Music: How Great Is Your Love / Bonmal - SNSD

“So why did you go to the office?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink, curious to know why Hyukjae hadn’t gone to a friend’s home for comfort, or perhaps a taken a lone midnight stroll like many others would have done.

He looks indecisive, perhaps confused. “You know, I’m not sure. I sort of just found myself there.” His fingers rhythmically fall against the sleek flat top of the bar counter; his foot steadily taps against the leg of the stool. “I guess after I called off the engagement, I just needed to go somewhere I knew Hyoyeon wouldn’t,” was his conclusion. He brought a glass to his mouth and drank, tilting the cup back as far as he could go.

Hyukjae looks at me. “You were there, though.” His eyes pierce right through me, and I feel a twang of anxiousness in my heart. “And now we’re here.” He gestures to the classy bar I had brought him to. Often after a particularly straining day at work, I would come here to attempt to forget about my boss. Funny how he’s here now.

“Yeah, we are. This place is great for drinking. Why don’t you come with me more often?” I tease, endeavoring to make the man grin. He does, very slightly. We both know I’m the one who avoids these outings.

“Don’t take it so lightly. Maybe I’ll come to drink with you so frequently, you’ll get tired of seeing me day in and day out.” He jostles me back, and now we’re both smiling. But the moment doesn’t last long. Hyukjae’s mouth quickly returns to its downturned position. “I’ll be having more time on my hands now, anyways. I’ll be needing company.”

Because he won’t be with Hyoyeon.

The thought occurs to me that I could use this moment to my advantage. While he’s vulnerable and newly single, I could reveal to Hyukjae everything I’ve experienced, everything I’ve felt while near him. Impress him with all the details I notice about him, like how he may forget where he put that last stack of papers, but he can remember the names of everyone he meets. How he acts like a clueless college frat boy at work, but only does that so his employees feel more comfortable and relaxed around their boss. How I know he’s afraid of making a wrong turn, of causing a devastating blow to the company, or turning all his employees jobless. I’ve been close to him for so long, I know everything there is to know.

I want to pour out my heart to him, to let him know that I’ll always be there when he needs me.

Even as I’m thinking all these things, my mouth opens, ready to form the words I plan to say. But my mind reels, my voice catches.

I stop myself.

It wouldn’t be right.

It’s not fair to abuse the connection we have to tug at him while in this susceptible state, to manipulate his alcohol-tainted judgment.

I decide to ignore the protests of my brain. “Tell me, Hyukjae.” I skip the formalities now. They’re just getting in the way.

He pauses from swishing his glass and curiously glances at me. Calling his first name like I never do probably piqued his interest.

“What’s it like to be in love?” My eyes are unwavering, looking seriously into his chocolate-brown pain-filled ones. I’m ready.

I’m going to tell him.

He sees something in my eyes, and seems as if he wants to peer closer, but instead uncharacteristically averts his gaze, turning back to the half-full cup in front of him. “It’s hard to explain.”

I plan my moves carefully. My hand hesitatingly goes up to his arm. “Please, try.” There’s an almost pleading tone in my voice. I had asked the question in hopes of proving appoint to Hyukjae, but a part of me knows that there is something to prove to myself as well.

He sighs and stretches before relenting. “Okay.” He closes his eyes to think. To me, the room seems to be spinning. A flurry of people in dressy clothes surrounds us, the flashing lights of the nearby dance floor reflected off the hanging wine glasses on the wall.

“Love,” I hear his voice begin. It carries a hint of remorse. “It’s that feeling that you can depend on a person to play with your heart, your body, and mind all at once.  They can make you feel comfortable, yet nervous at the same time.  ” He begins getting more speculative during his struggle to put the abstract concept into concrete words. “That person can make you laugh and you know exactly the right way to make them smile. You complete each other, you balance one another. You work well as a team, and support each other through anything.” He gets stronger, louder. “If you love someone, you look at that person and just know that you can’t live without them. You know that they’re perfect for you.” A pause, then he finishes up his explanation. “Love is the feeling that you know the other person will always be there for you, and you would do anything to be there for them. Love is dependable, love is kind. Love is.. love.”

Hyukjae’s speech ceases and he sobers up, realizing the depth of his words.

Listening to him describe those feelings he obviously harbored for another woman sparks a light of understanding for me. In that moment of clarity, we both realize something.

“I see.” Those are the only words I can push out my mouth. I’m afraid that if I try to squeeze out anymore that I’ll expel tears with them.

Hyukjae finally looks away from his cup and at me, his face totally different from the disparity it portrayed before. There’s genuine concern on it, and when he softly speaks my name, I can feel the water spilling from my eyes. “Tiffany, are you alright?”

I crinkle my eyes and part my lips into a cheeky smile, hiding my tears. “No, yeah. I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth. “It’s just,” I turn my head away and inhale, taking in the stale, sweaty air of the bar. “I had thought I was in love with someone, but realized I’m not.” I turn back to him and continue smiling, even though my eyes burn, even though my cheeks ache.

