A/N: Just re-uploaded this chapter from the AFF site "incident".  For all those who lost stories- my sympathy *hugs*

Your POV

It had been a mad couple of weeks.  The project deadline was only two weeks away, and you were feeling the stress of getting three separate concepts together.  Thank god for your assistants.  You secretly thought of them as your minions.  No matter how much you wanted to be able to stitch every seam for this project, there just wasn’t enough time. 

I never could go the easy way.  Why the hell I decided to go ahead and finish out the looks for the guys to actually wear, instead of just throwing out some final sketches, I’ll never know.  I AM INSANE!  

Sighing, you scooped your long brown-black hair back into a quick knot at the back of your head.  You pushed the rolling chair back away from the drafting table, stretching your arms high in the air and trying to work the kinks out of your neck.  The company building was pretty quiet this late at night.  The work area you had been practically living in (ok- not practically, actually.  You were actually there more than you were at home) was well-suited to your work; although, it had taken a couple of your precious days to get supplies and materials ordered and set-up to your satisfaction.   Apparently, the last designer had taken out anything that wasn’t nailed down.  The only thing it really needed was some windows and natural light, but I guess you couldn’t get everything.  At least it had a decent-sized comfy couch to sleep on and a small kitchenette so you wouldn’t starve.  

*mmmrrGGLLLbbblee*  Guess I’m starving right now. 

You ignored the shockingly loud protests of your stomach in favor of getting some coffee brewed.  You calculated that you still had another couple hours of piecing left to complete before you could call it a night.  You squinted at your watch- or called it a morning.   It was getting harder and harder to keep track of the days when you spent them working til 2 or 3 in the morning, like today. 

The last of your minions had thrown in the towel around midnight.  Even with your total of five helpers, the work still seemed to be crawling- at least, you weren’t meeting your own expectations. Even if the development team and the President seemed satisfied by your progress.  Luckily, two of the previous designer’s assistants had stayed through the change in direction.  They opted to hold on to the job with a guaranteed salary.  Smart move on their part.

You hadn’t really gotten to know them that well, but they had done some solid work so far.  Add another thing to the list.  Need to take staff out for dinner.  We all need a break soon or we’re going to die.   I’ll die.  I’ll die if I don’t get caffeine injected into my bloodstream, like right now. 

The coffee maker bubbled to life, the perking sounds of coffee singing through the room.  You sniffed the air appreciatively- that scent never failed to give you a happy little tingle of anticipation.  You paced around, knowing that if you waited on the sofa, you’d be in dreamland in an instant. 

This was a straight-up challenge.  Darn Jinki- he KNEW I could never pass up a dare. Darn Jinki- he hasn’t even texted me since that time in the practice room.  I know I’ve been busy.  I know they’ve been busy in the studio.  But, all the other guys have found time to stop in the workroom or shoot me a quick text here and there.  Heck, I can barely stop Key from sending me hundreds of “styles” he thinks would be “perfect on him”.   

“Darn that man- he could have said something….anything…,” you spoke aloud.  You walked over the mannequins fitted up to the guys’ measurements- wearing the first concept look in all its glory.  Strolling up to the ‘Onew’ form, you smoothed the shoulders of the suit jacket, straightening the lines, tugging here, pulling there.

You cupped the form’s neck in one hand, poking it in the chest with your index finger to make your point.  “What’s your deal, Jinki-ah,” you questioned the silent mannequin, “Was I the tiniest bit too intimidating for you?  Too much too handle?  Yah, I was mad.  I had a right to be, you overbearing pig head.  But I thought we were friends.” 

You stepped back, throwing your hands around as you started really getting into the lecture with “fake Onew”.

“Seriously, you said that you knew me.  That you’ve known me for so long.  Well, I guess you didn’t know me well enough, eh?  I wasn’t really trying to scare you away.  I just wanted to make sure that you knew where my limit was.   It doesn’t matter how much I…,”

A voice interrupted your monologue.  “…How much you threaten a man’s er…ummm…livelihood?”

You screamed and spun around, wobbling in your exhaustion, to find the man himself wandering toward you, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.  He was still in some kind of stage makeup, dark eyeliner and gelled messy hair. He must have had that interview today.  The look was one you had sent along to the coordi-noonas with the rest of the outfits for the schedules of this week.  You pulled them from the racks of clothing set aside for each of the guys, and thanked God that you weren’t about to run out of the stockpiles any time soon.

You took a moment to admire the style, all tight fitting jeans, layered button down shirt, and sport jacket all in shades from grey to black, with pops of red picked out in his accessories and sneakers.   The way his hands were stuffed in his pockets made his shoulders hunch slightly, and his head was tilted as he looked at you with amusement.  You took a moment to fangirl internally, hoping it came across as polite interest as a stylist if anything showed on your face.

You were too exhausted to be embarrassed that he caught you right in the middle of one of your worst habits, speaking to yourself.  And not just speaking, but “speeching” to yourself.  Most of the time, you muttered curses at stubborn seams or at inanimate objects that weren’t obeying your will.  However, sometimes you would make a “speech”- either to rant at someone or to cheer yourself up. 

