Kim Namjoon; office!au

There is a long list of things to hate about your workplace and on top of that list is the fact that you're the most fortunate employee designated to the most damned desk in the office. Said desk is situated right beside the alcove that houses the huge, bulky, intimidating multifunctional printer--a Xerox VersaLink C505. Being assigned to the desk beside the said machine means: (a) literally everyone in the company passes by your desk; (b) you get to see and talk to your office crush Kim Namjoon every single day. That last point should be enough to invalidate the "damned desk" title, except... You're awkward. He's taken. And you really need to concentrate on your work.

***

"Hey-"

"Jesus!" You nearly jump from your chair, shoulders stiffening under the weight of someone's hand. You take your fresh-off-the-box noise-canceling headphones off and turn your swivel chair to the direction of the interrupter. You didn't bother to stand up to greet the person. If you had to do that with every goddamn person who walks by your desk, you'd be fit as heck from all the squats. Instead, you take a few seconds to collect yourself, shame rising from your gut at the way you jolted like a scalded cat. "Oh, Namjoon," you say-or more like breathe.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Namjoon exclaims, waving his huge hands with freakishly long fingers at you. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open.

"It's okay!" You immediately counter, gesticulating just as worse as he did. Of course, it's okay. If it's Namjoon, it'll always be okay. You tuck a stray hair behind your ear and smile at him. From where you sit, he's like the goddamn Lotte World Tower, bright and glinting with the sun's brightest, warmest rays. It doesn't help that he's standing right beside the huge windows of your 31st-floor office. It absolutely doesn't help that he's wearing a plaid shirt and a white inner tee that's peeking from the ed collar. Your gaze ends at the point where his plaid shirt meets his pinstriped pants. It's tucked in neatly, secured by a stylish black belt and- "What?" You miss out on the things he's saying because your brain shortcircuits just before your eyes reach his crotch area.

"Oh, nothing I was just..." He blanks out for a few seconds. Blinks at you curiously. You can hear the A/C whirring awkwardly in the background. If this is a CF, things would have been funny by now. "I was hoping you could help me with the... uh..." He sticks his thumb out to point behind him. The massive printer is mocking you like a ty second lead in a rom-com drama.

"Let me guess. Paper jam?" Namjoon nods at that and smiles shyly while scratching the back of his head. You sigh and stand up. Fix your skirt as you make your way to the machine. This isn't the first time Namjoon's dragged you out of your desk to help out with the VersaLink. He's not a very techy guy and he tends to be super clumsy so you've gotten well acquainted since your first day at the office thanks to the stupid printer. Actually, he's not the only one having problems with it. It's supposed to be a smart printer-one with a LED monitor, an accompanying app, 320 GB of HDD, and a capacity of almost 8,000 prints per month. You know all this because you downloaded the manual from the website during your first week at work. For all it's worth (apparently a whopping $2,000) it takes about an army to set it up and only a handful of people can use it without asking for your help. It's not like a regular photocopier where you slap your paper and push start, nor is it the kind that spits out your prints easily from across the room once you hit Print. You've witnessed a fair amount of people having a mental breakdown in front of the machine. Now, you're convinced that the VersaLink has a life of its own and that the prime purpose of its existence is to make your workdays interesting.

You crouch down to check the tray, yank the drawer out and peep into the narrow space to retrieve the incriminating document firmly and swiftly. You beam at the crumpled but untorn paper in your hand. Surely you're the only person who has mastered the art of taking out jammed paper from the back of the printer without tearing it. You replace the tray and stand up again. The machine lets out a grateful whir. "There! Now you just have to... Uhm..." You tap a few things on the display and press a button. The VersaLink spits out the printed page smoothly, like a pickup line after several shots of tequila. "There!"

"Ah, that's... Great... Thank you." He smiles down at the paper sweetly, as if he's looking at a child and not a bunch of words. "I actually have a couple more pages to print, I'm not sure if it-" As if on cue, the VersaLink whirs and prints the remainder of Namjoon's file. You smile at him, your eyebrows raised in a manner that barely conceals your line of thought: Do you need anything else?! My cat, my arm, my phone number?! But he drops his gaze to the paper and shyly says: "Cool, thanks!"

