to mansplain games you’ve been playing since you were 10, or who make fun of you and your friends when you just want to sit in a corner and play Animal Crossing.
Someone is sitting next to him, arms crossed over his chest and a blasé expression on his face, and although you’ve never spoken to him, you recognize him from the Society, too. With a face like his, it’d be hard not to. Not that you’ve been looking, you just happen to have eyes, and in a room full of boys whose primary pleasure in life is gaming — no offence to them — you’d be hard pressed not to notice him, with his sharp gaze and chiseled jaw. You’ve only ever heard the low grumble of his voice when he played in a team with other members or when he and a few other guys sat huddled around their laptops, apparently coding their own game, in which you or any of the other girls have never been invited to participate, of course. It wasn’t like you, and some of the other girls, hadn’t started creating your own games in middle school, just like these guys and their superiority complexes. The few times you tried asking what they were up to, they exchanged amused or perplexed looks, then quickly dismissed you. “We’re coding a mobile version of Pong. Don’t worry about it,” they’d say, acting like it required a level of genius you simply didn’t have access to. Like Pong wasn’t one of the first games you copied when you first started coding. This guy, sitting next to Euijoo now, never said anything—neither against you or in your defence. He’d just look at you with the same closed-off expression he wears now. Suffice to say you didn’t have the best opinion of him.
As you and Chaewon enter the café, Euijoo’s eyes are only on her, so it’s a few seconds before his sheepish grin shifts into surprise at seeing you—good surprise, if the way he stands and waves the two of you over awkwardly means anything. But his friend, whose gaze stays trained on you the whole time you’re walking over to their table, wears an expression that betrays no emotion. For a second, you wonder if he even recognizes you. Sure, you’ve never actually talked to each other, but you’ve been attending the club every week for over a semester now—he has to at least be able to place you. But maybe you’re deluding yourself into thinking your face is as exceptional as his. When Euijoo introduces him as Nicholas, you suddenly remember hearing that name being called out during games, but having never played with him, you hadn’t had the opportunity to put name to face.
You’re not even really supposed to be here, but Chaewon’s puppy eyes can melt even the coldest of hearts. She said it’d be “weird” for her and Euijoo to hang out one-on-one, like she’d never heard of the concept of a date. She swears she only wants to get to know him better as a friend, and apparently the best way to do that is to drag you along.
You had the sinking feeling that this would look awfully like a double date, and as you sit opposite Nicholas, Chaewon and Euijoo looking at everything but each other, your suspicions turn out to be true. Conversation quickly runs out—there’s only so much to be said about the café’s menu and whether you got here okay. Which you obviously did, considering you’re sitting here in one piece—but you don’t say that.
Afterwards, as you wait for your drinks, it apparently falls on you to make conversation: Chaewon giggles nervously every time she says something, Euijoo can’t seem to string more than five words together, and Nicholas looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. You ask Euijoo questions, thinking about what Chaewon would like to know but is too shy to ask, but you quickly realize it only stresses him out further, his face reddening every time he meets Chaewon’s wide, curious gaze. So you turn to Nicholas instead. Asking him about his studies — Computer Science — his hobbies — video games — his hometown — Taipei. You’re not deterred by his one-word replies. If anything, they only work you up. Does he not realize you, too, would rather be spending your Saturday afternoon doing anything other than chaperoning your best friend on her date?
Euijoo all but jumps as the restaurant pager goes off, signaling that your drinks are ready to be picked up. You turn to your friend, saying, “Chaewon, you should help him,” hoping your eyes are conveying your thoughts, namely, You’re nineteen, not thirteen, get a grip. Euijoo is already shaking his hands, saying he can handle it on his own as though carrying two drinks might kill Chaewon, but you’re more convincing. When they’re gone, you slump in your seat and release a deep breath.
Nicholas seems unbothered. Too unbothered. Sitting up straight and fixing him a pointed look, you decide to change that.
“Thanks for the help,” you say.
He shrugs, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips, so small and quick you almost miss it. “You seemed to be doing well enough alone.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I’d be doing a lot better if you, you know, spoke in full sentences.”
He actually smiles then, and you’d almost get distracted by it if you weren’t so annoyed at him. “I don’t know, it’s pretty entertaining watching you struggle like that.”
You narrow your eyes at him, leaning over the table. “Are you a psychopath?”
He tilts his head, raises his eyes as if in thought. “Hm. I did spend a lot of time taking bugs apart in my childhood,” he muses pensively. Then, at your horrified expression, he chuckles. “I’m messing with you.”
“Right,” you say, unsure whether you believe him. “You know, I’m as happy as you about being here.”
“So, extremely?”
You ignore him. “This is going to be awkward as hell no matter what, so let’s at least try to make it a little easier for both of us. Maybe then they’ll actually talk to each other.”
He nods his head towards your friends, who are back at the table a few seconds after you finish speaking. Chaewon dives into her strawberry smoothie like she hasn’t had anything to drink in weeks, and after some moments of more silence, you think Nicholas has decided he truly couldn’t care less about what you told him. But just as you’re about to come up with a question for Euijoo, he speaks up, asking Chaewon about her studies. It’s not a very inspired topic, but it at least breaks the ice and finds common ground for Chaewon and Euijoo to stand on. They get to talking about the awful professor for one of their classes, and you get to relax in your chair once more and enjoy your chai latte. When you catch Nicholas staring at you, you raise your eyebrows at him as if asking, What do you want? But instead of looking away, he says, more like announces, “You’re the one who beat Heeseung-hyung’s ass at Super Smash Bros the other day.”
It interrupts Chaewon’s and Euijoo’s conversation, whose eyes ping-pong between you and Nicholas. Although you’re vaguely annoyed at him for stopping them in their tracks, you’re mostly taken aback. So he does recognize you. He just decided to make that clear now, and not when you first got here like a normal person would’ve.
“Yeah, I am,” you reply cautiously, almost defensively. What’s it to him?
“That was cool.” They’re three simple words, not even that much of a compliment, but still, combined with his steady gaze on yours, it makes an odd, surprising swirl of warmth heat your stomach.
“Thanks,” you say, unable to fight the smirk growing on your lips. “It was pretty cool to take his ego down a notch.”
“It was really satisfying seeing you do it,” he says, his smile mirroring yours. For a few, brief seconds, as you look into each others’ eyes, you wonder whether you got the wrong impression from him—but Euijoo joins in, saying he’d never seen Heeseung look so humbled, Chaewon adds something cute about you being the best video game player she knows (maybe because you’re the only one), and the moment fades away.
.
.
D-2505. 6 years, 10 months, 7 days earlier
Peeking over your living room windowsill at the street outside your front door, you sigh contentedly as you watch Euijoo finally lean down towards Chaewon and press his lips to hers. Only took him a year and a half.
Over are the months of swearing up-and-down that they’re just friends, that she doesn’t like him like that, and that even if she did, he probably doesn’t feel the same. Chaewon is one of the smartest people you know, and yet, when it comes to Euijoo, she’s also the biggest fool—same goes for him. You’ve never seen any two people so clearly besotted with each other, yet so oblivious to it.
At least, you weren’t alone in your frustration. Euijoo and Chaewon were such good “friends” that they barely hung out alone—even after that first time at the café, which didn’t turn out as disastrous as it started, they almost always made you and Nicholas tag along, as if they needed chaperones. It was easier dragging the cart along when there were two third wheels, you guess.
You shift from your spying position to a sitting one, back against the wall and a grin on your lips as you fish your phone from your back pocket. HE DID IT!!!!! you text Nicholas.
He replies instantly, as if he’s been waiting for this exact message. Fucking finally! Any longer and I was going to force their faces against each other, the message reads.
You smile. Not sure how they would’ve felt about that.
You watch the three dots on his side of your conversation appear and disappear. Then, after a torturously long minute, his reply comes through. I guess this means they won’t need us on their dates anymore.
Unexpectedly, you feel a pang of something like disappointment in your heart. You hadn’t thought about that. Since the start of second year, your little quartet has become a constant in your life. Chaewon growing closer to Euijoo meant he was around more; and if Euijoo was around, Nicholas was around. Movie nights, study sessions, hours spent eating and drinking at your favorite barbecue spot near campus—you’ve spent almost every weekend with them.
You live with Chaewon, so you have no qualms about growing apart from her just because she has a boyfriend. Certainly Euijoo will spend half his time at your apartment now, so no worries on that side either.
But Nicholas…
Don’t overestimate them, you reply, ignoring the heaviness in your heart. I think they’ll need another couple of months before they can hold eye contact for more than five seconds.
But as it turns out, Nicholas is right. After years of pining relentlessly for one another, it seems all Chaewon and Euijoo want to do is be together. Alone. In the two months that separate their getting-together and summer, you barely see Nicholas. And only once it’s gone do you realize how much you’d come to cherish his friendship.
As your friends kept dragging you to their dates, Nicholas became less and less of a mystery to you. The cold exterior that had intimidated you at first — which you managed to hide, telling yourself he couldn’t be that bad if he was friends with someone as kind as Euijoo — slowly thawed, until a more playful, more mischievous side of him appeared at the surface. Whenever he teased you or threw his head back to laugh loudly, you flattered yourself thinking it was a side of him not many people got to see.
But now, even you barely get to see it.
It isn’t that you miss him. You wouldn’t go that far. It’s the four of you that you miss, the way one evening spent in your friends’ company had the power to recharge you for the week to come. And it isn’t that you’re scared of losing him specifically, you just think it’s a shame that the potential of a close friendship would be squashed this way. And he was a good game partner. Came up with smart strategies, didn’t try to go off and do his own thing and ruin the mission for everyone else.
But you’ve never made plans with him before, and you can’t imagine starting now. Wouldn’t it be awkward, hanging out just the two of you—too much like a date? Spending a couple of hours gaming together every once in a while is one thing, but seeing him outside of that, reaching out and betraying your desire to see him specifically, that’s another thing entirely.
Clearly, he must not be warm to the idea either, seeing as he hasn’t reached out since your friends got together, except to send you Reels and the occasional complaint about “Chaewon and Euijoo being cute in MY kitchen before I’ve even had my coffee.” When you log in at the same time and get on a call together, neither of you makes any mention of hanging out at some point. Life continues as if you didn’t use to spend half of your free time together.
But as they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder. And you hate it.
You don’t like the way your heart skips a beat when his name appears on your phone now, or how clammy your hands get, chopsticks threatening to slide from your fingers, when you meet his indecipherable gaze across the table at barbecue. Why is it that in just a few weeks, someone you’d grown so comfortable with has become someone whose eyes you can’t look into without feeling like you can’t breathe?
Soon, you won’t have to worry about this. You’re leaving for Tokyo in September, to study for a semester, then to intern at a game company.
Surely, this is the kind of distance that makes the heart forget all about someone.
.
.
D-2118. 5 years, 9 months, 16 days earlier
When Ms. Komada told you that as a result of their soon launching a new game, your internship at Lucky Dragon Interactive might be more stressful than most, you hadn’t thought twice about it. You only saw the positive sides—you’d get to see the final steps of creating a game, then of getting it ready for launch, of handling all the post-release problems. Like medical students desperate to witness complicated surgeries, you knew that most of your peers would kill to experience that sort of excitement.
But maybe you should’ve braced yourself, too. You’ve been working overtime for two weeks straight, with half the salary of the full-time employees and none of the recognition or respect. You’re so tired that you order takeout or buy your meals from the convenience store every night, and spend your weekends in bed resting, trying your best to look at anything but a screen, maybe venturing outside if the weather allows it. It seems like every day, every hour, a new problem comes up, a narrative bug that needs to be fixed, an unhappy player that demands attention right away. At least you know you’ve found your calling—no matter how hard it gets, you’re still happy to clock in every day, still looking forward to one day launching your own game.
Finally, after too many harrowing weeks to count, you start going home at normal, legal hours. As you switch on your computer and launch Steam, you wonder how many weeks it’s been since you’ve logged on, how long it’s been since you’ve thought about another game than your company’s. Your heart does a weird little skip when you see the green dot next to Nicholas’ username. It drums sharply in your chest when a call notification appears on your screen, seconds after you’ve logged in, almost as if he was keeping an eye on your status. You let two rings go by, hoping to steady your breathing, then accept the call.
“Hey,” Nicholas says, the smile audible in his voice. “So you’re alive.”
It’s only because it’s been so long since you last heard it that his voice has such a relaxing effect on you. Just a few words, spoken in that low, almost lazy drawl of his, and a weight feels like it’s been lifted off your shoulders. Your insides feel warm, your heart light, flapping like butterfly wings.
You chuckle. “Barely.”
“Chaewon says they’ve been working you to the bone in Tokyo.” The concern you detect in his tone must be the work of your imagination.
“They have,” you say, sighing. “But it’s fun, really fun. I think you’d love it, actually.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! I remember you said you worked well in high-pressure environments. Well, it can hardly get any more high-pressure than this. The stakes feel so high, you’d think I’m working at NASA.”
He laughs, the melodic sound pouring right from your headphones into your ears. “Of course. Don’t you know that if something goes wrong with this game, the whole world will implode?”
“Right, right, how could I forget?” you say, laughing when he tuts at you. “What about you? How’s everything back in Seoul?”
“Same old, really. Heeseung-hyung is getting on half of the club’s nerves. Euijoo and Chaewon are head over heels in love with each other. I’m still the hottest guy in all of CompSci.”
Laughing, you say, “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”
“So you agree?” he asks after a small pause. You don’t need to see it to know he’s wearing that annoyingly handsome smirk of his. “You think I’m the hottest guy in CompSci?”
You roll your eyes, bite back a smile even if he can’t see you. “Alright, Weno. Ready to kill some monsters?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
.
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D-1888. 5 years, 2 months earlier
The sun is just starting to bless the depressing Science campus with its warmth when you step into the library. Armed with a restful eight hours of sleep and the sugared promise of the bag of donuts in your hand, you’re ready to tackle the day ahead. Your exams are long behind you now, so the library is practically deserted—there aren’t many people as deranged as you to be here in the middle of winter break just a few days before Christmas. But you’re going home for the holidays, and you have to anticipate the chaos that will be your final semester at university. If you and Nicholas want to finish this game, you’ll need to power through.
You walk the familiar route to the space on the third floor dedicated to group work and open the door to the cubicle that unofficially belongs to you and Nicholas now—and freeze on the threshold.
Nicholas is still here, sitting in the same spot you left him last night as though he hasn’t budged an inch. And indeed, he doesn’t move as you step inside and quietly set your bag down on the desk, taking a seat on the chair next to his. His head rests on his crossed arms over the table, turned away from you. Clouds part, and a ray of sunlight suddenly shines right onto his face. With a groan, he turns his head to the other side, facing you now, but he doesn’t seem to rouse any more than that.
You know he has a habit of staying up late, but he also usually gets up late, joining you at the library by midday. You wonder what it was that made him pull an all-nighter here, hoping it wasn’t another one of your frivolous ideas that sounds fun in theory but is nearly impossible to implement in practice.
