a/n: once again, tw for profanities, graphic description of corpses, misplaced humor, and minghao freaking out

Pyeonghan Hospital, Minghao decides the moment he sees the floor plan of the basement, is cool.

Of course, the basement itself is cool, because it’s the goddamned temporal mortuary and temperatures are kept at two to four degrees celcius. But then, there’s the tunnel he’s walking through that extends two hundred metres to the east from under the hospital; and then, the ultra-sterilised smell is gone. Faint formaldehyde fills his nose and dryly, Minghao laughs, hands trailing over the metal walls of the corridor.

“I’m home.” The phrase bounces off the metal walls. He smiles, and on hindsight he probably looks like the sardonic villain at the start of every horror movie. (He swears he’s not).

“AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”, the sign reads. Minghao brings his finger to the reader, and when green flashes across the panel, the door pops open to reveal a warehouse of sorts, shelves stacked systematically with body bags that line the walls up for four metres or so. A chill runs down his spine, but reasonable judgement tells him that it’s just the fact that the body room’s a cold storage in itself. The air is even colder here, but it’s all in the name of slowing decomposition so Minghao’s got to learnt to live with this for the next four years.

“Oh hi! You’re the new guy aren’t you?”

There’s a man wearing a snapback backwards, leaning against the shelf as he balances on one of the top prongs of the ladder. He’s all smiles and his name is-

“I’m Seungcheol!” he chirps from where he’s at, his arms flexing in mid-air as he brings down a bag of a particularly big-framed body from the top shelf. The door springs open from the further end of the storage room warehouse to reveal a guy with crinkled eyes and a stupid grin plastered on his face fumbling with his speaker until a loud, ominous tolling of a bell is generated from the speaker in hand.

The bell sound’s repeated until familiar instrumental follows, and Minghao actually pries his earphones out and laughs.

(Seungcheol’s head is buried in his hands – if his head were a body he’d be more than six feet under.)

“Is that,” Minghao hiccups as he tries to silence his ugly guffaws, “Is that The Undertaker’s theme song from WWE? ‘Rest In Peace’?”

“I’m Soonyoung, morgue technician slash law assistant and kid, that guy? He’s the Undertaker,” speaker dude says with a grave expression as he points to Seungcheol that’s backing down the ladder, body bag across his shoulders in a display of Herculean strength and balance.

Seungcheol waves the remark away – like swatting at the stale air with his free hand would stop Soonyoung from laughing at his own gag. “Well, you’re the intern right? Let’s just say Soonyoung’s life goal in the office is to play this goddamned meme every time I meet someone new. Over time, it’s not funny anymore. Right, Soonyoung?”

Seungcheol raises his voice pointedly at Soonyoung, who’s skipping out of the cold storage with glee.

“For the record,” Seungcheol sighs like the father of two hyperactive children as he watches Soonyoung’s figure get smaller and smaller before he disappears round the bend, “I’m the funeral director. I’m not the buff guy in eyeliner from WWE. I’m also your boss.”

Oh. Oh. Minghao quickly bows.

“After I bring dear Gertha to the embalming room, I’ll settle the admin stuff for you, alright?” Minghao nods blankly, not after realising belatedly that Gertha referred to the corpse lying snugly across his boss’s shoulders.

“So yeah, I’m sorry you had to come in from Pyeonghan Hospital’s side to get to the morgue.” Seungcheol apologises as they climb the stairs up to the second level. “It’s just that our facility doesn’t have a carpark, and we’re affiliated with the hospital, both our pathological lab and funeral home, so we get to park there. Were you scared walking through that tunnel?”

“Scared? Nah, it was pretty cool.” Minghao responds like this. He hopes this shows that he’s professional and badass, or something. His boss seems like a Nice Boss™, and he really does not want to screw this job up.

“Oh, that’s great! Anyway, here’s the embalming room – yeah, it’s like plastic surgery for the dead! Pretty neat, huh?”

(Minghao thinks his boss is pretty cheery for his occupation, but oh well.)

The door opens to reveal two people fighting; the short-haired girl with the makeup palette in hand but no makeup on her face and the other guy, significantly taller, sitting on the roller chair.