"You're welcome." You start walking back to your desk, grateful for the loss of eye contact and the increasing space between you. Whenever Namjoon enters a room, you feel the air escaping from your lungs and while it's a heady feeling, you have an important task that would not acknowledge the existence of certain office crushes. You hear him clearing his throat, feels him following you. You can already hear the trickle of small talk like the soft pitter-patter of rain that's bound to turn into a storm.

"So you bought new headphones, huh?" He says, just before you reach your damned desk. It's literally just a few steps away from the alcove that houses the machine.

"Mhmm..." You murmur, sitting down. You check on the whirring machine again. It's still printing. You wonder if it's one of those long legal documents again. He could probably make a book out of all those legal copy printouts.

"Jabra, huh? That's interesting. I heard they have nice headphones. How is it so far?" It's an earnest question, one you don't mind answering. But you can't help but wonder why he's giving you the time of day anyway.

"It's nice. I already have a Jabra sports headset but I decided I need large headphones too..." So people would stop talking to me, you think. You can't help it. Your introvert side demands some sense of peace and quiet in the office and sitting beside everyone's machine can be seriously draining. Still, you don't seem to mind when Namjoon puts his elbow on top of your cubicle wall and leans ever so casually against it. You fight the urge to tell him about how nice Jabra's sports headsets are, how much energy the music gives you when you are running along Han River at 9 PM every other night. Tries not to let your mind stray to the picture of bumping into him there. You do your best to conceal the blush dusting your cheeks.

"Is that so people won't talk to you anymore?" He asks as if reading your mind. You chuckle nervously at that.

"No, no, it's just... I think it's cool and it's comfortable. It warms my ears. My ears get cold easily..." It's his turn to laugh. You wonder briefly why that made him laugh. You tell him you're not joking. Tell him about the fact that your ears really do get red from the cold.

"Ah, that's cute." He smiles widely at you again and reaches out for the wireless headphones on your table. Cute. Cute. He called me cute. His arm brushes past your nose and his scent hits you. Sandalwood and cherry blossoms and everything that's right in the world. You still feel a bit woozy when he puts the headphones in place, careful not to mess up his chestnut colored hair. His scent isn't even that strong. In fact, you wouldn't have known what he smells like if he didn't get so close. But you feel your head spinning at the wake of his fresh scent that you find yourself blinking several times until your eyes can focus on the image before you: Namjoon bopping his head slowly to your Spotify playlist. "Oh, this is a good one! I like this song too."

You grab your phone to check what he's listening to. He's halfway through Puma Blue's Want Me, lips spread out beautifully on his face, dimples deepening, foot tapping to the beat. "Well, my life..." You whisper to no one in particular.

"Huh?" He chimes, pulling one side away from his ear. He probably saw your lips moving.

"I said I'm surprised you know this." You lie, turning your phone screen off again. His smile widens at that comment. Your heart constricts. "Puma Blue is pretty cool. I've been listening to him since he started posting on Soundcloud like three years ago." Namjoon gives back what he stole and nods just as soon as the printer beeps. "I think your novel's finally done."

"That is not a novel. I wish it was a novel instead," He shares wistfully. "It's more like a novella... But with lots of economic mumbo-jumbo." You giggle then bite your lower lip. He goes into full detail about this news feature he's writing to explain South Korea's new fiscal policy to the rest of the world. "It's not at all easy, let me tell you. I need to edit my article over and over to make sure I don't sound like an -Sorry. I gotta... Ugh." He interrupts himself after another beep from the printer. It's like the VersaLink's been asking him to stop chatting and beckoning him to get his goddamn papers, which he hesitantly does.

