one

Much to his second probation officer’s satisfaction, Hyukjae is, at the rather respectable age of twenty-six, an entirely reformed man; he sticks to societal rules and never breaches the law anymore. No matter how enticing it sometimes is.

The formal-looking attestation that he still keeps preciously in one of his drawers is good proof enough. Gone is his worrying past penchant for delinquency. It’d taken a few tearful arguments with his father and far too many disappointed glares from his mother, before he’d finally come back to reason and stopped acting like a gangster-wannabe altogether. He’d never been really good at violence and stealing, anyway. As a result of his stubborn efforts and his parents’ hopeful encouragements, Hyukjae had not been even eighteen years old yet when he was declared a completely free man.

Even to this day, however, Hyukjae can’t help but still feel some sort of guilt gnaw at his insides. He’d rather believe that it’s only unfortunate indigestion, really. But after a brief afternoon break spent in the toilets of his workplace and swallowing two pink pills, he’s forced to admit that something might be up.

It dawns on Hyukjae on an unsuspecting day of January. It’s Sunday afternoon, it’s raining-snowing heavily outside, and his silly cat has decided to hide under the couch once again. While he knows that he should probably rescue Fleabag before he gets stuck there, the ing moron, only one question comes up to Hyukjae’s mind—what the hell is he supposed to do about it?

He could try and pretend to be nice in front of other people, Hyukjae reasons skeptically, but the idea somehow manages to make him feel even more nauseous. Nice, he scoffs, and Fleabag offers a faint meowl of disbelief in return. What a foreign concept. Keeping his thoughts to himself is something Hyukjae has never wished or bothered to learn, even in front of his probation officer. He only concedes sincere smiles when his parents tell him how proud they are, and absolutely hates having to socialize. Accomplishing good deeds is one thing—which Hyukjae can handle, probably—, but being forced to hear people thank him—or try to talk to him, or whatever else social torture that’s in trend these days—makes him feel positively sick in the stomach.

Now, if Hyukjae could find a way to do his nice things in secret, well then—then he might be willing to give it a try.

“Oh.” Hyukjae straightens up with wide eyes. As he watches Fleabag struggle under the right side of his couch, black and white little paws clawing desperately at the parquet, a pensive frown blooms on his forehead. His lips tighten into a thin line of contemplation. “Well, it could work,” he points out seriously. Fleabag sends him a nasty look. “After all, someone very inferior to me but actually quite clever once said that the charm of good actions is their anonymity.”

“Meow,” Fleabag retorts half-skeptically, half-disbelievingly. And then, a plaintive, “meow!”

Sighing in exasperation, Hyukjae goes to save his silly feline from the malicious intents of his evil couch. “Well, what would you know, you,” he scoffs. “You’re a stupid cat with a stupid name, who got stupidly stuck under my couch.”

As soon as he’s finally free again, Fleabag viciously scratches Hyukjae’s ankle for his trouble. But it’s okay, because Hyukjae is going to make people happy. Anonymously.

*

Actions speak louder than words.

This is what his mother used to repeat to him every time Hyukjae promised her that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble anymore. Although he had been caught lying more often than not, Hyukjae now knows and understands what it really means. What his mother really meant. It took him almost eighteen years of his life, all wasted to his own recklessness and immaturity, and sometimes it hurts only to remember. But as he sits down at his very own desk, at the Finance Department of Camouflage—proud creating house of perfume since 1984—, Hyukjae would rather believe that it was all worth it, in the end.

Despite claiming for years that all he was remotely good at was bullying same-aged kids and stealing beers in grocery shops, Hyukjae used to be a rather good student. His grades in school were average at best without trying, and then soared spectacularly as soon as he decided to put some effort into it. Catching up on everything he missed had been tough and tedious, but infinitely rewarding at the end of the day. Through the years, he’d repeated his last year in high-school, gone through university, been held back a year yet once again, and then finally secured a steady job in his current company.

And Hyukjae—Hyukjae can’t help but be proud of himself, just a little.

The offices at Camouflage are the open-space sort. Hyukjae simply has to lift up his head a little, and he’ll immediately get to see all of his colleagues that work on the same floor. Which almost never happens if he can help it. Only Choi Siwon gets to have his own office at the other end of the large, bright common room of the fifth floor, and that only because he’s Head of Department. Except that he’s nearly never in it, somehow.