“The percentage of formaldehyde in the embalming fluid is too ing high, Wonwoo. At least get this right – this guy’s having a sea burial after funeral and I don’t want the concentration of formaldehyde to kill the crustaceans and stuff.”

Wonwoo’s rolling his eyes. “His body’s just going to stay in the goddamn casket, I don’t see the problem-”

“It’s carcinogenic, ,” the girl shoots back, all bark with no bite, “It affects aquatic invertebrates the most; and I ain’t gonna kill no jellyfish.”

“Korea has no jellyfish!”

“…So! There we have our mortician, Myungeun! Say hi, Myungeun!” Seungcheol chirps amidst the heated debate and said girl turns around to give her boss a withering smile, only to brighten up when she notices the presence of someone else completely.

“Oh, hi! New guy, right? You’re gonna do the autopsies and all, huh. Great news for us, not so great news for you then.”

Minghao scratches his head. What?

Myungeun tosses her hair over her shoulder with a bodily jerk – her hands are stained with chemicals and stale blood – and looks pointedly at the man giving her the stinkeye. “He’s so slow at diagnosis. This is Wonwoo, he’s our resident sloth. He moves slower than a dead body can. We’re so thankful that you’re here, M-m.. what was it?”

“Minghao.”

“Right, Minghao. Anyway, I’m Myungeun and stop looking at me like that,” she pouts. “My job title sounds morbid, but I’m a makeup artist, really. Call me Coordi-noona, if you will.”

At this, Minghao laughs and Wonwoo sighs. “Why do people laugh at things like this! Myungeun, you’re not funny, don’t be flattered, the kid just probably doesn’t understand Korean.”

Myungeun shoves the man beside her with a clean elbow. “Don’t be an on his first day, Wonwoo. You’re gross.”

“Look! Seungcheol, she calls me gross, and what does she do? Elevate flattened eyeballs, extract internal tissue, take out cigarette-blackened organs, lung by lung? You’ve got a hypocrite in the house, boss. Call 911!”

Seungcheol mildly panics amongst forced laughs and coughs as they bicker. Minghao suspects this isn’t a first.

“Jeon Wonwoo, can you get back to work? Minghao’s going to use the autopsy room later this afternoon, so tidy it up please. At least register in six more bodies by then because hospital influx is going to be relentless later on.”

Minghao smiles hopefully at Wonwoo. Wonwoo rolls his eyes. God, Wonwoo probably hates me already, Minghao thinks as he watches the man give a final middle finger to Myungeun before he trudges downstairs -  who returns the gesture graciously by sticking her tongue out.

Later, as Seungcheol helps him settle in with administrative matters, Minghao leans awkwardly against the wall, strangely compelled to pour out his thoughts. Or something. It’s the weirdest sensation – one comforting look from his boss makes him feel like he’ll be alright for the next four years if he voices out his troubles. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol’s the funeral director. Maybe that’s why he’s able to console angry, volatile families that come charging in hordes.

“Boss, uh, do you think Wonwoo hates me?” And oh my, he just sounded like a child.

Seungcheol immediately looks up amidst the paper work. “Hey, don’t call me that. And well, let’s just say Wonwoo’s colder than a frozen potato to anyone else really. You just witnessed a freak occasion kind of thing. He’s only like this with Myungeun.”

“Really? Does he…”

“I think so too, but don’t ever talk about it, “Seungcheol giggles, “or Myungeun will come with her micro-chisel and all. They’re so noisy, sorry about that.” Minghao’s reeling a little from the culture shock – a morgue as a workplace where everyone’s treated like family? A boss apologising to a lowly intern? Seungcheol feeling like the father he’s never had? It’s, well, new. He’d expected gloomy colleagues and a dark atmosphere but evidently, this wasn’t it.

Apparently, how things work is that in their combined facility, they hold both pathological labs and homes for funeral preparation. Casket galleries, crematorium, embalming rooms on the second floor.  Office, visiting rooms (all things sane and neutral) on the first floor where distraught relatives stream in and come out sated with the Seungcheol Effect, and then, they have the basement. The basement’s where all th