You were too busy thanking your lucky stars that Onew had interrupted your speech at the moment he did (for once showing impeccable timing).  You had been about to say “It doesn’t matter how much I love you; I’m not a child that needs to be told what to do.”  My God, what would have happened then, eh, _____?  We would have been even more awkward, that’s what. 

Cough. 

“Well,  Onew-ssi, sometimes fear is an effective motivator.  It is Onew-ssi, right?  I mean, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like.  You could be an imposter,” you mused tiredly.   He finished crossing the distance to stand next to you.  You turned back to face the mannequins, hands on hips.  He swung to face the forms too, chuckling. 

“Mianhe, mianhe.  It’s this whole album thing.  They’ve got me running 27 hours a day.”

“Don’t give me that, the rest of the boys don’t seem to have the same time constraints.  And really, how long does it take to shoot your friend a text?”

“Aissh.  The ‘rest of the boys’ weren’t in fear that they would be injured, IN A MOST SENSITIVE AREA, if they dared to be involved in your life.”

You sighed, dropping your hands and turned to face his profile.  “You know what I meant.  Meddling I can handle; I mean, it’s like a required survival skill when Key is your friend.  But you know that there’s a point where you cross the line.  You’re not my appa, not my boss, not my…my…,”

You cleared your throat, suddenly a little uncomfortable.

 “…Not my husband, not even my boyfriend.  There are some things, some issues that you can’t make decisions for me, arraseo?”

He kept staring straight ahead, moving toward the displayed clothes in silence.  You wondered what was running through his mind, and hoped he hadn’t shown up at this random moment intent on dissolving your friendship.   There was no way you could handle losing another person so close to you.  But his continued silence was making you queasy.  That uneasy feeling that something might go wrong.   He paced up and down the line, leaning in here and there to inspect a detail.  As the tension stretched out, you had an unbearable urge to fill the void, to shatter the quiet, but you gritted your teeth together. 

I’ve said all I care to- it’s his turn, and I’m sure as heck not going to keep babbling on, while he just sits there all amused at me.  I’ll wait him out.  He can’t just come in here, throw down a comment on my threat, my obviously sarcastic threat, inspect my clothes like some know-nothing critic then walk out without another word.  He’s really ticki..

“This is good, _____-ah.  Whose is whose?”  He turned to you, gesturing at the garments, his tone casual.

Did he hear a single word I said?

“Bwo?  Excuse me, did you just ask about the clothes?  No comments on anything I just said to you?”  You felt dumbfounded that he had no response, well no pertinent response, to your speech.   You crossed your arms, tossing an irritated look in his direction.

He just looked at you expectantly, almost like a kid at Christmas, waiting for his parent to tell him which present to open first.   The stare held, and held, and held….and he grinned triumphantly when you threw your hands up in the air in defeat.

“Aigoo…fine.”  You stomped past him to the leftmost form.  This is Minho’s…,” you began.

“I thought so by the long length,” he interrupted, smiling at you. 

“YAH- do you want to know this or not?  It’s late, and I don’t want to…” you huffed, turning back to study the form.

Suddenly, two arms wrapped around your waist, and his chin landed on your shoulder.  You froze, voice dying off in mid-sentence. Your heart beat painfully once.  Twice.  It felt like a white-hot spike was hammering through your ribcage.  From the inside out.  Thump.  thump.

He squeezed you gently, the added pressure just enough to bring your body flush against his.  You could feel his belt buckle indenting your skin, the large metal rectangle cold through your thin shirt. It didn’t hurt, just made you very, very aware of the man holding you.   Your mind was oddly quiet.  Shouldn’t you be freaking out? You should.  But you weren’t.  It was as if your body was smart enough to not ruin the moment with unnecessary thoughts.  All you knew was what was happening right now.

You heard him inhale; you felt the slight catch in his breathing.  The faint smell of sweat, of leather, and something else that was all him.  You could almost taste that precious scent- lingering as you your suddenly dry lips.  You could see a blurry version of his eye at the periphery of your vision.

You wanted so badly to turn your head.  The slightest turn so that you could see if his face looked as good up close as it had in your fantasy.  You wanted to, but couldn’t.

The first thought floated through your consciousness- Is this his revenge? I mean he’s pinned me against himself and not a wall, but…

Your mind went blank again as he spoke.  The familiar smooth tone sounded beautiful in the stillness of the room.

“Miahne," he paused, “I know….I know I’m not your appa, I’m much too young to have a daughter so tall.” You felt the chuckle first, and then felt it brush against your cheek.  His tone grew serious again, and your eyes shut against the intimacy of this instant.  It let you concentrate on his voice, on what he was saying.

“I’m not your boss.  I’m not your husband,” he exhaled," and ______-ah, I’m not your boyfriend.”  Your heart was still pounding, a white lighting piercing your chest. Thump. Thump.  Tears threatened as he confirmed what you knew, he was just a friend. 

Could only ever be…just….your….friend.

He paused again, and you winced as he took a breath and pulled you tighter, the sharp edges of his necklace pressing painfully into your shoulder blade, his watch into your sides, the belt buckle gouging deeply into the small of your back.

It was a whisper.  It was a shout.  It echoed in the room, in your ear, in your heart.  It shook you, realigning all the scattered specks of your being- a hand sweeping through a sun beam, sending dust motes madly dancing about each other.

“But…..I’d like to be.”