Hyukjae rolls his eyes. If he got to have his own office, he’d definitely put it to good use. For one, he’d never get out of it just to brag about his dog. Or cat, for that matter. That said, there’s not much to say about Fleabag, besides the fact that he’s a moron and has an odd fondness for apple pudding.

An exasperated sigh escapes Hyukjae before he can hold it back. Next to him, Kyuhyun—the very inferior but rather clever human-being he’d discussed with Fleabag—shoots him an odd look but doesn’t comment. A few rows of tables ahead, Siwon lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh and then glances in Liuwen’s direction to see if she’s paying attention.

She’s not.

“What a ing idiot,” Kyuhyun rolls his eyes as he shuffles through a few folders.

Hyukjae nods his agreement with a snort. Quite clever indeed, that kid.

Liuwen actually came up from the Designing Department of the company, third floor, so it isn’t that surprising when she leaves Finance only half an hour later. Apparently, she was only there to drop a few folders and greet one of her friends on the same occasion. Five minutes after the doors of the elevator close behind her, Siwon is caught moping around and dragging his feet around the floor like some kind of aimless zombie. It’s a wonder anything gets done around here, Hyukjae thinks with a sniff.

Siwon sighs loudly. Kyuhyun rolls his eyes so slowly that it looks painful, the guy with the beard three tables on his left snickers, and Hyukjae wants to drop his head on his desk. It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning, and he already feels like murdering his Head of Dept.

“For goodness’ sake,” Hyukjae grits through his teeth and curtly reaches out for some post-its. being nice at this point—he’s doing it for the greater good.

As he walks past them, looking downcast and a little crestfallen, Siwon sighs once again.

*

Liuwen from Designing is ing interested in you, you great halfwit. Stop pretending you don’t see her when she comes around and ing ASK HER OUT. If I see you moping around over her even once more, I will find a way to poison your ing afternoon tea. Don’t ing think I won’t, Choi ing Siwon. Also, your office is ing great so don’t be an idiot and use it. I deserve a ing raise.

Siwon stares at the note. It had been popped into his briefcase sometime between the moment he’d started talking about his dog to Junmyeon and announced to his floor that it was lunchbreak. Given that he’d spent almost a full hour singing Bugsy’s praises, that didn’t narrow down the field by much. As usual, he hadn’t bothered to put his bag away in his office and left it on a nearby table instead, which meant anyone could have slipped the piece of paper inside.

‘Ask her out’ has been fiercely underlined thrice. Bemused, Siwon looks around the crowded cafeteria. Zhoumi would never have used such a foul language, Donghae doesn’t have such neat handwriting, and Sungmin would just have said something. As would Kangin, Leeteuk and Heechul—most especially Heechul—, while he doubts the rest of his colleagues would have taken the time to write anything. And Liuwen—well, it surely wasn’t Liuwen, was it?

The fact that this person believes that they ‘deserve a—expletive—raise’ and knows about his ‘moping around’, as unflattering as it might sound, probably hints that they’re from his department. The handwriting is neat and rather sharp, but not distinctive enough that it stands out to him. Siwon supposes that he could ask around Finance Dept. and find out who they are, but then it’d literally take hours. Especially if they don’t want to be found out. He isn’t quite motivated to set about doing such thing.

“Hey, Donghae?” Siwon calls distractedly.

“Hmm?” his best friend replies as he continues to gaze at the table fitted next to the largest window of the cafeteria, where Cho Kyuhyun, Lee Hyukjae and Kim Junmyeon are having lunch together. “What’s up?”

Siwon shows him the mysterious note. “Do you know who might have written this? I found it in my bag.”

Taking another forkful of his curry, Donghae reads the few lines and lets out an amused snort. “I have no idea, sorry. But if you ever find out who they are, do give them a raise.” He pauses, laughing, and then looks up at Siwon. “They’re not wrong, you know. Really good piece of advice, that. Liuwen does think you’re rather nice—though only God would know the reason why, mind you.”

“What do you mean, you know that Liuwen thinks I’m nice? Did you talk to her?” Siwon demands, torn between affront and curiosity. “Well, have you?”

“Chill,” Donghae rolls his eyes. “She wa