In the past months since you’ve started working on this, you’ve rarely seen Nicholas look so peaceful. You’d needed some time to get used to his focused expression—with his furrowed eyebrows and intense gaze, you thought he was permanently mad at something. Turns out he was just highly concentrated. You’ve also seen him grumpy a few times, when his alarm had rung a little too early for his liking or when he just couldn’t figure out the source of a bug. Even then, you could only find him endearing, heart melting at his pout when he probably had no idea how cute he looked, laughing at his quiet muttering to his computer, as though talking to the machine would make it more cooperative.
It’s nice to see him so serene-looking in sleep, to know that at least then, nothing is bothering him. You find that it calms you down, too. As the deadline for the competition approaches, nerves have started appearing in your stomach more and leaving less, but the sight of him like this is enough to put you at ease. Guided by an unnamable urge to bask in that feeling, you slide one of your arms out on the table, resting your head on it and simply watching Nicholas’ sleeping face. Your eyes slowly trace every centimeter of his face, detailing it like you want to commit it to memory. His features are delicate without being fragile: the straight nose, gently defined cheekbones, plump and impossibly soft-looking lips. His dark hair falls loosely around his forehead, a few strands over his eyes that make your fingertips tingle with the urge to brush them away.
You’ve always thought there’s something magnetic about him, something that keeps you craving another look, a little more time. In the back of your head, a small voice tells you that staring at someone while they sleep is considered, by many standards, creepy—but looking away would feel like having your blankets ripped from you on a cold winter morning.
He stirs in his seat then, stretching his arms in front of him before blinking his eyes open. You’ve never sat up quicker, heart beating out of your chest as you hope he didn’t catch any of that. Thankfully, your laptop is already open, so you can pretend like something fascinating is happening on the screen while you start it up, so fascinating indeed that you wouldn’t even have noticed him waking.
“Hey,” he simply says, voice still groggy with sleep. It makes your stomach flip, and you can only manage a quick glance at him over your computer screen. For some reason, you instinctively know that Nicholas’ face when he first wakes is not an image that you need to have in your head.
“Hi. Were you here all night?” you ask, hoping the tremble in your voice isn’t that obvious.
Nicholas sits up, slides a hand over his face with a sigh. “Yeah. I’m not sure when I passed out, though.”
“You should head home. Or at least sleep here a little more.”
In your peripheral, you see him shake his head. “It’s alright. I’ll go grab a Monster then I can start on this again.”
“That’s not healthy, Weno—”
He shrugs before you can finish your sentence. “I’ll rest when we’re done with this game. Ooh, did you get us donuts?” he says, eyes widening at the sight of the paper bag next to you and its familiar logo.
He reaches over you for the bag, and the sudden proximity makes your hands freeze on your keyboard. His face is so close to yours, close enough for you to see the last traces of sleep around his slightly puffy eyes and lips. His knee gently bumps into yours and warmth spreads through your entire body. He seems completely oblivious to your inner turmoil as he bites into the sugar and cinnamon donut, closing his eyes and humming a low sound of satisfaction which does nothing to help your racing imagination.
You’ve always known Nicholas was an attractive man—anyone with eyes could say this much. But there’s a world of difference between objectively recognizing someone is attractive and being attracted to them. In your years of knowing him, you’ve become familiar with the warmth that blooms in your stomach when you hear his laughter, or when his gaze lingers on you for a little too long. You’ve become used to it, more like an old habit you can’t shake than something you feel compelled to act upon. But this feeling, this is something else entirely. Your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest, and you’re afraid that if you stay in this room for a minute longer, you’ll do or say something to betray your thoughts.
You push your chair away from the table in an awkward, loud screech against the floor tiles, and stand up abruptly. Nicholas’ head snaps towards you, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.
“I’ll go get us drinks,” you announce robotically to the room.
“But you already got donuts—”
“It’s alright,” you interrupt, already grabbing your bag and practically running out of the room. Nicholas calls your name, but you ignore it.
The late December air feels cool on your burning skin as you step outside. Your brisk walk to the nearby convenience store somewhat helps to calm you down, although you belatedly realize that your odd behavior might have alerted your friend to the exact thing you wanted to hide. You head over to the refrigerated drinks section, grabbing a blueberry-flavored Monster for him and a storebrand smoothie for yourself.
You’re never really been interested in boys—not like that, at least. It’s not that you’ve kept yourself at a distance from them. Unfortunately, video games are still a predominantly male hobby, and so most of the people you’ve shared that passion with have been boys. Some of them make for decent gaming partners, and some, even for decent friends. But finding a boyfriend was never a priority or worry of yours, not even back in high school when it seemed to be all some of your friends could talk about. Not until you met Choi Soobin at a Game Developing camp — of course — during the summer between junior and senior year. He was everything you thought boys should be—quiet, kind, and a good gamer. Euijoo reminded you of him, and that’s why you so easily approved of him for Chaewon, who you believe deserves nothing but the best.
And although Nicholas is also quiet, kind, and a good gamer, you would never think to compare him to Soobin. He may come off reserved at first, but it’s not out of shyness—rather, he observes people first and determines whether they’re worth his time and energy. It seems that not many fit his indecipherable criteria; you, Chaewon and Euijoo must be part of the lucky ones.
There’s something cold, almost arrogant about him, something that ticked you off before you got to know him — and that still does now, truth be told — in his smirk whenever he beats someone at a game, in the tightness of his jaw when one of his teammates messes up. Something obsessive in the way he locks himself in his room to finish an assignment, or pulls an all-nighter at the library to debug something like he did today. Something that remains unattainable, mysterious, even to you, who’s known him for three years now, in the way he won’t explain why the smile drops from his face when he gets a call notification from one of his parents, in the way he won’t talk about how his breaks in Taiwan go. Maybe that’s why you find yourself so drawn to him, all his sharp edges reflecting yours, making you wonder what’s hiding beneath his surface in a way you’ve never been curious about anyone else before.
But it’s that something that makes you feel like you can’t like him. Like you’re not allowed to. When you ask Chaewon whether she feels it too, that bay that he keeps people at, she shrugs and says he’s just a little more reserved than most. Then she side-eyes you and says something like, “As if you’re Little Miss Open Book yourself.” You drop the subject, but when you wonder if you’ll never get to cross that little remaining distance to Nicholas, an unexplainable sadness washes over you.
Anyway, it seems like the last thing on his mind is dating. He’s said very little about his family, but you know that both of his parents are doctors, and that they weren’t overjoyed at his love for video games, nor at the prospect of their eldest son going into Computer Science rather than Medicine, and in a foreign country at that. He’s one of the most studious people you know, and you wonder whether he works so hard to prove to them he can make it, that he didn’t choose the wrong path. He’s busy enough with his studies, and you’ve never once seen him express interest towards a girl. He still regularly complains about Euijoo and Chaewon making out in the shared parts of their apartment.
Spending so much time with him, working on your game, makes it easy to forget there are parts of him you don’t have access to. When he asked you whether you wanted to participate in your university’s game programming competition together, you weren’t in the least bit reluctant to accept his offer. You knew he wouldn’t be condescending or mansplain to you how code worked like many of your male Game Design peers, as though you weren’t studying the same thing. In fact, he’s been the opposite of that, treating your ideas with respect, working tirelessly to implement them into the structure of the game even when they force him to write a hundred additional lines of code, coming up with a satisfying alternative when something is just too complicated.
So, despite yourself, you’ve come to cherish Nicholas as a friend, then as a gaming partner, and now even as someone who was easy and fun to work with. It doesn’t help that he remembers your coffee order by heart, that he puts your favorite side dishes in front of you whenever you eat out with Chaewon and Euijoo, and that he looks the way he does. You still get annoyed at yourself when your heart beats up a storm in your chest like it did earlier, just from his proximity.
In the end, it doesn’t matter whatever sort of feelings you might have for Nicholas—you know yourself, and you know you won’t ever make the first move. You tell yourself it’s better off this way. In less than six months, you’ll be done with university, and with his grades, Nicholas is already getting calls from the headhunters of some of the country’s leading companies. You may know close to nothing about Computer Science, but you know that he’s always in the top three students of his class and that he won your university’s Hackathon last year, so it’s no wonder that recruiters are reaching out to him before he’s even graduated. When you ask him about whether he’s accepted any of their offers, or about the kind of company he’d like to work for, he only shrugs, saying he hasn’t given it much thought. He doesn’t expand, and you don’t press.
Meanwhile, you’ve started applying for post-graduate internships and programs at practically every video game company in South Korea, no matter how big or small, and a few international ones you’re drawn to, although you’d rather stay in the country for now. It’d be a dream to land the Narrative Design Internship at Jellyfish Studios, but after putting your absolute all into the application, you try to think about it as little as you can and expect even less. It’s hard to do, especially when you check your emails every night hoping for an interview offer, but you do your best. It isn’t the biggest game company in Korea by any means, but they’ve always produced your favorite games, with amazing, emotional storylines and beautiful graphics. Every time you play one of their games, you wish you’d written it yourself. The next best thing would be to help design them.
For now, you’ll get through the last month of your last year of university, power through your final exams, and ignore the way your stomach flips every time you meet a certain pair of sharp eyes.
You’re glad he doesn’t question you outright when you’re back in your shared cubicle. “Thank you, Y/N,” he simply says as you hand him his drink. You think his gaze on yours is a little more insistent than usual, a little more searching, but you ignore it, and he doesn’t push. Instead, he turns his laptop towards you, lines of complicated code that your eyes need a few seconds to adjust to filling up his screen. “This is why I stayed up last night.”
When you recognize the actions and dialogue, you gasp. “No way, Weno… You were able to do it?”
You’d wanted to add a last minute plot-line to the game, something that would only become available to the player if they’d managed to complete their dialogue with a few particular NPCs. It would force Nicholas to add a bunch of variables and to go back and change some of his previous code, but you thought it would make for a much more emotionally satisfying ending for players who had gone through the pains of exhausting every dialogue option. Although he said he’d try his best, he also told you he couldn’t make any promises. You never expected him to spend so much time on this.
His lips spread into a smile, an adorable mix of pride and shyness. “Yeah. It was really tricky, and took a hell of a long time, but I found some useful tips on a forum online. I just… I know how much this idea meant to you. And I truly think that it’ll give us an edge in the competition.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?” you say, too absorbed by his code to really pay attention to what comes of your mouth.
He shrugs. “It’s your idea that’s brilliant,” he says quietly. “I just executed it.”
You turn to him with a wide grin on your face. “We’re so gonna win this thing, Weno.”
He mirrors your smile, eyes plunged deep into yours. This time, when your heart hammers wildly in your chest, you’re not so worried about it.
.
.
D-1686. 4 years, 7 months, 10 days earlier
You graduate on a beautiful July morning. Nicholas looks smart in his navy three-piece suit and white button-up that fit him like they’ve been perfectly tailored to his body—you’ve had to look at him in increments, too afraid you won’t be afraid to detach your eyes from him if you let them linger too long.
It’s just that you can’t quite wrap your head around the fact that this is the end for both of you. You have no doubt that you’ll stay friends, but it won’t be the same. You’re both going home for the summer, and then who knows. Neither of you has something lined up for the fall: you’re waiting on a decision from Jellyfish Studios, whom you should hear from any day now, before you accept any other offers you’ve been made. Meanwhile, Nicholas still shrugs whenever you ask him about his plans. You’ve never seen anyone so relaxed about the uncertainty of their future.
You sit at opposite ends of the graduation hall, packed with students from two other STEM degrees. With his freshly dyed blond hair, which you saw his parents scold him for earlier, he stands out among everyone. You look at the balcony above you, searching for Chaewon and Euijoo who graduated last week, and your family who travelled to the city for your graduation. When Computer Science gets called forward and each student makes their way across the stage one by one to receive their degree from the respective department heads, you only have eyes for him. Your heart pounds like you’re the one waiting to walk up the stairs, and you’re screaming his name and clapping louder than anyone else as he crosses the stage, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he avoids eye contact with the camera recording the ceremony.
No matter how many times you rehearsed your walk in your head, finding your family and friends beforehand expressly so you could wave at them on stage, once you’re there, the only person you remember to smile at is Nicholas. In the few seconds that your gazes interlock, you think of how far the two of you have come along since the day you properly met at that café until now, of all the sleepless nights spent blinking at your computer screens, of the feeling of creating something with him.
You’re not sure you’re ready to leave all that behind already.
Afterwards, Chaewon finds a sunny spot in front of the graduation hall to take pictures: of the four of you, of you and your family, of Nicholas and his. Euijoo uses his broken English to communicate with Nicholas’ family while Chaewon catches up excitedly with yours, undeterred by your parents’ reserve, badgering your little brother with questions. Nicholas grumbles the entire time, adorable as he rolls his eyes when he’s asked to take another picture, then proceeds to pose as nonchalantly as he can, hands in his trouser pockets, chin held high to accentuate his jaw, eyes squinting at some faraway point. So you’re surprised when it’s him who comes to you for a photo, and not the other way around—he got to it before you could gather the courage. You just stand next to each other at first, leaving a little space between your bodies, but Chaewon is not easily satisfied. She peers from behind her Nikon with an expression that says, Really?, then gestures for the two of you to get closer. Clearing his throat, Nicholas takes a step to the side, looking straight in front of him as he wraps an arm around your waist. The touch is gentle, almost timid, but it’s enough for your breath to catch in your throat. As you stare up at him in wide-eyed surprise, a small smirk blooms on his lips. “Look at the camera,” he says, voice low, only for you to hear. You turn your head towards Chaewon, but you’re not sure your smile looks very natural anymore.
As you’re about to go your separate ways for lunch, Nicholas says a few words to his parents in Mandarin, then turns to you, asking if he can talk to you quickly. He leads you to a quieter spot nearby. You’ve never seen him so nervous as he stands in front of you, rocking on his feet, eyes trained on the ground between you. Despite your burning curiosity, you let him take his time, enjoying this rare opportunity to stare shamelessly at him, the way the sun softens even his sharp features, the way this uncharacteristic uneasiness tugs his eyebrows together and his lip corners downward. You’d want to smooth it all out with your fingertips if you didn’t find it so endearing—it almost distracts you from the red-hot question on your tongue, namely, what the hell does Nicholas need to tell you that he couldn’t wait until later?
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. I should’ve told you earlier, but if I don’t tell you now, I’m not sure I ever will,” he says, voice breathy, unsure. His voice is almost drowned out by the intensity of your heartbeat, pounding in your ears. Finally, he meets your eyes, and whatever he finds there must reassure him, because his expression melts into a small smile. “Y/N, I—”
He’s interrupted by the simultaneous pings of your phones. Your eyes go wide—this is a sound you’ve trained yourself to look out for for the past weeks. “Sorry, Weno, I really have to check this,” you say as you fish your phone out of your purse, the blood drained from your body from the notification alone, an email from Jellyfish Studios. You type in your password with trembling hands, and almost drop your phone when you read the first sentence.
Dear Y/N L/N,
Congratulations!
We are pleased to inform you your application for an internship in Narrative Design has been accepted. If you would like to join us, please contact us in the following days to go through with the hiring procedures.
Dumbfounded, you stare at the words on your screen as if they might rearrange themselves out of nowhere. Nicholas’ voice is soft as he breaks the silence. “Did you get in?” You look up at him, mouth agape as you nod wildly. His smile widens. “Guess you won’t be getting rid of me so soon, then.”