Tentatively, you try to dive back into the codes you've been dealing with for the past two days. As a temporary web developer, you really shouldn't be wasting precious time checking and rechecking your work. You work fast and you're way ahead of the deadline but you don't want your bosses to feel like you half-assed your job. So you stare and stare and stare at the codes to figure out where things could go wrong. At least that's what you've been doing until Namjoon came to ask for help. This time around he's asking for a stapler. You hand it to him wordlessly, watch him shuffle and reshuffle his papers before finally stapling the pages together. "Thank you, I think I have everything I need now."

"Mhmmm..."

"Right."

"Yup."

"Uh, thanks again... For the help. That printer is crazy, man."

"Oh, you tell me."

"I'm sorry if we've all been annoying you with printer stuff, I know that's not your job." There's awkward silence again as you blink up at him. Truthfully, you feel validated. You're glad someone finally acknowledged the elephant in the room... Or the floor you're all in. But you shrug noncommittally anyway.

"It's okay, I have an IT degree." You immediately regret saying that. Of course, he knows that. Why else would you have CSS and Java on your massive screen? Why else would HR assign you that desk? Why else would people ask you for help? You try to hide the embarrassment with a friendly smile.

"Yeah, but..." There's a certain sense of solemnity in his gaze that makes you shrink back into your seat. You don't know what it is that's making you squirm under his scrutiny. All you know is that he looks hot when he's smiling and hotter when he's all serious and concerned. If the balled up fists on your skirt aren't enough proof, then maybe your tensed up shoulders would be enough to show that the staring contest is making your falter.

"It's really okay. You can ask me for help anytime," you add, hoping to end the conversation once and for all.

"Okay," he answers, still not taking his eyes off yours. Then he deflates and lets his gaze fall down to his papers before looking at you again. He his lower lip, pauses for a second and smiles while gesturing to you with the papers in his hands. "Thank you again."

"No problem!" You turn back to your computer and sigh inaudibly.

One... Two... Three... Four... Five...

You stare at the monitor for a few seconds, lost in thought. You momentarily forget about where you are and what you're supposed to be doing. Distracted, you take your phone and search for Namjoon's name on Facebook, if only to see his pretty face again. His profile is on top of the search page because you have a lot of mutual friends.

You click on Namjoon's Facebook page, nervous and excited. His profile pic shows off his tall proportions and his love for museums. His header, meanwhile, shows rows and rows of books. A pure intellectual. You sigh and scroll down slowly, admiring the thoughtful words in his bio--an excerpt from a book you've never heard of. You find out that he's from Ilsan, sees more pictures of his poetic walks in the park, museum trips, and European adventures. Facebook shows you your mutual friends. Jimin and Taehyung from Sales and J-Hope from HR; the new junior designer named Jungkook and his master/boss Yoongi; and then a guy named Jin who you randomly met at a bar near campus two nights before graduation (which you have zero recollection of because you got so drunk your friends had to fill you in on the crazy happenings the next day).

It's only when you see his most recent photo that you realize you've been smiling the entire time. Hands and fingers intertwined. A heart emoji. And a simple message saying: "Happy Anniversary, baby." You lock your phone and place it on the desk, heart slowing down as you stare at the codes on your screen. The machine whirrs again and stops. It beeps violently, but you barely hear it amidst the thoughts invading your brain. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I should have known it was a stu-

"-Stupid request but... Uh... My designs are being held hostage by the stupid machine and I swear if I don't have this by the time Yoongi gets back I will be murdered. Like. For real. So can you... Uh..." You look up, blank eyes meeting deer-like orbs. You blink a few times at Jungkook as your brain restarts.

"Oh..." You look at the machine and then back to him before sighing deeply.

"I'm really sorry, I don't wanna open it because I might break it and I-"

"It's fine," you say. You're not fine. You do the same thing you did for Namjoon, but the paper gets torn and you grumble. "," You crouch down lower to extract the other half of your heart--er, paper--from the machine. Then you hand the pieces to Jungkook and say, "It should be fine. Try it again."

Jungkook stares at you and watches you sag into your swivel chair. You watch his reflection on the windows absently as he turns to the machine, smiling like a fool at the buttons and folding the pieces you gave him before slipping them into the pocket of his plain white dress shirt.