“Love is different for everyone,” the silly man abruptly tries to backpedal, which I giggle at. It comes out high-pitched and fake-sounding.

“No, I’m sure I’m not in love with this guy.” My brain is screaming at me for lying, and strangely, it sounds like Sooyoung.

I’m such a coward.

“Oh.” This evening Hyukjae does not put on airs, does not pretend. He acts like a man, the man I am not in love with.

My lips close, and my eyes return to a normal shape. The upper left corner of my mouth turns up just a bit, and I wait for him to look back at me. “But I can tell that you and Hyoyeon are truly in love.” I need to collect myself a little before I go on, taking a couple deliberate breaths. “You’re lucky to have each other.” My words drip with sincerity; I mean every word I say now. And even though I mean them, every word still hurts.

He ponders a second, and leans back, almost losing his balance on the stool. I laugh, and when he regains his composure, he grins. “I am lucky. Not only am I in love with the coolest girl ever, but I have an amazing friend to help me out when I slump.” I look down to see his hand sliding over mine, giving me an affectionate, companionable squeeze.

I can see he’s regained his faith in his engagement with Hyoyeon, and is already yearning to call her and make up. Deliberately pulling my hand away, I hop off the barstool and grab my purse.

“Not a friend,” I smile at him and lift my hand in a sort of farewell. “I’m just the perfect secretary.” I spin around and walk away, not turning around or lingering until the taxi drops me off at my home.

The tears I spill that night are more than I’ve ever spilt before. Muffling my sobs with a pillow, I try to convince myself that my decision is for the best. “He’s happy. That’s all that counts.”

I do a lousy job of consoling myself. But as I am alone in my apartment, there’s really no other choice. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I breathe in deeply and try again. “If he ever needs me, I’ll be there.”

Somehow, the second set of words makes me feel a little better, and my hiccups start to subside. I can faintly hear the echo of Hyukjae’s description. “Love is the feeling that the other person will always be there for you, and you will be there for them.” The trails of water on my cheeks dry.

I repeat the phrase once more as a sort of solace. It is as if I can just hold on to this slogan, then everything may turn out okay.

“If he ever needs me, I’ll always be there for him.”

5 weeks later

I gasp as I look at my desk calendar, and rush out to follow my boss. “Mr. Hyukjae!” I call but he doesn’t turn. “Mr. Hyukjae!” He steps into the elevator and turns around. I quicken my pace, and my strides get a little longer. My breath is already ragged; I don’t have enough energy to speak formalities. “Hyukjae,” I say once more, my voice getting weak and my determination rapidly dwindling. The man finally notices me and keeps the elevator doors from closing.

“What’s the matter, Tiffany? Do you need me to stay?” he asks once I reach him. His concern is touching and I almost let myself cave in. I almost ask him to help me, to remain here with me.

But I push away the thought of asking him to miss his date and tell him what he needs to hear. “You know today is Hyoyeon’s birthday, right?”

As I thought, he hadn’t remembered. His eyes widen in shock, and then dread. “Oh, no! I forgot! What should I do?”

I can’t help thinking his reaction is cute, and my mouth turns up into a natural smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve settled it for you. A bouquet of sunflowers was sent this morning, and here is another bouquet of roses for now. If you find the time, try and get her something nice on your way to the restaurant. Jewelry, or something sentimental.”

I give the flowers to Hyukjae, and even though we’re both smiling, I feel a bittersweet resignation, and a wave of regret. I understand that those flowers that he holds could never be for me, that even if I give him my whole heart, he can’t ever give me anything in return.

“Thanks, Tiffany. You really have my back, don’t you?”

I nod.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like you. You’re perfect.” He shakes his head. “I should go now. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck, Hyukjae,” I say, and he grins upon hearing his name, unadorned with “Mister” or “sir”. The elevator doors close, and I’m left in the office alone.

I clean up both my and Hyukjae’s desks, and pick up any trash littered around the receptionist area. Organizing the last of my boss’s files, I grab my things and walk back to the elevator.

In the seven and a half seconds it takes for me to get to the ground floor, I let my usually brilliant beam fade into something more contemplative. A familiar mantra is chanted.

Tidy, organized, helpful, reliable. This is what a secretary is.

As his secretary,

I will always be there when Hyukjae needs me.

A/N: Did it end the way you expected? Being honest, I had intended to end the fic this way from the very start. Sorry for leading you on, if you had expected otherwise. As a consolation gift here is a happier Hyukfany oneshot I'll be updating soon: Taste of Honey . Please check it out!

Thank you all for taking time to read, comment, and subscribe If you like this, I love you. If you hated this, I still love you, but tell me what I could have done better, and what I can do to improve my future writings! 

Also, let's pretend that Hyukjae is totally okay with drinking alcohol, alright? :P