When you tilt your head, he chuckles and holds his phone out for you to read. The same words of acceptance but tailored to him — Dear Wang Yixiang; an internship in Game Engineering — blink up at you. Your eyes ping-pong between his screen and his face. There are so many thoughts racing through your head that you can’t even get a single one out through your mouth.
“I didn’t want to tell you I applied,” he explains. “Didn’t want to get either of our hopes up.”
“Oh my God, Weno,” you whisper.
“I know,” he says, matching your tone. Somehow, it’s his excited grin that gets you out of your trance, that makes you realize how real all this is — you’re accepted, so is Nicholas, you’re getting an extra year with him — and you all but jump into his arms, his own wrapping around your middle immediately, like he was always ready to catch you.
But the feeling of his body pressed against yours, close enough for his perfume with its fresh and woody notes to fill your nostrils, snaps you back down to Earth. You step out of his embrace as quickly as you jumped into it, scared to have overstepped a boundary even though Nicholas looks not the least bit offended as he keeps his steady, gentle gaze on you.
Before an awkward silence has time to settle, you remember something: “What were you about to tell me? Was it this?”
You watch as Nicholas’ expression fluctuates from fondness to surprise to neutrality, an unusual show of emotions coming from him. “Yeah, yeah. That was it.”
Behind him, his mother calls out his name, seemingly growing impatient. He glances at his family, then back at you. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” he asks.
You nod your head in small, quick movements. “Yeah.”
Nicholas takes a few steps then stops, turning back towards you with a weary expression on his face. “You are happy about this, right?”
Although you wonder where he got the idea that you might not be overjoyed by this from, his concern endears you. Lets you see through a crack of his mask that he cares about this friendship as much as you do. You tilt your head, smiling at him. “Of course I am, Weno.”
A grin grows on his lips, the kind you wish you got to see more often. “Okay.”
You watch him walking away, excitement bubbling in your stomach at the thought that this won’t have to be the last image you have of him.
.
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D-1604. 4 years, 4 months, 20 days earlier
Drumming your fingers on the wooden table, you look outside the café’s foggy window to the Jellyfish Studios offices across the street. In thirty or so minutes, you’ll be crossing those glass doors yourself and stepping inside the lobby with a half-dozen other bright-eyed and bushy-tailed new interns. You don’t know yet on which of the nine floors your desk will be, or what your colleagues will look like, or the kind of games you’ll be working on, but that unknown excites you. You’ve never been so hopeful about anything, never seen your future so open and inviting in front of you as you do now, staring at your new company’s logo on the top left corner of the building.
“Here,” Nicholas says, low voice snapping you out of your reverie as he sets a steaming cup of coffee in front of you.
“Thanks, Weno.” You turn your attention back to the building across the street, a small smile on your lips as you rest your head on your palm. “Aren’t you excited?” you say dreamily. “I feel like we’re gonna do great things in there.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure you will,” he replies, a little teasingly, a little earnestly.
You look at him. “So will you! You only wrote the code for the game that won our university’s competition, after all.”
“Maybe, but the ideas all came from here,” he says, reaching his finger to tap your forehead gently. It’s a small, fleeting touch, but it makes warmth spread through your entire body. You feel your face heat, and you take a sip of your scalding caramel latte just to hide your flusteredness. Nicholas sits back, watching you with a smile—but if he guesses the thoughts in your head, he says nothing.
It’s only that you haven’t seen him in a while. You stayed with your parents all summer, wanting to spend as much time with your brother before he left the country for university, only leaving to go on a trip to Japan with Chaewon. You last saw Nicholas a few days after graduation, when the flowers were in full bloom and the sun beat down on you relentlessly; now, leaves are already starting to turn all shades of orange and yellow, and you’ve fished out your jackets from the back of your closet. Of course you’re going to need some time to get used to being around Nicholas again. It doesn’t matter that a big part, bigger than you’d like to admit, of your summer evenings were spent on a call with him, playing video games and complaining about living with your parents again after four years away. Hearing his voice through your headphones and seeing him in the flesh are two entirely different things.
Thankfully, he doesn’t try to touch you again—the brushes of your knees or your feet together beneath the table are only accidental. You don’t have much to catch up on, so once you’ve forced him to list everything he was excited about for this internship then made him listen to your own list, you sit in comfortable silence, sipping on your coffee that’s finally the right temperature and eavesdropping on the people around you.
It’s soon time to go. On the way there, Nicholas tells you, voice so quiet you barely hear it over the rumble of cars and passers-by, “I’m glad we’re doing this together. It… It makes it easier, knowing that you’re here.”
Compared to Euijoo and Chaewon, neither of you are very well-versed in the art of saying nice things to each other. You’re more comfortable teasing each other, showing your affection either through sarcastic quips or silent gestures. So coming from Nicholas, this is practically a confession of his ultimate devotion. You stare up at him, a grin spreading on your face the more he tries to avert his gaze from yours, clearing his throat and muttering for you to stop it. But you can’t help it—it’s not often that you feel you have the upper hand on him, so you want to enjoy it while you can.
“I agree,” you say. “You’re lucky I’m here. I’ll make sure you won’t get fired within a week.”
He rolls his eyes but his smile tells a different story.
In front of the wide glass doors, you freeze. The tall building suddenly feels vertiginous as it spreads into the sky, and a gnawing sensation of nervousness starts to take over your excitement.
And although you didn’t say it back, you really are glad to be doing this with Nicholas. He stands next to you, arm slightly brushing yours, his presence immediately soothing. Nudging his shoulder with yours, he says, “We got this.”
You nod your head once, determination settling on your features. “We got this.”
You walk in together, and at the welcome desk, the receptionist redirects you to a group of people who look about your age, standing a few meters away from you in the lobby, and says someone will be there to get you soon. The group is exactly what you’d picture when you think of interns for a video game company: bespectacled nerds (meant positively, of course), unsure what to do with their arms, looking at everything but each other, their soon-to-be coworkers. The awkward atmosphere permeates even yours and Nicholas’ conversation, so you stand there side-by-side, Nicholas scanning the room, his head held high like he already owns the place, while you smile at everyone you make eye contact with, no matter how briefly.
To your relief, a woman who looks to be in her thirties approaches your group before long. She introduces herself as Ms. Seo, Assistant Manager in Human Resources, and welcomes you all. She congratulates you then tells you how happy she and everyone at Jellyfish are to meet their new interns, how you’ll become an invaluable member of your respective teams, and how she’s sure your time here will be greatly beneficial to your future career—it’s clearly a rehearsed pitch, but it works. Her words make you feel giddy, and you hold onto her promise of becoming part of something greater than yourself like a newborn onto its mother.
Afterwards, she takes you on a tour of the building and the different departments, from Marketing to Sound to Test & Quality, pointing out who is in charge of the interns in each team. Design and Engineering share a floor, so Nicholas will be close by at all times—when you grin up at him upon finding this out, he smiles back fondly. Each floor has its own break room and meeting rooms, but there’s a cafeteria on the sixth floor and a café on the ground floor. In the basement are the Archives, both of paperwork and records that the company has kept throughout the years, and of the games they’ve produced. They even have the old consoles needed to play games released in the 90s and early 2000s, and employees are allowed to go down and play for a little during their breaks. In a conspiratorial tone, Ms. Seo shares that you just need to be careful of the archivist on-duty, some of them being less lax about the amount of time you spend down here than others.
When the tour is over, she lets you head back to your respective departments and introduce yourselves to the person who’ll be in charge of you. This person, for you and the other intern who introduces himself as Taki, is Mrs. Kang, a Senior Writer who’s been working at Jellyfish for over fifteen years. She mentions a few games she’s helped create and chuckles as your jaw falls more and more open—some of those games shaped your teenage years, especially Still Life, an RPG following a girl in high school in which just one choice can drastically change the storyline.
“I don’t know how many hours I played, trying to get every dialogue and ending.”
She smiles. “That’s good to know. You’re dedicated.”
You nod vigorously. You’ve known this woman for all of two minutes, but you’re already desperate for her validation. She asks you and Taki a few questions about your background, the kind of games you like to play, the ones you’d like to create. The two of you have similar answers: choice-driven games where the player and character go on an emotional journey together. “With pretty artwork,” you say.
“And a cool soundtrack,” Taki adds.
Mrs. Kang nods, seeming satisfied. “You chose the perfect place for that.”
She briefly introduces the rest of the team to you. You can’t remember eight new names right away, but at least everyone seems friendly, and you’re glad there are about as many women as there are men. When you look behind you, you can see Nicholas going through the same presentations as you, but in an all-male team, save for the other intern with him. You already feel bad for her.
The Head of your department has his own office. Mrs. Kang knocks at the glass door and lets herself in, and her boss only has a second to click a bunch of times on his computer mouse and assume a more professional pose than the one he was previously in, leaning back on his desk chair, one hand behind his head.
“Mr. Lee, these are our new interns, L/N Y/N and Takayama Riki.”
You both bow as Mr. Lee clears his throat, straightening his tie. “Right, right. Welcome, both of you. I’m sure Mrs. Kang has told you everything you need to know, so I won’t bore you. I hope you’ll like it here, and if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to let us know. Anyone on the team will be happy to help.”
You and Taki thank him, and as you’re filing out of the room, Mrs. Kang turns back around to the older man, her eyes narrowed. “Mr. Lee, were you playing the Sims again?”
He starts clearing his throat again, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at anything but her. She tilts her head. “Mr. Lee…”
“It’s called benchmarking! I’m staying one step ahead of the competition,” he mumbles, clearly not believing his own words.
She sighs. “We have a whole department for that, Sir.”
“Right, right.”
Back with the rest of the team, she shows you to the desks you and Taki will be occupying, just across from hers, and tells you to get settled in. Your eyes widen at the computers waiting for you there, high-performing server desktops that you can’t believe you’ll get work on. If this is what Narrative Designers get, you can’t even imagine what sort of jewels the programmers will be working with.
Mrs. Kang asks if you’ve got any questions, and Taki raises an eager hand. “Will we be meeting Murata Fuma?” he asks. The name is unfamiliar to you, but Taki’s eyes are wide and starry as he awaits an answer. Mrs. Kang smiles like she’s seen this expression a thousand times before.
“Right, I forgot to mention that. As you’ve noticed, Mr. Murata isn’t here right now. He’s working at our American branch at the moment, but you’ll get to meet him soon, once he returns. We usually handle one intern each, so that you have a personal point of contact.”
Taki sighs dreamily. “Wow. I can’t believe I’ll finally get to meet him.” When he meets your curious eyes, he leans forward on his desk. “Don’t you know him?” he asks, gasping when you shake your head. “You don’t know Murata Fuma? The brain behind The Curious Village?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of it, but I never got around to playing it.”
“You’d love it,” he says, eyes wide and excited, puppyish grin like he’s about to let you in on the most fascinating story. “It starts off with you, the main character, moving into a new town. Everything’s so cute that you let yourself be fooled it’ll just be a sweet story about making friends and finding a new home. But it quickly turns super mysterious and super dark… I did my first play-through in three days. I didn’t even shower.”
“That’s… wow. Sounds fun.”
“Fun doesn’t even start to describe it,” he says. “Murata is a genius. Village was his first game as Lead Designer, and it was both a critical and player success. I can only hope to be like him someday.”
Ms. Kang watches this exchange with an amused glint in her eyes. “Looks like we have a new addition to the Fuma fanclub. You’ll fit right in, Taki. Everyone loves him around here—although I must say, most of his fans tend to be women.”
You can’t help but chuckle. This Murata guy sounds like the quarterback of a 2010s American teen movie—all the girls want him, all the boys want to be him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious to meet him and see what all the fuss is about. And to play that game of his.
.
.
D-1603. 4 years, 4 months, 19 days earlier
Life has never been more beautiful, and you’re sure it has nothing to do with the half-pint of beer you’ve had. No, it has everything to do with Mrs. Kang, who’s had about three times as much to drink as you have but seems three times less inebriated, and who’s turning out to be the most amusing storyteller you’ve ever met. Ms. Cho and Ms. Song, your new coworkers from the Game Design team, have become Miyeon and Yuqi to you since the first round of meat was served. Yuqi in particular seems bent on grilling the meat and making wraps for you, opening her mouth wide so you’ll mirror it, like you’re her baby and not the new hire. She’s had about two sips of her beer.
“This is the thing about gamers,” Taki tells you, voice low as he leans in conspiratorially closer. “They all have horrible alcohol tolerances because they never go out. But me?” He smirks. “I was a menace in high school. Some might say I’m a reformed bad boy. We used to spend weekends in Hongdae, the bouncers knew we were seventeen and didn’t give a shit. Anyway, I think I fucked up my liver sometime in senior year and now I can drink like crazy, it doesn’t even affect me. Look at this—”
“—I don’t think that’s healthy, Taki,” you try to say, but he’s quicker, grabbing his pint and downing it in five impressive gulps. Under your horrified eyes, everyone at the table applauds and cheers him on.
“Another beer here, please!” Mr. Lee shouts. He beckons Taki towards him with a gesture of his hand, then wraps an arm around the younger man’s shoulder, pulling him down slightly like he’s about to let him onto something big.
Jellyfish sure knows how to welcome its new interns and employees. They throw something like this twice a year, three or four departments renting out a room at a restaurant together to celebrate the most recent round of hires. From your seat, you can see Nicholas sitting at another table with his colleagues, laughing, tapping his glass with theirs, and of course, wolfing down the free food. You catch his eye once in a while, the spark that zips down your spine growing bigger with every sip of your beer.
Laughter erupts from his side of the room, complete with snorts and hand slams on the table, making a few heads swivel in their direction. Miyeon and Yuqi roll their eyes. “Someone must’ve made some obscure C++ joke. Hilarious, I’m sure,” Yuqi comments sarcastically.
Noticing your confused expression, Miyeon glances back at the engineers then leans in towards you. “Our team and theirs aren’t exactly on the best terms,” she explains.
“But don’t you work together all the time?” you ask.
“Of course, that’s why it’s so complicated. We have to work together, but the way we see games are completely different. They take something whimsical and fun and beautiful and turn it into a series of lines—”
Yuqi, who’s been nodding along vigorously, cuts her off. “They suck the soul of them. They’re always saying, No, I can’t code that, you need to take that out, I’ll have to rebuild the structure from scratch if you add that, blah, blah, blah,” she says, imitating an oafish male voice that you can’t help but chuckle at.
“But isn’t it literally their job to put our storylines into code? I mean, I didn’t take CompSci, God forbid, but how hard can it really be?” Miyeon says.
“They act like they get the short end of the stick, but we’re the ones who come up with the whole story, characters and dialogue from A to Z. Their job is completely dependent on us,” Yuqi asserts.
You think back on your time working on your game with Nicholas, the way you handled every clash easily, how you both worked and conceded certain things to make the other’s life easier. Naively, perhaps, you thought that this type of collaboration would extend to your professional life. You thought a good, mutual understanding between game engineers and designers was the basis of making any game.
