two

That night, Hyukjae startles awake to the noises of rain pounding loudly against the windows of his flat. Tap-tap-tap, it goes on and on relentlessly—and with the distinct promise of a throbbing headache in the morning—tap-tap-tap. Confused, Hyukjae squints into the darkness of what appears to be his living-room. Fleabag is snuggled up tightly against his side, stuck in the crease of his battered couch and purring. There’s a flash of light coming from the street below then, which makes thousands of raindrops glitter for a brief second. The whirring of an old car fades away, before it’s dark and quiet again.

A small part of Hyukjae wonders why he isn’t in his bed instead, sleeping the rest of his precious weekend away. He doesn’t have enough mental strength to ponder on it for too long, however, and gives up before he has even started. It pulls and aches everywhere to even move slightly, which prompts him to grimace. His whole body feels sore and heavy, as if he has been punched repeatedly all day long—although, he is certain, it did not happen at all. He vaguely remembers coming back home after a filling dinner at his parents’ and then reaching for the remote, but never quite getting around turning the television on.

Only twenty-six years old, and Hyukjae already feels like a crazy old cat man. It’s the middle of the night, probably around half past one o’clock, and he’s sprawled ungracefully across his old couch like he’ll never be able to move again. His back is sore and aching something fierce, causing him to groan under his breath while he tries to push his silly pet away. It’s a halfhearted attempt. The indignant meow that he receives in return finishes to cease his weak efforts. Instead, Hyukjae reaches a hand out to scratch Fleabag’s ears, smiling faintly when he starts purring louder.

His cat is his only source of comfort around these days. But as much as Hyukjae enjoys to torment Fleabag, there’s just so much of his feelings that he can share with such a grumpy animal. Well, he’s probably worse, though that’s quite beside the point that he’s trying to make. It’s been months, maybe even years since the last time that there was someone warm and caring to hold him in his bed at night. He might pretend to enjoy his loneliness, but it’s obvious to the trained eye that he’s lying blatantly. His mother is particularly good at guessing it. Hence the tiring dinner.

Moreover, getting some kind of action that wouldn’t only involve him and his right hand, or someone that he won’t ever remember, would also be highly-appreciated. Hyukjae already tried his left hand quite a few times already, and yet the change didn’t manage to impress him much. A shame, really.

While his flat is rather on the small side, the striking absence of another human presence around makes it feel ten times bigger than it really suggests. And emptier, too. Only his cat wanders around his hallways, and he doesn’t quite have the right sort of body that Hyukjae could drag back to bed on a Sunday morning. If anything, he would probably choke him to near death. Or be arrested for zoophilia.

Donghae, on the other hand, is an entirely different option. A much, much more appealing one. Hyukjae sighs a little dreamily, half-tempted to jerk one off before going to bed. Except that he does feel exhausted, and while he hates to admit it, even his libido has suffered from this long, boring day.

Running a tired hand through his hair, Hyukjae reaches a hand out and picks up a pen on his coffee table. He finds a post-it, scribbles on it, and then promptly falls asleep on the couch. And dreams of Donghae—just a little.

ing get a life, Lee ing Hyukjae. You deserve it. Probably.

Easier said than done.

*

The following Monday starts off on a particularly bad note. Hyukjae isn’t quite sure if he’s supposed to take it as some sort of ill omen for the week to come. Either way, it’s definitely not a good sign in general.

It’s barely ten o’clock in the morning when Hyukjae reaches the Finance floor that day. It’s busy and rather crowded when he steps out of the elevator, which doesn’t quite surprise him. He nods to a few of his colleagues, and then heads towards his desk at the other side of the room.

Up to that very moment, everything seemed to be going pretty well. The sun had been bright and high up in the sky when he had woken up, while the weather had been warm enough so that he didn’t bother to bring his scarf with him. Moreover, his last project with the Creating Department got accepted by a council of higher-ups, which means that he has good chances of a bonus raise this month.

And then, Hyukjae trips on the rug. Spectacularly. The day has officially started to go downhill.

In the few seconds that it takes him to hurtle down towards the ground, Hyukjae knows for certain that it’s going to hurt. His knees painfully hit the floor first, just as he scrapes the palms of his hands against the carpet. It starts to burn and throb almost right away, causing him to wince slightly. His twenty-six-year-old bones clearly do not appreciate the collision.

His bag drops down along with him. The clip snaps open with a sharp sound that makes Hyukjae look up, a sense of dread washing through him. To his absolute horror, the insides scatter messily under nearby tables and chairs. His carefully organized folders mix together into a horrible pile of rumpled paper. Pens roll out of sight, all under his dumbfounded eyes.

The other employees at the Finance floor turn around to stare at him in wonder. A silence full of curiosity settles in the large room, occasionally broken by a few chuckles and whispers, while the usual morning bustling slows down to a stop. In a matter of seconds, Hyukjae becomes the main attraction of the day.

Hyukjae flushes slightly, left alone to brave their amusement. As he hurries to gather his stuff, Siwon approaches with a concerned look plastered on his face and offers him a hand. But then, Liuwen appears out of nowhere, and he promptly forgets all about Hyukjae.

ing , Hyukjae thinks bitterly as he grits his teeth together. Mondays are a disaster.

When Hyukjae sits down at his desk a few minutes later, his two not-friends are too busy laughing their asses off to greet him properly. He throws them a hard glare, disgruntled. Kyuhyun’s Becomes Best-Gag-of-The-Year and Junmyeon’s Makes an Act of Idiocy as A Sacrifice for The General Entertainment of our Community squares are neatly crossed out on their respective bingo grids, and Hyukjae has the sudden urge to go back home and drop dead asleep on his bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have woken up at all this morning.

“That—was,” Kyuhyun struggles to utter in-between loud fits of laughter, “ing—hilarious.”

“Can we have an encore maybe?” Junmyeon asks not-quite innocently, snickering. “I wouldn’t mind coming to work every day if we got to witness that on a daily basis. You’ve officially become the fifth floor’s best anecdote since that time a pigeon flew in through the window and pooped on Choi Siwon’s head.” He pauses, considering. “On second thoughts, you’re probably just second best.

Some friends these two are.

“ off,” Hyukjae snaps a