Let's celebrate Markjin Month! ♥️♥️

con·frère

/ˈkänˌfrer,känˈfrer/

***

THE PAVEMENT BUSTLED with people dancing between one another, tangling in the morning rush. The light summer wind stirred amidst the expensive-looking clothes, carrying pleasant odours from eau de toilette. Women and men spilt out of cars, inhaling the scent of reality that shook them awake. All blurred together, creating a mosaic background for the infamous Monday morning.

Mark stepped inside one of the skyscraper buildings in the area wearing a navy blue suit. A small paper bag filled with fresh bagels in hand. The Government Treasury Office in New York had been his workplace for the last two years. He was responsible for collecting taxes since he was stationed in the Tax Unit.

Nodding at the receptionist, who ducked her head in response, he swiped the ID card over the automatic barrier gate. The gate opened in confidence, like him. Monday morning was rough. But this morning he woke up as fresh as a daisy. Courtesy of an acupuncture session on the weekend. Took a long time to score one session, but now his blood was finally flowing in the right lane.

He exhaled softly, enjoying the temporary solitude after bumping into almost everyone outside. The lift arrived with a ding, revealing an empty cabin. He stepped inside, hurriedly pressing the close button, so no one would get into the lift with him. Cheeky, yes. The idea of being in a small enclosed space with someone else, more so someone he barely knew, was not the most fun idea. Should he say hi? Ignore them? Act invisible?

Mark was not an anti-social guy, between a social butterfly and a loner. At least twenty per cent of the employees knew who he was. If there is a chance not to be social for once, that would be better. Dealing with people was sometimes tiring.

"Hold the doors, please!"

A male, judging from the deep voice, asked in desperation. The lift was almost closed, leaving approximately a four inches gap between the two metal pieces.

Usually, the trick worked. By arriving at work when the other employees were already on their respective desks, the lift would potentially be empty.

Not today, it seemed like. Frowning a little (mostly unintentional), Mark threw his hand in reflex on the censors to keep the doors opened. Today he must do it.

A mop of black hair came into view. Bursting into the lift with an out-of-the-shower clean scent. Giorgio Armani's Acqua di Gio. A familiar, since he had one at home.

“Thank you!” the man said with a breathless voice, looking up after a few seconds trying to catch his breath. “Mark,” he said almost incredulously. As if Mark had died, but had been brought back to live.

It was Park Jinyoung. His coworker in the Tax Unit. One of the seniors, Jackson, called them soul mates. Having been in the same unit from the first time into work two years ago until now. Please, he begged to differ.

Jinyoung was a 28 years old man—Mark knew because he once saw his driving license—5 feet and 10 inches tall. Hair colour was black like his hair, if not the blackest black. But unlike him, who changed hair colour like changing clothes, Jinyoung seemed to only sport one colour in his life. Or at least that was what he thought after two years working in the environment. He had changed from blonde, brown, and black, while Jinyoung remained with the jet black.

Jinyoung was a diligent employee who arrived at work thirty minutes before. The last time he met this coworker at the morning lift was probably a year ago. What’s up with today? Why was he here five minutes before nine? He frowned, digesting the rare experience. The confusion didn’t stay for long though. Because the man was now standing with his back on him, catching his attention.

If there’s one thing peculiar about Jinyoung, it’s le derrière, the bottom. The insanely ample and plush buttocks that outshining everyone else’s. Not that he inspected every bottom in the building. But, Jinyoung wearing nice fitting trousers daily contributed to the finding. Yes, sometimes the suit jacket covered the goodies, but not always. Like today.

Jinyoung’s dark grey shirt matched with the trousers. The absence of a suit jacket allowed anyone with curious eyes, like Mark, to look at the glory of pert . He itched to touch, an impulse developing since a year or so ago. He was no ert, definitely not, having no appetite with anyone else’s bums. It’s just this particular co-worker.

To tell the truth, that exact bum had become a regular in his wet dreams, planned or unplanned. Who would ever say no to a glittery accessory like that? He’s a healthy gay man, no gay man said no to magical . And also occasionally, fuel was needed to reach the fullest experience. Biting those plump cheeks, amongst many things, had been a staple imagination. If the information were known to the public, he would get arrested for ual offences.

He couldn’t help it! It was that tempting! His hands had learned how heavenly those cheeks were. Having unintentionally touched it on one occasion. It was when Jinyoung had picked up a pen, stepping backwards while still bending down. He remembered the flustered face, as well as Jinyoung blaming him for standing in the wrong place. Absurd. If he was being stinky, Jinyoung was the one to blame, stepping back without looking.

After a couple of years working with him, Mark had reached a conclusion that he was always the one to blame. He had been blamed for not telling about the company dinner when it's actually already emailed to the employees. It's a mystery why Jinyoung could miss it. Also, for making Jinyoung almost miss the deadline. And for that, Mark had already reminded him all the time. But he still missed it! Those were just a couple, there were many more.

Backhanded compliments were also a routine, with sulking as the cherry on top. Overall, Jinyoung could be considered a hostile coworker. It’s cute, to be honest when a pout came out. But the attitude wasn’t exactly the recipe for a working relationship to flourish. If there was one person Mark hadn’t managed to connect with within a social setting, then it’s Jinyoung. One and only never came across someone like him.

He found out later that all those behaviours Jinyoung had subjected him to were called passive-aggressive. Some suggested that behaviour might stem from being raised in a certain environment. Where the direct expression of emotions was discouraged or not allowed. For those who were passive-aggressive, expressing real feelings more openly was difficult. So they might instead find ways to passively channel their anger or frustration. It’s a mental thing, and he was almost sorry that Jinyoung had it, consciously or not.