You want to argue that surely all engineers can’t be like that, but Yuqi is quicker. “Plus, on a more personal note,” she starts, dropping her voice to a whisper, “in terms of relationships? Do not go there.” Miyeon nods along, her eyes wide and staring into your soul. “I used to date someone from that team, thank fuck he doesn’t work here anymore, but oh my God, he was the worst boyfriend. Always so rational, saying he couldn’t talk to me when I was being “emotional” during arguments, trying to come up with solutions when I kept telling him all I wanted was for him to comfort me. And he couldn’t go five minutes waiting in a line without playing World of Warcraft. And, not to overshare, but he was by far the worst lay of my life. Couldn’t make me come for the life of him. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure why I even stayed a year with him,” she finishes, looking thoughtful as she takes a sip of her beer.
“Maybe his disgusting salary helped,” Miyeon says, smirking.
Yuqi snaps her fingers in a sort of Eureka! moment. “Yeah, that was it! He did buy me a shitton of stuff. Think he felt bad about the orgasm thing, actually.”
They tell you that for every department, there’s probably one woman who has a similar story to tell. Your eyes flicker over to Nicholas, his eyes bright and a small smile playing on his lips as he listens to one of his coworkers talk, and you think that he can’t possibly be like that. Either for the work stuff or the… other stuff. You can’t help the disappointment or the feeling of injustice simmering in your chest, like this condemnation of some of the men in Nicho’s line of work is a condemnation of your friend himself.
But you can’t linger on that thought too long, because Mr. Lee, whom you hadn’t noticed had left the room, comes back in, waving his cellphone and wearing a radiant smile. “Mr. Murata will be back next week,” he announces to your table. “He’s wrapping up a few things in LA, and he’s decided to take a few days off before flying back to Korea.”
Excited chatter erupts around the table, as it has always done whenever Murata’s name has been mentioned in the past week since your internship started. You’ve overheard coworkers, from both your team and others, gossiping about him in the break room, wondering in hushed, giggly whispers whether he’s got a girlfriend or what it’d be like to date him.
Finally, you’re able to ask the question that’s been weighing on your tongue. “So, what’s the big deal with Mr. Murata? Why does everyone seem to love him?”
Miyeon and Yuqi exchange an amused look as if to say, Oh, this girl. “You haven’t met him, Y/N. You’ll understand as soon as you see him. And you’ll become one of us after you’ve talked to him,” Miyeon explains.
“It’d be fine if he was just hot,” Yuqi continues. “And that, he is. But he also happens to be extremely kind, funny, easy to work with, and good at what he does.”
“Obviously, any man that showers every night and isn’t insufferable to talk to for more than two minutes is going to be popular in our office, seeing the material we’re working with,” Miyeon says as she scans the room, lasers of sheer disgust pointing out of her narrowed eyes.
She isn’t wrong in that you’ve never seen this many people at once wearing graphic t-shirts with mathematical puns or anime characters. And it’s a work setting. Nicholas and a few other of your male coworkers stand out in their button-ups or knitted sweaters and hair that somewhat looks styled—no wonder hordes of people drool over Mr. Murata if he’s as good-looking as Yuqi says.
“But even without comparing him to other men at Jellyfish? He’s a catch and a half. I know he’d make my head turn in the street,” Miyeon concludes, shrugging and taking a sip of her beer like she’s resolved herself to the fact of having a crush on her colleague.
“So is it like a Mr. Murata belongs to everyone sort of situation?” you joke, thinking of all the high school shojos you’ve seen where popular male students were out of everyone’s reach, as a matter of general peace-keeping. “No one girl can have him because the others would riot?”
The girls laugh. “A little,” Miyeon concedes. “Let’s just say that if he dated someone out of the office, it might make a few people jealous, but she wouldn’t get like… doxxed or anything.”
“And anyway, HR is pretty strict about workplace relationships, so most people run around trying not to get caught. Not that they never do,” Yuqi adds with a smile.
You’re about to ask more questions, eager to know about what you’re sure are the many rumors circulating around the office, but cheers from the other side of the room grab your table’s attention. It seems like someone has managed to get employees from different departments to all play a drinking game together. Around the room, others get up to join—when you check on Nicholas, he’s sitting alone at his table, smiling hazily at the commotion his coworkers are making, the flush on his cheeks visible from here. He never could handle his alcohol very well.
With everyone mostly distracted, you take the opportunity to slip away from your table and head towards Nicholas. After what Yuqi and Miyeon said about the relationship between your department and Nicholas’, there’s a vague feeling of entering enemy territory, like you’re Juliet sneaking out to meet Romeo. But who knows? Maybe the two of you will mark the end of the rivalry between Designers and Engineers.
He smiles at you as you approach, keeping his eyes on you the whole time until you sit by his side. Even his ears and throat are flushed red. “Hi,” you say, giggling at the stupidly content look on his face. You’ve rarely seen him so tipsy—conscious of being a lightweight, he never drank much when you, Chaewon and Euijoo went out. You wonder if he felt uncomfortable, sitting at a table of near strangers.
“Hi,” he replies, then mirrors your laugh. “Having fun?”
“Yeah, my coworkers are great. Didn’t feel like joining yours?” you ask, nodding your head towards the group of them downing shot after shot.
Nicholas shakes his head. “Needed a little break from socializing.”
“Oh. Should I leave you alone?” you say, trying not to side as disappointed as you feel. Nicholas has always been on the more introverted side, you should know better than to take it personally.
He hums a ‘no’ sound, shaking his head again, harder this time. “Stay. It feels different with you. Less like work.”
You smile. Look at him, being an honest type of drunk. Maybe one more pint and he’ll be telling you how much he cherishes your friendship, like Chaewon at 2 a.m. whenever you go out clubbing.
You’re a little more extraverted than Nicholas, being in the presence of others requires more effort for him than for you, but you still immediately know what he means. Less judgment, less expectations, less of a role to play. You can just be… yourself.
He’s really cute like this, all tipsy and messy hair and more open than usual. It almost makes you want to tease him, to see how many nice words you might exert out of him now that his filter is dampened. But you don’t. Instead, you smile at him, and tell him how glad you are to have been hired together. To have a familiar face around.
When you say this, he closes his eyes like a woman in a yogurt ad, all blissed-out and perfectly content, like a better dairy product has never existed. “Me too,” he simply replies. His eyes open slowly, gazing into yours with a fondness that makes your heart skip.
Nicholas has a lingering problem. Back at university, whenever your eyes met across a table or a room, while you were quick to look away, he always stayed there for a few seconds before focusing on something else. While you tapped his shoulder to get his attention or flicked his forehead to tell him off, his hand remained on your lower back to guide you through a crowd or took its slow time pinching tree fallings from your hair, dust from your jacket.
Tonight is no different, except that you decide you’ll linger, too, just to see what it’s all about. Of course, you instantly realize it’s a disastrous idea. With every second you stare into Nicholas’ eyes, whole universes seem to expand inside them, flecks of gold glittering in seas of dark, intense brown. You make the fatal mistake of letting your eyes trail down his face, taking in his pristine skin, honey hidden behind the blush of his cheeks, until they reach his lips, slightly apart and so pink and plump and kissable and—
You look away. You’re short of breath, heart beating so hard you feel it in your throat. You take Nicholas’ pint and down the rest of it, needing something to cool you down, but it’s gone stale and lukewarm and the sound of his laughter when you grimace in disgust only makes your face feel hotter. You eventually find an excuse to make your way back to your table, trying not to look suspicious under Yuqi’s and Miyeon’s curious gazes even as the moment replays on a loop in your mind.
.
.
D-1593. 4 years, 4 months, 9 days earlier
The office is far too agitated for nine on a Monday morning. There’s chatter all around you, your coworkers craning their heads in the direction of your department lead’s office, like they’re all trying to get a peek. All you see is the back of a dark-haired head and a pair of broad shoulders. As you take a seat at your desk, you don’t even need to ask to find out what’s going on. With his huge, characteristic grin, Taki skips the greetings and immediately tells you that Murata Fuma is back.
“He’s in the office with Mr. Lee right now. I talked to him, Y/N. Like actually exchanged words with this guy.”
“That’s… great?”
“It is! He’s the whole reason I joined this company in the first place.”
You try to immerse yourself in your work, but with all that background noise of whispers and giggles, the words on the script you’re supposed to be revising don’t quite reach your brain. When you look around the office, you see it’s not just your department jabbering away, but practically the whole floor—and mostly women, just as Mrs. Kang had said on your first day here. This Murata guy seems more like the lead singer of a pop-rock band, his adoring fans waiting for him outside a venue after a concert, than the Narrative Designer at a medium-sized video game company that he is.
Finally, the door to Mr. Lee’s office opens, and even you can’t help but raise your head at the sound. You now have visual access to Mr. Murata’s side profile, which is worlds more interesting than the back of his head. The two men shake hands vigorously, Mr. Lee’s hand on Murata’s shoulder as he tells him it’s nice to have him back.
They walk towards your department together, and everyone’s either stood up or swivelled in their chair to face them before Mr. Lee’s even had to ask for a brief moment of their attention. “We will be celebrating Mr. Murata’s return with a team dinner in due time. How does Hanwoo beef sound?” he starts, which gets whoops and cheers from your team. This is probably one of the only times you’ll get to stare unabashedly at Mr. Murata, so you do—and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get what all the hype was about. With a smile on his lips and his hands behind his back, he looks friendly and confident at once, like he knows he belongs at his Lead Designer desk without being a prick about it. It helps that he looks like he could be the male love interest in a 90s rom-com, his face the perfect balance of soft and masculine features, and like he takes his gym sessions seriously, his biceps visible through the fabric of his white button-up. You’d expected someone much older, a man of the salt-and-pepper variety that explained at once how he could be so respected for his work yet so beloved for his personality and looks. But to your surprise, he doesn’t even look like he’s in his thirties yet. Despite his higher position, he seems to be around Yuqi’s and Miyeon’s age, just a few years older than you.
Mr. Lee’s voice interrupts your analysis and you turn your attention to the older man, a pale sight in comparison, you must admit. “Let me just introduce him quickly for those of you who joined us in the months he was away. Murata Fuma is one of our Lead Designers here at Jellyfish, and a brilliant one at that. You’ll have heard of The Curious Village and many other successful projects he’s been a part of. This past year he was sent to our Los Angeles branch to work on a game whose creator had specifically asked for him as Narrative Designer. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to tell you about this experience, should any of you be curious. Please welcome him back warmly.”
Your department and a few other neighbouring colleagues join Mr. Lee in a round of applause, to which Mr. Murata responds with a masterful half-bashful, half-proud expression, bowing his head slightly and thanking those around him, laughing when a few of your coworkers whoop for him. “Thank you. I’m sure you’re all very busy, so I won’t take up too much of your time,” he says once the applause dies down. “As much as I enjoyed my time in LA, I must admit that it’s very nice to be back among you all, and to meet some new faces,” he says, smiling at Taki, who seems on the brink of fainting. “Mr. Lee told me we’ve got some very exciting projects coming up, so I’m looking forward to getting back to work here.”
It’s another half hour before Mr. Murata’s able to sit at his desk: everyone wants a moment of his time, a morsel of his attention. It’s like a demi-god has entered the premises of Jellyfish. You’d perhaps understand this sort of treatment from interns like Taki and other regular employees, but even his peers and superiors seem enthused by his presence, almost deferential towards him. You’re curious, although a little confused—what on Earth has this man done to deserve such respect and adoration?
Maybe if you talked to him, you’d find out. But he’s busy catching up with everyone else, letting Miyeon and Yuqi smother him in office gossip he probably does not need to know so urgently, listening to other Designers get him up to speed with the department’s most recent and ongoing projects, everyone hoping to sway him in their project’s favor. No one thinks to introduce him to the interns, and while Taki looks like a kicked puppy for not getting to exchange more words with him (he’s already recounted their thirty-second exchange three times to you), you don’t take it too personally. You’ll get to interact with him eventually.
You keep your eyes on the script and try to work, but it isn’t your fault your ear picks up some snippets of his conversations. They are speaking in the middle of the office. You notice that he does have this friendly quality about him. His smile rarely leaves his face, and he manages to make it look genuine even while one of your coworkers talks to him about her newborn baby for five minutes straight. He’s polite, but not cold; listens to others intently but can delight them with anecdotes of his own. He manages to make a typical kerfuffle with a Game Engineer over technical constraints sound like the most entertaining story that’s ever been told.
The general excitement that buzzed throughout the office seems to have mostly faded by lunchtime. For everyone, except for Taki, apparently. Eating with Nicholas and Yizhuo, the other Game Engineer intern, in the company cafeteria, he can’t stop talking about Murata, and Murata’s arrival, and Murata’s games, and when you tease him about having a crush on the man, he blushes so furiously you think you might’ve actually guessed right.
Next to him, Yizhuo listens intently, interrupting here and there to recount Murata-related gossip in the Engineering department. He’s apparently one of the slightly less hated of Designers among Engineers, because while he gets just as many crazy ideas as the rest of them, she says with air-quotes, he is also the most willing to find more efficient alternatives and doesn’t bitch up a storm whenever one of his ideas can’t be implemented. “I tried telling them about the misogynistic undertones of that statement but they ignored me. Who would’ve guessed? Anyway, now that I’ve seen him, I definitely get why half of the office is in love with him. That man is hot,” she concludes, stuffing a meatball in her mouth.
As is his usual, Nicholas stays relatively quiet throughout lunch, only laughing or asking a question here and there. You think he’s just fundamentally disinterested in office gossip and romance, so it takes you aback when on your walk to the café across the street, he asks you what you think of “this Murata guy.”
“What I think of him?” you repeat, surprised to hear this topic brought up again by Nicholas of all people.
He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Yeah. You didn’t say much during lunch, so I was curious.”
“I don’t know, Weno. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but he seems nice enough. And he sounds like he’s great at his job.”
“And do you find him… hot?” You pause, then burst into laughter. Nicholas frowns, and is that a little red you see dusting his cheeks? “I’m just repeating what Yizhuo said,” he says, sulky.
You sigh, amused. “I mean… He’s objectively quite handsome, yes. But I like to think that a person is only truly hot if their personality goes with it.”
“Oh?” When you turn your face towards your friend, he still seems a little bit embarrassed, but a small smirk tugs at one corner of his lips, warning you of the turn this conversation might take. “And what kind of personality would that be?”
“I don’t know. It’s not just about being attractive, it’s about…” Being kind. Being attentive. Being thoughtful. “Just being a decent person, I guess. Even with a pretty face, an asshole is an asshole. And assholes aren’t deserving of the hot title.”
He chuckles. “That’s vague. Who do you know fits that description, then?”
Thankfully, your brain is faster than your lips, and you’re able to stop yourself from replying “You.” Nicholas’ good looks and kindness aren’t news. Even your attraction towards him isn’t much of a surprise; by now, you’ve come to accept it for the fact it is, like the blueness of the sky or the sunrise every morning. But admitting it to yourself and admitting to him are two wildly different things. This friendship is too precious to you to ever risk it, and so you don’t even like daydreaming about what might happen if you told your friend you sometimes thought of him as more than that, whether that outcome is positive or negative.
You reach the crosswalk, but too lost in your thoughts, you don’t realize it’s still red. With a quick stretch of his arm, Nicholas stops you just as a car whizzes past. “Careful,” he says, voice low, meeting your gaze.
