Life and death gods alike scatter to make way for Jongin as he stomps up to the receptionist of the Great Hall. He’s been here before, as has everyone else when they first came into being, but that was so long ago he’s forgotten where everything is, and if he tried finding things by looking through the endless plaques displayed in the lobby he’d be there until the next century.

Theoretically, he has time for that, but even if he wasn’t too impatient to do so, the odd emptiness of his oil jug wouldn’t let him do it. Having carried it with him for—he can’t even remember the exact details, but it must be decades at the very least—an inordinate amount of time, even among life gods, it’s almost become a part of him, and he’s too disturbed by the how light it feels to continue bringing it around like this. He wants it refilled, and he wants it refilled now.

Three people are already in line, but upon seeing Jongin’s thunderous expression, they hastily depart, evidently deciding that whatever they wanted was not worth having Jongin’s eyes glaring daggers into their backs as they waited. The receptionist, a greeting on his lips already prepared for the one first in line, nervously gives the greeting to Jongin instead.

“The oil department,” Jongin growls at him, not even bothering to look down at his nametag or return his greeting. Sensing his eagerness to be gone and at this point quite happy to do anything to help him reach that goal, the receptionist quickly types a few words into the computer before him. “Fifth floor, corridor left of the lift, third room from the entrance,” he reads out, and before he can even lift hear head, Jongin’s gone, once again sending people right and left in an effort to avoid him.

The oil department is everything Jongin despises—bright, convoluted and most of all, full of people. With so little official spaces designated for gods, life and death alike, the few places that are exclusively for them are rarely ever empty. Today is no different, and Jongin barely makes it five steps inside before someone calls out his name.

Junmyeon’s perched on a nearby table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and Jongdae and Yixing standing near him. Jongin glances longingly at the counter, but given Junmyeon’s seniority and that he’d been the one to show Jongin the ropes when he first arrived, Jongin doesn’t feel right ignoring his call. With one last longing glance at the counter, he changes paths to join the little group.

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” Junmyeon says by way of a greeting.

“Yes,” Jongin affirms, because he doesn’t really know what else he can say.

“What finally brings you here?” Jongdae questions, eyebrows raised.