2013: Present

“What is this?” you ask Chen.

It is a Sunday evening. After hours of being nowhere in sight, your husband appeared at the door, holding a shopping bag.

“It’s a dress,” he says, the ends of his lips twitching into a slight smile. “I have a company gathering in two days, and I want you to come.”

Absentmindedly, you give him a nod.

As you turn your back to him and walk up the creaking floorboards of the stairs, gripping the bag tightly between your fingers, Chen calls out to you.

“_____,” he says.

You jerk your head in his direction.

“Thanks,” he says, lips curled up.

“No problem.”

Though you responded with a smile and appeared to be thankful, you knew not to fall for his acts.

If there was something you learned these past two years, it was that his acts were of obligatory nature, and not of gratefulness.

“I’m home,” Chen announces as he walks through the front door, seemingly forcing enthusiasm into his tired voice.

“I made you dinner,” you say, placing a plate of steaming food on the kitchen dining table. You had prepared his favorite dish, hoping maybe you would receive a rare compliment from your husband.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” he says. “I don’t feel like eating.”

You take a deep breath.

Once again, you tried pleasing him- but failed.

“You didn’t forget about the company party tomorrow, right?” Chen asks, his gaze not once meeting with yours.

You nod.

Instead of engaging into a conversation, he responds with a “I’m going to bed” and walks up the stairs to his room.

You are tired.

With the hot ceramic burning in your hands, you carry the plate and dump its components in the trash- hours of reading recipes and accidentally searing your fingers from failed attempts of making the dish.

Nothing mattered.

He only married you because of the arranged marriage between your two families.

“Are you ready?” Chen calls from downstairs.

“Hold on just a second!” you yell back.

You look at your reflection in the full-length mirror that stands before you. You are clad in the clothes that Chen had bought for you- a white chiffon dress that fell to your knees- and your hair is styled into a neat bun. You should be dreamily gazing the mirror, a smile plastered on your face, for Chen had never bought clothes for you.

But you aren’t.

Turning away from the mirror, you carefully make your way down the stairs and to the front door, where Chen awaited you, silk dress shirt and black trousers with a black tie. His eyes meet yours, and he asks, “You ready?”

You nod.

He opens the front door and gestures for you to go first, as any gentleman would. You regret the moment you step into his recently washed car. The drive consists of awkward silences and the archetypal “how was your week” kind of conversation- nothing intimate.

After what seems to be hours, the whirring of the car hinders, and Chen says, “We’re here.”

~~

Glasses clinking.

Feet shuffling.

Drunken shouts.

You sit at a table alone, for Chen had left to share a drink with his boss. Though it has been approximately an hour, the fancy yet degenerate atmosphere is unfamiliar to you- coworkers shouting as they toast their wine glasses to their boss and to a bright future, employees introducing wives and girlfriends to their fellow friends, and drunken men, slurring their words and tripping over their own feet.

“May I sit here?”

You snap out of your daze and look up to see a man, towering over you with a shy grin stretching from one ear to another.

Before you can mouth a “yes”, he invites himself to take the seat across from you, with a sighed, “Thank you.”

You examine him, until his features are etched into your mind.

“My name is Chanyeol,” he says, outstretching his arm and signaling for you to shake his hand.

You take his hand. “I’m _____.”

He smiles, and you can’t help but smile back, for he seems very bubbly and approachable. “I saw that you came with Chen. He’s my colleague. Are you two dating?”

“Actually,” you say, “we’re married.”

Chanyeol opens his mouth, but it takes a few moments for words to come out. “So you’re Chen’s wife?”

You nod. “We’ve been married for two years now.”

“Chen doesn’t really talk about his life outside work,” Chanyeol says.

Your expression becomes sullen.

“I can tell you’re not familiar with company gatherings,” Chanyeol says, still smiling. “It’s okay; I never really liked them either.”

The conversation continues, with compliments being exchanged and shy giggles. Within a mere hour, the two of you have become friends- a foundation built on a love for movies and a hate for company gatherings.

In the midst of your conversation, you feel a hand on your shoulder and a familiar voice saying, “We should leave now.”

You stand up from the seat, surprised when Chen wraps an arm around you- presumably an act for his fellow coworkers. Before leaving, you mouth a “goodbye” to Chanyeol, who responds with a wave.

As you leave the restaurant, Chen’s body pressed against yours, the night air stinging your cheeks, you hear a clicking of heels against concrete and a female voice call, “Kim Jongdae?”