Your heart skips a beat, from the near-death experience, or from Nicholas’ sudden proximity, you aren’t sure. They feel similar.
“Thanks,” you say, your head swiveling towards the crosswalk light. It’s still damnedly red, and while Nicholas barely looked at you the whole walk, his eyes now burn holes in the side of your face. Surely, he couldn’t have guessed at your thoughts? “Anyway,” you continue, eager to get away from this topic, “we’ve never talked about… guys, or crushes, or anything remotely even of that sort even in college, so let’s not start now.”
It’s only thanks to Chaewon, who gets her intel from Euijoo, who gets his intel from badgering Nicho, and thanks to hints that he’s dropped in conversations here and there, that you know anything about his love life. That he had a girlfriend in high school that he broke up with before moving to Seoul for university. That he sometimes saw her during summer break, although you have no idea whether he ever wanted for them to get back together. That out of nine girls in his CompSci class, four of them asked him out at some point. That he said yes to one only, at first only because she was among the top students, but that they really did go out for a bit in third year. Which you never saw firsthand, since it was during your year abroad.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because… It’s awkward. You don’t need to know about the kind of man I like. And it’s not like there’d be much to tell, anyway.” You aren’t completely made of stone. That summer at camp with Soobin was fun, and there are guys you’ve found cute, crushes you’ve made up to have a reason to go to classes you didn’t like. And while you find yourself having a grand old time talking to Chaewon about them while sharing a bottle of rosé, you don’t see yourself telling Nicholas about them. You never even thought he’d be interested to hear about them. This conversation was just confusing you further with every passing second.
Perhaps sensing he’s hitting a wall, Nicholas retreats. “Okay, sure. Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m here.”
Finally, the light turns green. “Just buy me my caramel frappuccino, Wang.”
You smile at each other. “You know I will,” he says.
.
.
D-1455. 3 years, 11 months, 25 days earlier
The first few months of your internship, you feel like you’re constantly running around the company, making yourself useful where you can, assisting your superiors where they require your help. They give you small, slightly repetitive tasks, but you know every last detail matters in creating video games, so you take pride in the work you do. Even when that work entails coming up with dozens and dozens of lines for NPC barks and background chatter. There’s only so many creative ways to make a mysterious entity tell the player they shouldn’t tread further.
It’s fun, and you learn more in a month there than in your lifetime of amateur game writing but you do miss the satisfaction of working on one specific game and watching it inch closer to fruition every day. After hinting at this once or twice during check-ins with your supervisor, you finally get assigned to a big project that requires many hands. No Way Back II is the sequel to one of Jellyfish’s games that got popular three years ago, receiving praise from critics and players alike—there’s a lot hanging on this new release, and it’s at once terrifying and exciting to be a part of it, even if your creative input is minimal. Your tasks are mostly the same as before, but at least they’re all focused on this one game. Mrs. Kang even said that if you do well, you might be able to start drafting your own side quests or alternative scenarios eventually.
What’s more, Nicholas is also working on this project. You don’t interact much, since everything both of you do has to go through your superiors first, but it’s still amusing, sitting quietly across from him during a meeting, looking all serious and focused, or trying not to burst into laughter when you meet each other’s gazes as your teams go through the same arguments they repeat every week. The Designers have great ideas, but don’t realize how much work goes into even the simplest of requests; the Engineers don’t seem to understand how crucial certain additional plot points are to the player’s experience. If you took a shot every time your side mentioned emotional beats and player immersion, or Nicholas’ team emphasized clean architecture and technical constraints, you’d end up black-out wasted at one of these meetings. Sometimes, you wish you would.
Everyone stays very civil to each other, starting their sentences with, “I understand, but…” or “That sounds perfect in theory, but…” but by the end of the hour, it’s clear that frustrations are running high. Although everyone in the room wants to achieve the same goal, namely to create a good game, each side’s view of what that means are so different that agreements are hell to reach.
The first few meetings were interesting, to see first-hand how these negotiations went, how either side convinced the Game Creator, who had the final say in what would be cut or not, who decided which of the Designers’ ideas would be worth the additional work for Engineers. But when twice a week, you have to listen to the same people make the same arguments, it gets a little tiring. If it wasn’t for Nicholas discreetly rolling his eyes when only you were looking at him, you’re not sure how you’d get through them with all of your sanity still about you.
During your hang-outs with Euijoo and Chaewon, whenever the topic of work comes up, you and Nicho rat out your respective teams, recounting both sides of a conflict at the details omitted by his coworkers and the ones exaggerated by yours, the way they never fail to make the other side sound irrational or overly stubborn or bad-faithed. Of course, you’ve never told him that nine times out of ten you fully understand your coworkers and realize that you’d probably react the same way—frustrated and wishing the Engineers could show a little more… whimsy. You also never mention how uncomfortable these arguments make you, in case it would worry Chaewon and bring Nicholas’ attention to you the next time one occurs during a meeting. Plus, you objectively know that on the scale of conflicts, these are very tame, mere professional disagreements. You’d probably look a little ridiculous, admitting how much they stress you out, how much you apprehend them.
Today’s meeting starts out fine, as it always does. Your team kicks things off, Mr. Murata going over the last revisions they’ve made to their script, Mrs. Kang asking, “Think you can make it work this time?” in a tone she probably intends more playful than what actually comes out. Mr. Song, Nicholas’ supervisor and the lead Engineer on this project, cocks an eyebrow at her remark but acquiesces. It’s when they start discussing the new quest that things get tense. You can tell Mrs. Kang tries to keep herself in check, but the longer she details her vision for this part of the game, the more her excitement takes over: with a glint in her eyes and the help of a flowchart she designed herself, she goes over all the dialogue options a player might go for, and their subsequent consequences. She talks in the Game Creator’s direction more than in the Engineers’, knowing it’s him she truly needs to convince. It also allows her to ignore whenever Song cocks his head to the side in a show of doubt or frowns at some of her more complex ideas. “Some of these might seem insignificant at first, but they turn out to have an impact later down the line. It makes players realize that even the smallest of choices matter, that nothing in this game is left up to chance.”
The Game Creator nods along to her words, letting a few beats of silence pass before asking what Engineering thinks. Song unhesitatingly launches into his reply. “These are all good ideas in theory—” (take a shot) “—but implementing all of it isn’t feasible.” Even at the front of the room, standing before her Powerpoint presentation, you can see Mrs. Kang tense. You brace yourself for the oncoming conflict. Even if you’re not in the middle of it, the raised voices and impassioned tones trigger something inside of you, make you feel uneasy. Song continues. “Some of these options ultimately result in routes that are very similar to each other, so it’d be a waste of time mapping all of them out. We should focus on two, three at the very most.”
She inhales deeply, in a practiced manner that shows how many times she’s had this exact conversation. “They may seem similar now, but they have long-term consequences. They change things about the protagonist’s personality—”
“These changes are so small, it’ll all look the same to the player, and it’ll just make them confused—”
“It’s because the changes are gradual that the emotional build-up is satisfactory—”
And it just goes on and on, both of them airing out the same grievances they do every week, never listening to the other, not even bothering to wait for the other to be done speaking to interrupt them, only managing to reach an agreement because at the end of the day, it’s the Creator who gets the final say.
So, you and Nicholas sit there silently, exchanging half-amused, half-exasperated glances. You already know you’ll have a field day rehashing this exact moment next time you hang out.
And indeed, that weekend, when you join Chaewon and Euijoo for a drink at a bar near their apartment and the couple asks you about work, all it takes is a shared look with Nicholas for you to launch into a rant about the tensions between your teams and the immature attitudes of your coworkers, who spend fifteen minutes after these meetings complaining about each other. Nicholas mostly listens with a smile on his face, adding precisions here and there or sharing what his own team grumbled about. As always, you both agree that while it’s normal for each side to feel frustrated with the other, there’s no reason for anyone to be acting so childishly. You think it’ll end there, as it always does, reaching the conclusion that you won’t behave like them later on in your careers. But then, Nicho says something that gives you pause.
“To be fair, your supervisor’s ideas were starting to be a little far-fetched. Just listening to her, I knew most of it would take way too much time to code.”
Your head whips towards him, but you say nothing for a couple of seconds, taken aback to hear Nicholas say anything even remotely in his team’s favor for the first time. Up until now, you’ve both been very neutral about this issue, willing to understand the other’s side and admit your own’s faults. But suddenly, you feel the need to rush to Mrs. Kang’s defence, like a comment on her work is a comment on your own, on the very essence of what your department does.
“Far-fetched?” you repeat, too stunned to say anything else, wary but still interested to know more of what he thinks.
He takes a sip of his beer, shrugs. He seems relaxed, but your heart starts to beat a little harder, the way it always does when arguments start to brew in the meeting room. “Yeah. I mean, I get what she’s going for, but she’s doing a little too much. It’s unrealistic to ask us to code all of it, and anyway, it would only make the gameplay heavy.”
Your hand suddenly feels clammy around your glass of beer. These are not new grievances—they’re practically identical to what his supervisor accused yours of in the last meeting. You remember Mrs. Kang, hunched over her keyboard, all of the dialogue and options she poured her heart into to make sure the player felt truly immersed in the universe of the game, and to ensure an entirely new experience every time someone decided to start a new game.
“It’s exactly the charm of the game that there are so many options. If a thousand people play it, a thousand different stories will happen.”
Nicholas starts to say, “I just think that might get overwhelming for the player,” but when you scoff, he interrupts himself. “What?”
Staring at him, you search his face for a reminder that this is your friend you’re talking to, not a colleague you need to convince of the value of your work. His brows are furrowed, his cheeks a little red from the alcohol, or from this conversation, maybe, and you immediately regret scoffing. It feels rude, and unlike anything that has its place between you and Nicholas.
“I just… Mrs. Kang just wants to make the gameplay as full as possible, player immersion is all she thinks about when she’s writing—”
“Is it really?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
Nicholas turns away with a sigh, like even he doesn’t want to say what he does next. “I don’t know. It just seems to me like she makes it about herself when she wants to write the coolest story ever, with way too many details and possible outcomes, and forgets about the actual player along the way—”
“Are you really that worried about player experience? Or does your team just want to have to code as little as possible?”
This time, it’s Nicholas’ head that whips towards you. “Where’s that coming from?” he asks, defensive now, but before you can reply, Chaewon reaches a hand towards you, making both of you turn to her.
“Okay, let’s maybe not talk about work anymore.”
You blink a few times, as if remembering yourself and your surroundings. In all your years of friendship, this is the first semblance of an argument you and Nicholas have ever had. Even while you gamed or worked together, situations that can get tense and feel disproportionately high-stakes, you’ve never come close to this. Nicholas is easily the calmest, most patient person you’ve ever met, and you’ve never liked to be in any sort of conflict. The few times you’ve felt pangs of annoyance towards him, they were short-lived and easily forgotten.
Your stomach hurts, and your skin prickles with residual anger, but what you feel most is confusion. You’ve always cared about making games, even more so since starting this internship—even with such a minor role as yours, you feel a deep connection to this current project. You’ve found every idea that Mrs. Kang and Mr. Murata have come up with terrific, and while you understand concessions are necessary, every time something was scrapped, you couldn’t help but feel as though the quality of the game would dip just that much. That Nicholas, of all people, Nicholas who tried his damnedest to implement all of your ideas when you worked together for that competition back in college, Nicholas who always saw your vision and managed to transform its vagueness into solid code, couldn’t see what you saw now, irritated you. Perhaps irrationally so.
“Right, sorry,” you manage to say with an awkward chuckle. “I got a little carried away.” Nicholas says it’s okay and quickly returns the apology, and that’s that. Euijoo switches the topic to an old professor of his that he ran into at the supermarket, and no one mentions work again.
But you’re unable to shake off that lingering tension in your body for the rest of the night. Throughout the evening, you’re hyperaware of Nicholas’ presence next to you, every brush of his arm or knee against yours feeling like a slap in the face. Some deep, hidden part of you, which you don’t exactly understand and can’t say you’re proud of, wants to goad him into another argument, to get him riled up again, to get yourself riled up. Just to see what happens. How far it could go. But obviously, you don’t. Just because a stupid voice in the back of your head is curious to find out whether there are things left unsaid, doesn’t mean you’re going to listen to it. Maybe you’ve just spent too much time with your team, and their rhetoric has infiltrated your head. You know that Engineers have a lot on their plate on top of Designers’ demands; of course, you do.
In the end, to your surprise, it’s Nicholas who brings it up again. Chaewon and Euijoo have already gone home, and he waits for your train with you before going his own way. “Is that what your team says about us? That the reason we reject some of your ideas is so we have less work?” he asks, but his tone isn’t defensive or accusing; it’s genuine, and even a little sad, that you could think of him like this, perhaps.
You suddenly feel very guilty for even briefly wanting to push this further. Nicholas’ small, probably unconscious pout, the way he kicks at invisible rocks while listening to your answer, makes you feel like a monster. “I mean… some of my coworkers have hinted at it, yes. But I don’t think that way. I get that you can’t make everything we want come true. We like to aim for the stars, I’ll give you that. But, Nicho… You haven’t seen them work on a quest for weeks, only to find out they need to cut it by half. It feels like so much time and effort gone to waste, all because your superiors won’t add a few more lines of code.”
He stuffs his hands in his back pockets. “But it’s never just a few lines of code. It’s whole new branches that need to be tied up cleanly by the end. Just one additional option means hours, maybe even days of work on our side. Some of your demands seem easy to you, but they require us to change the entire structure of our program.”
You’re silent for a little while. You know this. You’ve seen Nicholas at work. But he made it look so easy back then, never made you feel like what you asked for was unrealistic, and even when it was, he found ways around it. Finally, you say, “Could you… show me, one day? What it looks like? My head hurts just thinking about the little coding I did back at university, and they were for the most basic things ever. Maybe if I really saw the work that went into it, I’d understand.”
When you meet Nicholas’ gaze, he’s smiling, looking genuinely pleased that you’ve asked. “Of course. We’ll find some time over lunch this week. And you can tell me all about your ideas for this game. I’m sure you’ve got plenty, but can’t share them with your supervisors just yet.”
You grin back. He hit it right on the nose; of course, he did. “Sounds good.”
“And in the meantime, let’s keep work at work. Even if we disagree on something, let’s not bring it up after we clock out. Let’s not make it the others’ problem.”
You nod. “Yeah, you’re right. Chaewon looked like she was on the verge of passing out,” you half-joke. You’d hardly ever seen your friend so worried.
“She really did,” Nicholas says, chuckling. “And Joo clearly had no idea what to do with himself. I wonder if they ever argue.”
“They definitely don’t. They both look like lost kittens, they’re probably unable to even get mad at each other.”
Nicholas laughs, then you’re both silent for a little while. Your train is set to arrive in a minute, but before you can tell him he should head out now, he starts speaking. His voice is slow, and his eyes stay trained on the empty tracks in front of you. “I…” he hesitates, cocking his head to the side. “I didn’t like arguing with you. If you can even call that an argument. It didn’t feel nice.”