But Mark didn’t stop there and pity Jinyoung. He surfed articles on how to outsmart a passive-aggressive co-worker. Because at that time it had already been going for over a year and the ‘shield’ was close to broken. They suggested trying to keep anger in check. Pointing out the other person's feelings in a way that’s non-judgmental yet factual. Easier said than done since he tended to be temperamental when triggered.

A few months back, he had confronted Jinyoung in a mission to ameliorate their work life. A series of questions had been asked. Like how they could help each other, what he could do to improve their synergy, et cetera. Jinyoung didn’t answer. He had evaded the questions with work-related excuses, being busy, and all that. Typical passive-aggressive.

What did he do to Jinyoung that granted him such behaviour? It was never clear. As far as he was concerned, Jinyoung was always like that. What’s weird, other people sent praises of him being an angel. The kind of co-worker everyone liked. A mood maker. Shocking.

“For someone like you, you actually smell good."

Mark got ripped away from the deep thoughts, immediately analysing Jinyoung's comment that came out of the blue. Those judgy eyes were racking up and down of him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted back as haste as the comment came. It happened almost every day that holding back wasn’t a choice anymore. He used to but gave up after some time.

“I wish I could afford an expensive fragrance like you. But unfortunately, all my money goes to my mortgage,” said Jinyoung. Sashaying out of the lift as soon as the door was opened.

Was he supposed to smell bad? What did he mean by 'someone like you'? Like what? And he's buying a house?

Seriously, if it’s not because of the extraordinary and devastatingly handsome face, Mark would’ve asked for a transfer a long time ago. Or at least requested for a change of partner when the unit did annual tax collecting. They’d been partners for two years in a row now, a match made in heaven, the boss said. Quite outrageous.

Hating Jinyoung wasn’t in the book, per se. If he did, imagining the raven-haired in his bed wouldn’t be an option, would it? It was his passive-aggressiveness. At times, or a lot of times, it affected productivity at work. Especially the refusal of communication. It’s like Jinyoung despised the idea of talking with him. Other than all those backhanded compliments and touches of sarcasm. Surely those couldn’t be considered as communication. It’s difficult to overlook even with a plush arse to compensate.

“Markiepoo, what’s wrong with you? Those lines will stay in your face if you do it too often!” Jackson welcomed him into their unit space. A spacious rectangular room with cubicles, slinging the bulgy arm around his shoulders. “It’s Jinyoung again, isn’t it?”

Mark huffed, they had this conversation many times before. “Yeah.”

“What did he say to you today?” Jackson asked, sitting on Mark’s desk.

“He said, ‘for someone like you, you smell good'. What the hell was that?!”

“Doesn’t it mean that you smell good?”

“He could say ‘you smell good’ then! What’s with the ‘someone like you’ part?!”

Jackson cackled, garnering some attention from other co-workers. He waved them dismissively, then focused his attention back on Mark. “‘I should keep my anger in check, Jackson’, that’s what you told me over and over,” he pointed out, chuckling.

“I know!” Mark said, throwing his hands in the air. “But it’s difficult.”

“You can always send him flowers, coral or orange roses. Always work when I was still in the sales unit,” Jackson said, smirking. “Oh, by the way, I saw you guys coming in together, did something finally happen between you two?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Something like what?”

“Like you are finally able to plug that big boy into him?”

“Eww, disgusting.” Exactly what his fantasy this morning was about.

“Disgusting? Funny. I know what’s under your bed, Markie.”

“For your info, I have no intention to plug anything into him. Even if I have to, I’d like to plug some senses into that head!” Thank goodness no mind-reader was around.

“You’re a bad liar, Markiepoo. But I get it, you must be shy. Aww…” Jackson cooed, pinching his cheeks.

Mark swatted those prying fingers away. “Are you done? I have work to do.”

Jackson hopped off the desk, bending down. “I’m done. Not because you give me a grumpy attitude first thing in the morning. But because someone is sending me daggers with his eyes right now,” he whispered into Mark’s ear. “Bye, Markiepoo!”

Without Jackson telling him who, Mark already knew the culprit. Jinyoung did it from time to time. No matter who, co-workers, bosses, or the janitor, he would be at the other side of the room watching. Why? Was it because of jealousy that someone talked to him? There was nothing to be jealous of.

Darting his eyes to Jinyoung, their eyes locked. There was a slight unidentified emotion in those crystal eyes, one that he failed to make a decision of what it was. Jinyoung averted his eyes shortly, back to whatever it was he was doing. It’s never long enough. Gazes met, unidentified emotions, then the mini-stare broke too quickly.

Jinyoung didn't one hundred per cent hate his being, right? Because those snippets of emotions weren’t any sign of that. Mark was unsure of a lot of things, but he at least could mentally grasp that it's not hate. Or anger. Well, what did he know though? The situation was barely comprehensible for him.

The intense atmosphere quickly dissipated. He diverted the attention back to work, some numbers to finish. It’s easy to get lost in the works, the number after number and report after report coming in. Hours gone by in a flash. Another tax statistics report was ready to be completed. But there was a piece of information still needed. From none other than Jinyoung.

The chair creaked as he got to his feet a little charily. The few steps to Jinyoung’s desk seemed too heavy to be normal. “Hey,” he called softly, trying to establish a civil situation.

Jinyoung’s shoulder jumped an inch. There was a short pause before the chair swivelled around, revealing an unamused face. “I wish you wouldn’t surprise me like that, but of course you did.”

What’s with that face? He didn’t mean to surprise him at all. “Have you finished the report I asked you?”

“What report?”

Mark tsk-ed. “The rental asset information I asked you two weeks ago?”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Yo