And just like that, what felt like a peaceful moment with your friend turns into something more, something you can’t bring yourself to name—especially when you doubt he feels the same. Your heart beats a little faster as you reply, “No, it didn’t.” And maybe it’s the alcohol lowering your inhibitions, or it’s Nicholas opening up to you in his own way, that makes you say what you say next. “But it was kind of interesting.”
“Interesting?”
One corner of your lips tugs upwards. “Yeah, it was like seeing another side of you. You know, you’re kind of cute when you get mad.”
Okay, it’s definitely the alcohol talking. But when Nicholas’ cheeks redden ever-so-slightly, and he purses his lips in a clear attempt to bite back a smile, you think that might not be such a terrible thing. “Your train’s here,” he says.
You roll your eyes playfully, taking a step towards the opening doors. “Anything to get out of complimenting me back, I see.”
You step onto the train, and when you turn back to face him, he’s smiling fully. “You’re cute, too.”
And you probably look like a crazy woman on the train, smiling to yourself the whole way back home.
.
.
D-1390. 3 years, 9 months, 18 days earlier
You haven’t interacted with Mr. Murata much while working on No Way Back II. It’s mostly Mrs. Kang who gives you tasks and feedback; while this is her main project at the moment, Mr. Murata’s attention is divided between multiple games, so he only solicits you or Taki once in a while to assist him on easy but time-consuming tasks.
With the first semester coming to a close, everyone has deadlines they’re rushing to meet. From your first internship in Japan, you knew that working overtime was considered part of the job, so you haven’t complained too much when you had tasks that took thirty minutes, an hour past the end of your day. But this stretch has been insane—last week alone, you had dinner at the office three nights out of five. You’re never alone, clocking out with two or three coworkers that also stayed back, while the others either decide to come in earlier or to take their work home. But no way in hell are you waking up at five in the morning, and you know you won’t be able to focus once in your apartment with the siren call of your bed just a door away.
There’s only one night where you find yourself truly alone in the office—even Nicholas clocked out after asking you five times if you were sure you didn’t want to leave with him. But, satisfied with your work, Mrs. Kang has tasked you with writing the dialogue for a small side quest she designed. She even said you could tweak a few things here and there. In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t the side quest that’ll change the entire course of the game, but you feel a world of pressure on your shoulders, and you won’t quit until it’s perfect.
It’s nearing ten p.m. now, at least two hours since you’ve been alone here. But you’re almost done, only have one more conversation with one of the companion characters to write, one last thorough check-up of your draft, and you’ll be free to go home. You want to be able to show this to Mrs. Kang tomorrow morning so that it’ll be one less thing for her to worry about.
You’re so immersed in your work that when a male voice appears from behind you, saying, “Still in here?” you yelp, nearing jumping out of your own skin. You swivel around in your chair, armed with a sharp pencil and a “I’m terrified but don’t fuck with me” look. Thankfully, it’s only Mr. Murata, who doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement. “Nice reflexes you got there, Ms. Y/L/N.”
Through your nerves, you’re briefly charmed by the way he calls you by your last name, a show of respect amidst people who always called you by your first name without asking or by just calling out, “Intern!” unbothered whether you or Taki come rushing over.
“Oh,” you simply say, lowering your pencil back to your desk. “Sorry, Mr. Murata. I got startled.”
“Yeah, I saw that.” He lights his desk lamp, his soft features now bathing in golden light, a playful smile on his lips. Almost like he’s refraining from teasing you further. “I just came back to drop off my laptop. I made the dumb mistake of taking it home with me, but I know I’ll work through the night if I keep it.”
“That’s probably a good call. You’ve been working hard lately, you deserve a break,” you say, then immediately regret your words, questioning whether what you meant as friendly, professional concern might sound like showing too much interest. “I mean, the whole team has,” you add quickly. With the way his smile widens, you think you might’ve just made it worse. It makes you wince internally.
“So have you,” he replies. “We can head out together. It’s getting late.” There’s a hint of worry in the furrow of his brows. It should feel out of place between two coworkers that have rarely ever interacted, albeit being on the same team, but it doesn’t. It feels genuine.
You glance at the unfinished script on your laptop, wavering momentarily. “I just have a few things to wrap up. I’m almost done.”
Mr. Murata stares at you for a few beats, seeming to be deep in thought. It only lasts a few seconds, but you find yourself unable to look away, like you have to stay there and find out what he’s thinking about. Eventually, he says, “Okay. Can I just run something by you, then? Keep you hostage for a little longer.”
You grin back. “Sure.”
He rolls a chair towards your desk and sits, opening up his laptop to a Powerpoint presentation. “I have an important meeting tomorrow. I couldn’t stop tweaking this presentation all evening, even when there was nothing left to change anymore,” he says, and you nod, relating silently. “I have this idea, but I really need to get Producer Kim on board if we want to convince the Programming team…”
You listen intently as he tells you about his plan to make NPCs remember every interaction with the protagonist and have their reactions and dialogue based on the level of trust and amiability they feel towards them. It’s a brilliant idea, in line with the overall theme of the game of every little choice mattering, but you understand why he’s apprehensive about this meeting. The Programmers would have to search through their code for every NPC interaction and create new variables. And if you took anything away from that conversation you had with Nicholas a few months back, it’s that this sort of task is no easy feat. It’d take weeks to complete. Might even delay the schedule slightly. Mr. Murata himself acknowledges it’d be more work for everyone involved.
But… “It’s worth it,” you say. “If you explain it the way you just did to me at that meeting tomorrow, I don’t know how anyone could be unconvinced. Producer Kim mentioned wanting NPCs to be important in the game. This would be the perfect way to make that happen.”
Mr. Murata looks visibly relieved. While he talked, there was a nervous edge to his voice, in the way he kept glancing back-and-forth between you and his screen. It endeared you to him, this man who always seems so sure of himself when he gives a presentation or even just walks around the office. It makes him more… human. Like he isn’t just some sort of genius, swoonworthy game-writing machine, the way everyone has made him out to be.
“Thank you, Ms Y/L/N. If I get this to go through, will you work on it with me?” he asks, grin wide, hopeful, almost childish in a way. Your eyes widen. This is a momentous task, and not just in its timeframe, but in its importance to the game. By far the biggest thing you’ve been asked to do so far. Perhaps sensing your hesitation, he says, “If you’re not interested, that’s totally fine. But don’t decline because you think you aren’t capable.” He sighs, leans in slightly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very present as a mentor. I’m supposed to assist Mrs. Kang in supervising you and Mr. Takayama, but as you can see, this project has been taking a lot of my time. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been keeping an eye out, and you always hand in stellar work, Ms. Y/L/N. Your writing flows nicely, you understand the characters deeply. I could definitely use a mind like yours for this.”
Oh, wow, you think. The delicious rush of professional validation washes over you, makes you giddy at the same time as it ties your tongue. You open your mouth to start speaking twice, only getting it right on the third time: “It’d be an honor, Mr. Murata. Thank you so much.”
He leans back, satisfied. “And thank you for listening to me. Now, finish up what you’re doing quickly, and get home safe, yeah?” he says, standing up. “I don’t like knowing you’re out so late.”
Your eyes widen again, but this time, it’s for a very different reason. If what you said earlier was concern between coworkers, the way he worded this sounds a lot more… intimate. He must hear this too, because he looks just as surprised as you feel, and starts shaking his hand as if to stop you from getting the wrong idea. “Sorry! I just mean, you know, it’s never safe for any woman. At your age especially.”
His bashfulness undoes yours, and you grin, amused. He looks visibly relieved that he hasn’t offended you. You remember just how young he actually is. He may be your superior, but he can’t be more than what, five, six years older than you? Coming from Mr. Lee, you wouldn’t even have questioned what he said. The man probably bakes cookies for his grandchildren on weekends. But from someone like Mr. Murata… well, it could easily be misconstrued, especially if he’s aware of his reputation at work. He doesn’t seem like the sort to wilfully lead someone on.
“Thank you, Mr. Murata. You get home safe, too.”
“Right,” he says, clearing his throat, looking a little sheepish. He turns away, then turns back. “Call me Fuma, please. We’ll be working together, so… I find it more comfortable.”
“Okay, Fuma,” you say, trying on the new title like a pair of shoes at the store. It fits well. “Call me Y/N.”
He smiles. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Good night.”
“Good night.”
With one last glance in your direction, he picks up his coat and heads out. In the silence of the office, your heartbeat’s a little louder than usual.
Okay. You think you get it now.
.
.
D-1368. 3 years, 8 months, 27 days
Fuma had been right to expect some pushback from Engineering. His idea easily charms Producer Kim, but Mr. Song all but assails him once the presentation is over, badgering him question after question. Once or twice, he glances over at you; all you can do is smile reassuringly, but it seems to give him the boost he needs, and he holds his ground against Song and other Engineers.
In the end, the idea does go through, albeit in a reduced form. There won’t be the nuance Fuma was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing and he seems satisfied.
He finds you after the meeting, thanking you again for your help, waving you off when you say you barely did anything. “I’ve got a couple things to finish up, then we’ll get started on this, yeah?” he asks, and you nod. He grins. “Perfect. What’s your schedule for tomorrow like?”
And that’s how, for the following month, you find yourself working with Fuma a few times a week in one of the smaller meeting rooms. You’re surprised at how… easy it is. Enjoyable, even. Ideas keep flowing out of you, egged on by his own imagination and creativity, and the both of you keep getting carried away, floating way past the frame he and Mr Song have agreed upon. It’s always disappointing when one of you notices this, and brings you both back down to Earth. When you’re not exchanging ideas, you’re working on your respective parts quietly, sometimes breaking the comfortable silence to get a second opinion.
Once, when a discussion over one of the companion characters slides into a more personal one, and you tell each other about what drew you not just to games but to creating them, you realize that it isn’t only working with him that’s easy. It’s being with him, just talking to him like he’s your lifelong friend and not a coworker — a superior, even — you met three months ago. For someone who usually takes a while to open up, you find yourself wanting to tell him everything—and you probably would, if he only asked. There’s something about his easy-goingness, the warmth of his smile, his own willingness to share personal stories and anecdotes, even the embarrassing ones, that makes you think it’s okay to tell him things. That he won’t make fun of you. Maybe that he’ll even care.
It’s destabilising. It took a whole semester of living with Chaewon for you to start telling her about your family. Even longer to tell her about your deepest fears and insecurities, and only when it felt right—in the darkness of one of your rooms, when she wanted to have a sleepover despite sharing an apartment, or on the bus, going home from a party where you’d had one drink over your usual limit.
Even with Euijoo and Nicholas, your closest friends after Chaewon, you don’t feel compelled to share anything too personal, anything that could change the way they see you. But unlike Chaewon, who’s always scratching at your surface, this wall you’ve put up doesn’t seem to bother them. Why would it? It’s not like there’s anything particularly interesting to see behind it. Just your common load of the consequences of bad parenting and trust issues, like every other person on this planet. You neither understand why anyone would want to know about it, nor how they could stick around once they did. Chaewon truly is an abnormal person. You remember meeting her and being flabbergasted that anyone would willingly share so much of themselves: their fears, their aspirations, their crushes. You remember her being flabbergasted that you wouldn’t do the same so easily.
Maybe Fuma’s weird, too. Because when you tell him you got into fiction and gaming for escapism, he asks why. Wants to know what kind of world ten-year-old you lived in that she already wanted to run from it. And the weirdest part, is you tell him. Not in excruciating, tear-jerking detail, but the basic facts of it. The emotionally distant parents. How their only reaction to you or your brother throwing tantrums or expressing any sort of intense emotion was to ignore you. The way it became easier to feel things when it was a protagonist feeling them. You feel silly the moment the words leave your lips, like you’ve overshared in this deeply embarrassing, unprofessional way, and the way silence stretches as he stares at you only worsens that feeling. But then, he speaks again, tells you that games were the only thing he had in common with his dad, a widower who spent more time at work than at home, giving his son money to stay at the PC café after school. “Sometimes, instead of walking me home directly, he’d stay for an hour, and we’d play together. It was the only way we bonded, and even that was done virtually.”
Minutes after your confessions, you get back to work. Fuma isn’t reporting you to HR or spreading rumors through the office. The only thing that’s changed is the way he smiles at you, like you share a secret.
You’d be fine if it stayed at that, but Fuma has a way of showing up in unexpected places. Behind you in line at the office café, striking conversation and paying for your latte, only slightly teasing you for your four pumps of vanilla syrup. Beside you in front of the office as you wait for the rain to settle down, handing you his umbrella then making a run for it all the way to the subway station, his briefcase over his head, turning around briefly to grin at you.
When your curiosity finally gets the best of you, and you download The Curious Village on a Friday night, then spend the weekend in front of your computer, your eyes are red and sensitive by the time you get to work the following Monday. He asks if something’s wrong, and you don’t know whether to be annoyed or delighted by the worry furrowing his brows. In any case, it makes you feel something, and you’re not sure what to do about that. When you tell him that Taki was right, his game is pretty good, he beams at you. Your confusion only grows.
Your general disinterest in men has made you think you wouldn’t be swayed by him the way your coworkers are. Could you have been wrong?
Overall, you do a pretty good job ignoring whatever it is you’re feeling, that is, until Nicholas confronts you with it. He’s noticed you seem to get along with Fuma, or so he says, at a bar after work on a Thursday, just the two of you while you wait for Chaewon and Euijoo to arrive. You simply cock an eyebrow at him. “I mean, you guys are always cooped up in that meeting room. I’ve heard you guys laughing. I can’t help that it’s right next to our department.”
It’s always hard to decipher Nicholas’ intentions. His expression is more often than not painfully neutral, and right now is no exception—although there’s something… put-on about his neutrality. Like he’s hiding something.
“Yeah, we get along,” you offer. “He’s easy to work with.”
He nods slowly, taking a sip of his beer, and you think he’ll leave it there. But then, he adds, “That’s all?”
You cock your head at him. “What do you mean?”
“He’s only easy to work with? You don’t, I don’t know…”
You think you know what he’s trying to get at, but it wouldn’t hurt to tease your friend a little. After all, you’ve both been so busy at work lately, that you haven’t properly talked or joked around with him. It’s fun, seeing him like this again, struggling to find words, rolling his eyes at your smirk. Despite seeing him every day in the office, you realize you’ve missed this.
You dismiss the feeling the moment you notice it. It’s normal to miss your friends.
“I don’t what, Nicho?”
He hesitates. “Like him, maybe?” he says, voice low, eyes furtive. The word ‘adorable’ comes to mind. You’ve seen him curse out people in three different languages while gaming, but he can barely talk about crushes without blushing.
You lean back, thinking for a bit. It’s true that you aren’t as indifferent to Fuma now as you were originally. “I definitely don’t dislike him,” you eventually reply. Nicholas’ brows furrow, making you laugh. “Sorry, that’s a bit vague. He’s a colleague I enjoy working with, and a senior I respect. I haven’t figured out yet whether there’s more to it or not,” you say, although knowing it’s half of a lie. You do know there’s more to it—the skips of your heart when he smiles at you and the pang in your stomach when you see him laugh with other female coworkers, the way it makes you doubt whether he’s just nice to you the way he is to everyone else, are sure signs of that. But what good would come out of telling Nicholas about these things? You’ll tell Chaewon if she asks. But you work with Nicholas now, and it’d be embarrassing to reveal your office crush to him. It’s already embarrassing knowing he’s seen you with Fuma and assumed there was something there. For some reason, the thought of Nicholas seeing you laugh coquettishly or brush a strand of hair behind your ear, even though you’ve never done either of those things, terrifies you. Makes you somehow vulnerable to him in a way you can’t bear.
It’d help if his face was less closed than a hardback without its dust jacket. That way, you’d maybe be able to tell whether he’s asking out of simple friendly curiosity, or out of… what exactly? Jealousy? His eyes are a little more narrowed than usual. And it is the second time he’s asked about Fuma specifically. But you almost laugh out loud at the mere thought of Nicholas caring that you’d like another man.
Thankfully, with a final thoughtful nod, he drops the subject there, switching the topic to some indie game he found while scrolling through a list of new releases last week, then it isn’t long before your friends arrive.
Afterwards, you don’t think much of this conversation, and Nicholas doesn’t mention it again. You’ve practically forgotten about it until, a few weeks later, everyone who’s working on No Way Back II has gathered to celebrate the end of a successful first semester at a bar near your workplace. Neither you nor Nicholas like drinking much, and you eventually find yourselves sitting together in a quieter corner of the room that was reserved for your company, watching your older colleagues laugh loudly and argue light-heartedly. You can’t help but glance in Fuma’s direction from time to time, making eye contact with him once or twice, but if Nicholas notices your furtive eyes, he says nothing, just sips his beer quietly as he always does.
From across the room, Yuqi catches your gaze and wiggles her eyebrows at you. You liked it better when she and Miyeon were suspicious of your friendship with Nicholas, accusing you of fraternising with the enemy. Now that they’ve seen he’s relatively harmless and that “his heart hasn’t yet been tainted by the rest of his team,” as they’d put it, they’ve instead started to tease you about him, asking when you met, if you’re sure he doesn’t have feelings for you. No matter how many times you tell them, they always find something to pick up on, your defensiveness whenever the topic comes up, the way you laughed with him that one time in the break room, the look they saw you exchange during a meeting. You know sitting here with him only makes things worse in Yuqi’s eyes: why are you spending time with the one person here you could see anytime outside of work, and not your coworkers you’ve specifically come here to celebrate with?
Without thinking, you roll your eyes at her—you hadn’t meant to alert Nicholas to her behavior, had made a point of not telling him what they thought of the two of you, but you’d betrayed yourself just now. Rim of his glass against his lips, he freezes, slightly turning in his seat and glancing behind him, before turning back to you with a quizzical look on his face. Your cheeks heat up before he’s even asked the question. “What was that about?”
The pint you’ve had slows your brain, stops you from coming up with a believable lie, so you give in and tell him the truth. “Some of my coworkers have noticed that we… spend a lot of time together,” you say, suddenly very interested by the french fries in front of you. You pick one up and it’s as cold as it looks.
“And?” Nicholas asks.
Could the man show a little more emotion? You can’t tell if he’s amused, offended, confused, or none of the above.
“And…” you trail. There’s not many roundabout ways to say this. “They think we’re dating. Or that we inevitably will be.”
He cocks one eyebrow. Stares at you without saying anything for so long you wonder whether he’s even heard you. Then, slowly, one corner of his lips rises. “Oh,” is all he says.
He’s not giving you much to work with, and you aren’t sure how to react. Should you laugh it off, be outraged on your and his behalf, decry the ideology that men and women can’t be friends? In the end, all you come up with is, “Yeah. Awkward, right?”
His expression freezes. “Sure. I wonder where they got that from,” he says, looking away from you to take a swig of his beer.
Thankfully, before you can make this situation even worse than it already is, his phone lights up with a phone call. His face falls further and he excuses himself.
Now alone, you could join your coworkers, or the table next to you, but you don’t feel like it. You like getting a few moments to yourself, and anyway, you’d feel bad if Nicholas came back and found you’d replaced him. It’s getting late, so you can get him to slip away with you pretty soon.
Checking your phone, you only have time to watch one of the many Reels that Chaewon sends you on a daily basis; you look up to find Fuma standing in front of you, beer in hand, clearing his throat before asking if he can take a seat.
You smile. “Of course.”
He sits where Nicholas was just moments ago, and, with no preamble, asks, “So, you and Nicholas, huh?”, taking you aback. It’d almost feel like an accusation if there wasn’t a playful smile on his lips. “I’ve heard what people say.”
“By people, do you mean Yuqi and Miyeon?” you ask, and he laughs.
“I won’t reveal my sources.”
“I didn’t take you for an office gossip, Fuma,” you reply, a slight edge of challenge to your tone. This feels different from your usual exchanges. Maybe it’s the relaxed atmosphere, the fact that everyone’s state ranges from tipsy to wasted, that gives you the confidence to talk to him like this. Or maybe it’s all Fuma’s smile, making you want to take yet another brick from your wall, scrub away at the mortar that has solidified over the years.
“And you’re not answering my question.”
You chuckle. “Fine. Nicho and I have been friends since college. End of the story.”
As if unconvinced, Fuma cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t push. “Okay,” he says. “Are you seeing anyone else, otherwise?”
Your brows shoot up. Did he just ask you if you were single? And in such a straightforward manner? The confidence vanishes from your body, leaving you flustered and stuttering. “I’m—I’m not, no.”
There’s a hint of smugness in the smile that blooms on his lip, and it’s debilitatingly attractive. “Good,” he says, lifting his glass to his mouth. Your heart races. There’s no misinterpreting that kind of message. The unwavering gaze over the rim of his glass as he takes a swig, the slight lopsided smirk as he sets his beer down.
Before you can react, either passing out or somehow finding a way to flirt back, he gestures towards the table he was sitting at just before, asking whether you wanna join the others, his smile friendly again, his eyes round and inviting and impossible to say no to. You feel a little dazed as you accept, grabbing your empty drink just to have something to hold onto as you follow him to your team’s table.
A few curious pairs of eyes greet you as you sit, but thank heavens, Yuqi is too engrossed in conversation with her neighbor to embarrass you.
It’s only when Nicholas walks back in that you remember you’d meant to stay where you both sat, exactly so this wouldn’t happen—him scanning the room for you, brows slightly furrowed before his eyes land on you. He glances at Fuma, then back at you. There’s a tightness in his jaw, a closedness in his expression that’s subtle to the naked eye, but obvious to someone like you, who’s gotten used to observing every single one of his microexpressions, just to get an inkling of what was going on in that mysterious head of his. He must’ve been on the phone to his parents.
You wave him over, but he’s already turning away and walking towards his team’s table. Fuma notices the exchange, perhaps senses your disappointment. “It’d probably be awkward for him, sitting with a bunch of Designers,” he offers.
You watch Nicholas, the smile on his lips as his teammates greet him. You recognize it as the smile he gives people when he doesn’t know them very well but doesn’t want to come off cold. “Yeah, probably,” you mutter back. For the rest of the evening, you’re unable to catch his gaze.
Fuma walks you to the train that night.
.
.
D-1270. 3 years, 5 months, 21 days earlier
You have no idea how any of you thought this would be amusing in the slightest. Hindsight is 20/20, and now that you think about it, shaving your friends’ heads before they’re sent off to the military doesn’t sound like the most pleasant of group activities, but when Chaewon first pitched it to you, you saw nothing wrong with it.
Now, Chaewon has run off to her room in a fit of tears halfway through shaving her boyfriend’s head. She must be really upset not to laugh at the sight of him, comforting her with half a head of hair.
Truth be told, you’re not faring much better yourself. The evening had started off fairly light-hearted, but as you stand behind Nicholas, the only sound in your friends’ bathroom is that of the electric razor and of tufts of his hair falling slowly to the floor. You’re very focused on the task at hand, but you still steal glances at him once in a while. The whole time, he stares at himself in the mirror. Avoiding your gaze or simply deep in his own thoughts, you aren’t sure.
In the last months of your internship up until now, things haven’t been the same between you and Nicholas. Just enough that you feel like something’s wrong, but not so much that you can bring it up with him without sounding paranoid. It’s not even something you can clearly point to—you still have lunch together a few times a week, still text each other for emergency coffee breaks. But silences last longer. Laughter doesn’t feel as genuine. His gaze doesn’t linger the way it used to.
You ignore it. You don't mention it to him or anyone else, letting the both of you pretend nothing’s changed. And maybe, to him, that truly is the case, and you’re the only one feeling that way.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask. In the mirror, he meets your gaze, brows furrowed in confusion. “With the razor. I have no idea what I’m doing,” you admit, smiling.
He smiles back, and even though it’s small, a barely-there upward tug of the corners of his lips, it eases your nerves instantly. Like things aren’t so bad, after all. Like they can be fixed.
He checks his hair in the reflection as if he’s noticing for the first time that the hair around his left ear has been sheared off. “You’re not hurting me,” he says. “But you are kind of doing a terrible job at this. Don’t give me a bald patch, please.”
You grin. “I don’t need to, nature is already doing that on its own.”
The blood drains from Nicholas’ face. “Where?” he asks, lifting his head to search through his hair.
His sudden mortification makes you burst into laughter. “I’m messing with you, Weno.”
As the old nickname slips out, you realize it’s been months since you’ve called him that way. It feels like it’s been months since you’ve called him anything at all. He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s playful, and he finally really looks at you, gaze boring into yours in the mirror. Now it’s your turn to avoid him, suddenly feeling shy.
His hair, especially the ends, is a little dry between your fingers, fried from the numerous times he’s dyed it in the past years. Still. It’s the first time you touch it, the first time you’ve made so much constant contact with him. It’s always a source of teasing on Euijoo’s end to ruffle his friend’s hair, knowing he hates it. But with you, he hasn’t recoiled even once. He sits there, docile, almost peaceful-looking.
Maybe it’s because you know he’ll be leaving for four months, maybe even longer if he decides to stay in Taipei for a bit before coming back to Seoul, but you can’t help but let yourself linger. You card your hand through his hair, fingertips brushing along his scalp as if to create a path for the razor.
Once closely shaved, you shamelessly pet his head like a dog’s, not even bothering to hide how amusing — and nice — you find the feel of his soft yet spiky hair against your palm. He closes his eyes, grinning.
When you reach the halfway point, you feel time truly start to slip between your fingers along with his hair. You might not want to address directly the distance you’ve felt growing between you, but you know you’ll feel terrible, letting him go like this. You realize that speaking to him, God forbid, might be the only way to make things right. To assure these four coming months won’t make you drift further apart.
“How do you feel?” you ask, voice low, feeling a little shy. Feelings are uncharted territory for you and Nicholas. “About leaving. Going back to Taiwan.”
His eyes flutter open, and he takes a little time to think. “It just feels like… Something I have to do before I can get back to my life. Like doing the dishes at the end of a long day. I don’t really want to but it’s not the worst thing ever. Plus, it’s only four months. I might feel different if I had to leave for eighteen months like Euijoo.”
As though she heard you through the walls, Chaewon’s sobs amplify right then, and you feel your heart break for your friend. It really is like a wife sending her husband to war in the 19th century. Even if she knows she’ll have him back eventually. And that she’ll be able to text and call and even see him once in a while. So not really like a wife in the 19th century, but close enough, at least in her point of view.
“Have you decided what you’ll do afterwards? Stay home for a bit, or come back here?”
He finds your gaze in the mirror, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “Why, miss me already?”
You roll your eyes. “No, so I know when to move out of the country.” He brings a hand to his heart, pretends to have been shot. You lift his head gently. “Stay still, Weno. I’m already giving you a bad enough haircut as is.”
He shrugs. “It’ll grow back. Anyway, I haven’t really decided yet. My parents want me to stay with them while I find a job. But you know…” he trails, hesitating, or maybe searching for the right words. “Taiwan hasn’t felt like home in a while. It’s the place I grew up, and I love it, I love going back and speaking Mandarin and eating guabao and seeing my high school friends, but it’s not the same. Not as comfortable as being here.”
You hum, slowly nodding. To a certain extent, you feel the same way about going home. It’s nice to go back, but only once in a while, and only for a short period of time. Every time you went back, you felt that itch to return to Seoul, to your studies or job and your friends and your life in the city. To Chaewon and Euijoo.
To Nicholas.
“We’ll be here when you come back,” you say softly, voice low to keep it from echoing off the bathroom walls. Like you want it to reach Nicholas’ ears only. “Well, not Euijoo, but… Chaewon and I. And Jellyfish will take you back. I don’t know why you rejected their offer instead of just asking to defer it a few months. They would’ve said yes.” Something in Nicholas’ expression seems to close off then, and it makes you panic—for once, he was so open, so accessible, and all of a sudden he’s drifting out of reach again. You scramble for something, anything that will bring him back to you. “I mean, it just, it would be nice to keep working together. We barely got to during our internship, but, who knows… We could get assigned the same project and actually work with each other. Like we did in college.”
His expression softens again. You almost sigh of relief. “That would be nice,” he concedes. “I just wanted to keep my options open. But I’ll think about it.”
You smile. That’ll have to do for now. Even if things have been weird lately, you’re still able to talk to him like this. You don’t want to part on a bad note, for the awkwardness permeating your relationship to be the last memory he has of you before he leaves.
You’re silent for the remainder of the haircut, a sniffling Chaewon and a red-eyed Euijoo coming out of their bedroom eventually to see how the two of you are getting on. They’re only able to laugh weakly at Nicholas’ appearance, a third of his long hair left, the rest patchy and shaved at irregular lengths. They leave to make tea in the kitchen, and a few minutes later, you’re shearing the last strip of his dyed locks. You rest your hand on his shoulder. Instead of inspecting his own reflection, it’s you he looks at.
“There you go. Bald and ready to serve your country,” you say, trying to smile, but your heart feels heavy. Your eyes sting, and it’s been so long that you don’t recognize the feeling immediately—you’re about to cry.
Maybe Nicholas senses this, understands what your frown means, because he doesn’t laugh either. Just looks at you in the mirror, his furrowed brows matching yours. “Thank you, Y/N,” he says, with a gravity that makes it sound like it’s not just the haircut he’s thankful for.
You attempt a smile. “Of course, Weno.”
Your tears threaten to spill with every passing second, so you eventually turn away, reaching for the broom resting on the wall. But Nicholas catches your hand as it slips off his shoulder, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. His eyes are wide, more worried than you’ve ever seen before. There’s something almost frantic, almost desperate about the way he’s looking at you. “You’ll be here when I get back,” he says, echoing your words from earlier. “You’ll wait for me?”
Your frown deepens. “Where else would I be, Weno?” you ask, voice soft, as if speaking to a frightened child.
“No, I mean—Wait for me, Y/N. Please, wait for me.”
You stare back at him, searching for an explanation in his face, but it provides none. Maybe even he isn’t sure what he means. Maybe this is just what future soldiers go through before leaving for the unknown, and he wants to make sure something familiar will greet him once he comes home.
So you don’t ask for clarity. You squeeze his shoulder and say, “Of course, Nicho. I’m not going anywhere.”
This seems to appease him, albeit only slightly. The tension doesn’t entirely leave his shoulder, or the worry, his face. “Right. Okay, then,” he says.
In the kitchen, there’s little of the usual cheer and banter the four of you share. With Chaewon practically unable to look at him, Euijoo goes to the bathroom to take care of the rest of his hair himself. You understand her: the sadness is so clear in his round eyes and pouty lips that it’s hard to look at him for too long, impossible to tease him on the shape of his head or anything else. You and Nicholas were meant to stay over for dinner, but once you’ve finished your tea, you share a look and silently agree to leave the couple alone for the evening. They leave tomorrow to spend the weekend at Euijoo’s family home before he enlists on Monday. Nicholas flies to Taiwan tomorrow and starts his service next week.
You’ve always hated good-byes, the inherent sadness and uncertainty of them. The reminder that these people make up your life, manage to make every day something exciting to look forward to, that without them, you don’t have all that much left. You hug Euijoo tightly but quickly, wishing him luck. You tell Chaewon to call you once she’s back. The whole thing is over in a few minutes, and once you and Nicholas are outside, walking towards the subway station, your arms are tightly crossed over your chest, your eyes pointedly on the ground ahead of you as you repeatedly tell yourself don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. Beside you, Nicholas is silent.
It’s a fifteen-minute subway ride to the central station, where you and Nicholas will part ways. What is there even to say? You want to tell him to stay safe, to eat well and sleep early every night, to stand up for himself if a superior abuses his power, but also not to get into unnecessary trouble. But these words feel trite, superficial. You met when you were nineteen, but Nicholas is a grown man now. He can take care of himself.
Instead, as you sit next to each other, you drop your head on his shoulder. It expresses what you’re too afraid to put into words: I’ll miss you. Come back to me quick.
Nicholas doesn’t flinch, doesn’t budge an inch. Only whispers, “Come on,” once you reach the station. Without a word, he walks to your train with you, waits for it even though it’ll make him have to take a later one. The silence cuts painfully through your heart as you wait side-by-side on the platform, not looking at each other. Only once your train rolls in does he turn to you, sadness in his eyes that can’t be hidden behind his wan smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he asks, something akin to hopefulness in his tone.
“Okay.”
You find a seat on the train. You know he must still be on the platform, waiting for your train to leave, but you can’t make yourself turn to look at him. Can’t bear the sight of him waving you off, his face so forlorn it becomes unfamiliar even to you.
Your tears are too impatient. They can’t wait to be home before they start falling from your eyes, scalding your cheeks, wetting your lips and chin.
.
.
D-1270. 3 years, 5 months, 21 days earlier
You have no idea how any of you thought this would be amusing in the slightest. Hindsight is 20/20, and now that you think about it, shaving your friends’ heads before they’re sent off to the military doesn’t sound like the most pleasant of group activities, but when Chaewon first pitched it to you, you saw nothing wrong with it.
Now, Chaewon has run off to her room in a fit of tears halfway through shaving her boyfriend’s head. She must be really upset not to laugh at the sight of him, comforting her with half a head of hair.
Truth be told, you’re not faring much better yourself. The evening had started off fairly light-hearted, but as you stand behind Nicholas, the only sound in your friends’ bathroom is that of the electric razor and of tufts of his hair falling slowly to the floor. You’re very focused on the task at hand, but you still steal glances at him once in a while. The whole time, he stares at himself in the mirror. Avoiding your gaze or simply deep in his own thoughts, you aren’t sure.
In the last months of your internship up until now, things haven’t been the same between you and Nicholas. Just enough that you feel like something’s wrong, but not so much that you can bring it up to him without sounding paranoid. It’s not even something you can clearly point to—you still have lunch together a few times a week, still text each other for emergency coffee breaks. But silences last longer. Laughter doesn’t feel as genuine. His gaze doesn’t linger the way it used to.
You ignore it. You don't mention it to him or anyone else, letting the both of you pretend nothing’s changed. And maybe, to him, that truly is the case, and you’re the only one feeling that way.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask. In the mirror, he meets your gaze, brows furrowed in confusion. “With the razor. I have no idea what I’m doing,” you admit, smiling.
He smiles back, and even though it’s small, a barely-there upward tug of the corners of his lips, it eases your nerves instantly. Like things aren’t so bad, after all. Like they can be fixed.
He checks his hair in the reflection as if he’s noticing for the first time that the hair around his left ear has been sheared off. “You’re not hurting me,” he says. “But you are kind of doing a terrible job at this. Don’t give me a bald patch, please.”
You grin. “I don’t need to, nature is already doing that on its own.”
The blood drains from Nicholas’ face. “Where?” he asks, lifting his head to search through his hair.
His sudden mortification makes you burst into laughter. “I’m messing with you, Weno.”
As the old nickname slips out, you realize it’s been months since you’ve called him that. It feels like it’s been months since you’ve called him anything at all. He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s playful, and he finally really looks at you, gaze boring into yours in the mirror. Now it’s your turn to avoid him, suddenly feeling shy.
His hair, especially the ends, is a little dry between your fingers, fried from the numerous times he’s dyed it in the past years. Still. It’s the first time you’ve touched it, the first time you’ve made so much constant contact with him. It’s always a source of teasing on Euijoo’s end to ruffle his friend’s hair, knowing he hates it. But with you, he hasn’t recoiled even once. He sits there, docile, almost peaceful-looking.
Maybe it’s because you know he’ll be leaving for four months, maybe even longer if he decides to stay in Taipei for a bit before coming back to Seoul, but you can’t help but let yourself linger. You card your hand through his hair, fingertips brushing along his scalp as if to create a path for the razor.
Once closely shaved, you shamelessly pet his head like a dog’s, not even bothering to hide how amusing — and nice — you find the feel of his soft yet spiky hair against your palm. He closes his eyes, grinning.
When you reach the halfway point, you feel time truly start to slip between your fingers along with his hair. You might not want to address directly the distance you’ve felt growing between you, but you know you’ll feel terrible, letting him go like this. You realize that speaking to him, God forbid, might be the only way to make things right. To assure these four coming months won’t make you drift further apart.
“How do you feel?” you ask, voice low, feeling a little shy. Feelings are uncharted territory for you and Nicholas. “About leaving. Going back to Taiwan.”
His eyes flutter open, and he takes a little time to think. “It just feels like… Something I have to do before I can get back to my life. Like doing the dishes at the end of a long day. I don’t really want to but it’s not the worst thing ever. Plus, it’s only four months. I might feel different if I had to leave for eighteen months like Euijoo.”
As though she heard you through the walls, Chaewon’s sobs amplify right then, and you feel your heart break for your friend. It really is like a wife sending her husband to war in the 19th century. Even if she knows she’ll have him back eventually. And that she’ll be able to text and call and even see him once in a while. So not really like a wife in the 19th century, but close enough, at least in her point of view.
“Have you decided what you’ll do afterwards? Stay home for a bit, or come back here?”
He finds your gaze in the mirror, a smirk already tugging at his lips. “Why, miss me already?”
You roll your eyes. “No, so I know when to move out of the country.” He brings a hand to his heart, pretends to have been shot. You lift his head gently. “Stay still, Weno. I’m already giving you a bad enough haircut as is.”
He shrugs. “It’ll grow back. Anyway, I haven’t really decided yet. My parents want me to stay with them while I find a job. But you know…” he trails, hesitating, or maybe searching for the right words. “Taiwan hasn’t felt like home in a while. It’s the place I grew up, and I love it, I love going back and speaking Mandarin and eating guabao and seeing my high school friends, but it’s not the same. Not as comfortable as being here.”
You hum, slowly nodding. To a certain extent, you feel the same way about going home. It’s nice to go back, but only once in a while, and only for a short period of time. Every time you’ve gone back, you’ve felt that itch to return to Seoul, to your studies or job and your friends and your life in the city. To Chaewon and Euijoo.
To Nicholas.
“We’ll be here when you come back,” you say softly, voice low to keep it from echoing off the bathroom walls. Like you want it to reach Nicholas’ ears only. “Well, not Euijoo, but… Chaewon and I. And Jellyfish will take you back. I don’t know why you rejected their offer instead of just asking to defer it a few months. They would’ve said yes.” Something in Nicholas’ expression seems to close off then, and it makes you panic—for once, he was so open, so accessible, and all of a sudden he’s drifting out of reach again. You scramble for something, anything that will bring him back to you. “I mean, it just, it would be nice to keep working together. We barely got to during our internship, but, who knows… We could get assigned the same project and actually work with each other. Like we did in college.”
His expression softens again. You almost sigh of relief. “That would be nice,” he concedes. “I just wanted to keep my options open. But I’ll think about it.”
You smile. That’ll have to do for now. Even if things have been weird lately, you’re still able to talk to him like this. You don’t want to part on a bad note, for the awkwardness permeating your relationship to be the last memory he has of you before he leaves.
You’re silent for the remainder of the haircut, a sniffling Chaewon and a red-eyed Euijoo coming out of their bedroom eventually to see how the two of you are getting on. They’re only able to laugh weakly at Nicholas’ appearance, a third of his long hair left, the rest patchy and shaved at irregular lengths. They leave to make tea in the kitchen, and a few minutes later, you’re shearing the last strip of his dyed locks. You rest your hand on his shoulder. Instead of inspecting his own reflection, it’s you he looks at.
“There you go. Bald and ready to serve your country,” you say, trying to smile, but your heart feels heavy. Your eyes sting, and it’s been so long that you don’t recognize the feeling immediately—you’re about to cry.
Maybe Nicholas senses this, understands what your frown means, because he doesn’t laugh either. Just looks at you in the mirror, his furrowed brows matching yours. “Thank you, Y/N,” he says, with a gravity that makes it sound like it’s not just the haircut he’s thankful for.
You attempt a smile. “Of course, Weno.”
Your tears threaten to spill with every passing second, so you eventually turn away, reaching for the broom resting on the wall. But Nicholas catches your hand as it slips off his shoulder, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. His eyes are wide, more worried than you’ve ever seen before. There’s something almost frantic, almost desperate about the way he’s looking at you. “You’ll be here when I get back,” he says, echoing your words from earlier. “You’ll wait for me?”
Your frown deepens. “Where else would I be, Weno?” you ask, voice soft, as if speaking to a frightened child.
“No, I mean—Wait for me, Y/N. Please, wait for me.”
You stare back at him, searching for an explanation in his face, but it provides none. Maybe even he isn’t sure what he means. Maybe this is just what future soldiers go through before leaving for the unknown, and he wants to make sure something familiar will greet him once he comes home.
So you don’t ask for clarity. You squeeze his shoulder and say, “Of course, Nicho. I’m not going anywhere.”
This seems to appease him, albeit only slightly. The tension doesn’t entirely leave his shoulder, or the worry, his face. “Right. Okay, then,” he says.
In the kitchen, there’s little of the usual cheer and banter the four of you share. With Chaewon practically unable to look at him, Euijoo goes to the bathroom to take care of the rest of his hair himself. You understand her: the sadness is so clear in his round eyes and pouty lips that it’s hard to look at him for too long, impossible to tease him on the shape of his head or anything else. You and Nicholas were meant to stay over for dinner, but once you’ve finished your tea, you share a look and silently agree to leave the couple alone for the evening. They leave tomorrow to spend the weekend at Euijoo’s family home before he enlists on Monday. Nicholas flies to Taiwan tomorrow and starts his service next week.
You’ve always hated goodbyes, the inherent sadness and uncertainty of them. The reminder that these people make up your life, manage to make every day something exciting to look forward to, that without them, you don’t have all that much left. You hug Euijoo tightly but quickly, wishing him luck. You tell Chaewon to call you once she’s back. The whole thing is over in a few minutes, and once you and Nicholas are outside, walking towards the subway station, your arms are tightly crossed over your chest, your eyes pointedly on the ground ahead of you as you repeatedly tell yourself don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. Beside you, Nicholas is silent.
It’s a fifteen-minute subway ride to the central station, where you and Nicholas will part ways. What is there even to say? You want to tell him to stay safe, to eat well and sleep early every night, to stand up for himself if a superior abuses his power, but also not to get into unnecessary trouble. But these words feel trite, superficial. You met when you were nineteen, but Nicholas is a grown man now. He can take care of himself.
Instead, as you sit next to each other, you drop your head on his shoulder. It expresses what you’re too afraid to put into words: I’ll miss you. Come back to me quick.
Nicholas doesn’t flinch, doesn’t budge an inch. Only whispers, “Come on,” once you reach the station. Without a word, he walks to your train with you, waits for it even though it’ll make him have to take a later one. The silence cuts painfully through your heart as you wait side-by-side on the platform, not looking at each other. Only once your train rolls in does he turn to you, sadness in his eyes that can’t be hidden behind his wan smile. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he asks, something akin to hopefulness in his tone.
“Okay.”
You find a seat on the train. You know he must still be on the platform, waiting for your train to leave, but you can’t make yourself turn to look at him. Can’t bear the sight of him waving you off, his face so forlorn it becomes unfamiliar even to you.
Your tears are too impatient. They can’t wait to be home before they start falling from your eyes, scalding your cheeks, wetting your lips and chin.
.
.
D-1167. 3 years, 2 months, 9 days earlier
19:34 you nichooo 19:34 you come help me with this boat order 19:34 you i need the xp to get to the next level and unlock the soup maker
21:50 weno hey just got my phone 21:50 weno you and your mobile games i swear… you shame me 21:50 weno anyway i can’t tonight
21:51 weno some guy was caught watching porn so now we have no internet access for a week 21:51 weno sorry :( you’ll have to find someone else to support your hay day addiction
21:52 you it’s not an addiction. 21:52 you anyways sad to hear you won’t be able to do your 30 min pinterest scroll today 21:52 you how’s that for an addiction
21:52 weno i need the inspo if i’m going to stay best dressed at our company
21:52 you so you’re coming back???? confirmed????
21:54 weno not sure yet
21:54 you wenooo
21:55 weno ik ik i just have some stuff to figure out okay 21:55 weno can we call? even if i can’t help with your boat order
21:56 you i mean if you insist 21:56 you :)
.
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D-1101. 3 years, 5 days earlier
This number is currently available. Please leave your message after the tone.
“Hi Weno! Seems like we keep missing each other. Things have been crazy at Jellyfish lately. We’re rushing to get No Way Back out on time, but the original schedule turned out to be too tight, so it’s pure chaos… Anyway, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate. Euijoo told me about that job you got, which, congrats, obviously, super proud of you and always knew you could do it or whatever, but it would’ve been nice to hear directly from you, you jerk! What, are you too cool for me now that you’re in Shanghai? You can make it up to me by letting me beat your ass at Valo this weekend. Call me back, okay? Reason I called you in the first place is I’ve got some news of my own to share, and I wanted to be the one to tell you, and not a certain Byun Euijoo, whoever that is. Bye! Talk to you soon!”
.
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D-1009. 2 years, 9 months, 2 days earlier
22:18 weno hey sorry can’t log on tonight 22:18 weno work was crazy i’m exhausted 22:18 weno raincheck?
22:23 you oh :( that’s ok rest up weno 22:23 you lmk when you’re free
22:24 weno i will 22:24 weno good night y/n
22:25 you good night weno. i miss you 22:31 you night weno
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