Yoona was caught up in the afternoon traffic rush at five in the afternoon, and she was likewise caught up wondering how her boyfriend Jong Woon was doing at work, or how he was doing with his motorbike in the midst of the line of cars honking their horns to home, or how he was thinking of her.

A year into their relationship and Yoona learned, not just to love a guy like Jong Woon, but also to hate him, reprimand him, seek security and sincerity from him, and everything she wanted from Jong Woon that he could otherwise never give. She was cheerful and inspired, but somehow she wanted Jong Woon to feel the same from her.

She knew they loved each other, but she would like to think it was for both their sakes.

Yoona stood in what looked like a bus stop (because buses loaded passengers in that area even without the proper signs), and looked up. She implored the heavy, dark clouds painted crimson and orange to hold on a little longer. 
But a drop of rain on her forehead, the first that she felt since she started waiting at the place, refused her plea and warned of an incoming rain.

“Shoot.”

The drop was soon followed, by two, three, many more, until Yoona had to shelter herself from the downpour of rain. 
She took refuge under the roof of an old, abandoned building and waited for the next fifteen minutes until she’ll finally be late for work.

The rain fell harder than before, and Yoona figured she was going to be really, really late for work, if not absent from it. She looked up at the sky again and was determined to give it a “screw-off” sign, when a car honked in front of her and made her give it to the car instead.

“Oops. Sorry!” Yoona shouted. She didn’t know how long the car stopped in front of her; maybe it was one of the cars stuck in traffic, but she looked around and noticed that it was the only car that pulled over the curb.

All bias aside, it was better than Jong Woon’s shining Vespa. Wait, if it isn’t Jong Woon’s motorbike, then—

“Need a ride?”

Yoona shifted her gaze on the head that popped out of the car window and was, for a moment, strung out on his face—he was definitely good-looking, his hair a bit messy in a good way, and his eyebrows a bit thick enough to emphasize his frowning face.

She figured it was the only thing wrong with him.

“Um, is it okay?”

“Well, why should I stop by here if it's not okay to give you a ride?” the guy mumbled as he looked back at the driver of the vehicle, and though his voice was a bit low, Yoona still managed to hear it.

“Well, I’m fine without a ride,” she shot back with a louder voice, almost shouted because the guy wasn’t paying attention to her anymore.

Then again, the guy looked back at her and chuckled.

“No, I mean, I insist.”

Yoona tried one more time to refuse an offer, even though she was clearly wasting her time. She waved her hand and shook her head, meaning to say “no”, trying not to be bluffed by the guy’s insincerity.

But the passenger compartment door opened automatically; Yoona decided to be fooled this time. “Where’s frigging Jong Woon when I need him?” she mumbled. 

Soon she was in the car, which sped past what used to be a traffic jam in the street. She looked outside the window, trying to think of ways to keep herself composed inside a stranger’s car. Well, there was a way: getting to know the stranger who offered her a ride, but she wasn’t in any mood for it.

There was no exchange of words, no smiles, not even two-way glances. Yoona thought the silence was eerie at first, but soon it had become nothing more than a distraction as they drove along the boulevard. Soon the rain stopped, but Yoona felt from the tiny droplets that fell down the window that it wasn’t over yet.

“We’re almost there.”

The guy turned around to face Yoona, and Yoona turned away from the window to face him, and they met eye to eye; Yoona thought she had suddenly drowned in just a small pail of water. 

“U-um, I, yeah, I guess,” Yoona hesitated, “Hey, wait. You didn’t even ask—“

“Your hotel badge,” he smiled, and Yoona’s heart raced a bit without warning. She looked over her badge and took a while to realize that the name of the hotel was etched just below her name.

“Just for the record, you’re the first person I’ve gone with to work.”

“Oh, lucky you.”

“I know, right.”

Yoona knew it wasn’t time to kid around with some guy, not when she’s head over heels with someone—she made sure she’d only be entering the friendly territory. She kept silent again and looked out the window, just to make sure she’d only be in good terms with the man she thought was a bit obnoxious and insincere, and nothing else. 

“Hey.”

“Hm? Excuse me?”

Yoona kept looking at the blurred images beyond the window and hoped the guy wouldn’t talk again.

“Is it work?”

“What work? I mean, why do you care?”

She saw the guy’s eyes looking at her from the rear view mirror.

“You’re a bit sad, and lonely.”

“Oh, please, enough. I’m happily in a relationship so, please mind your business.”

“That can’t be,” the guy chuckled. “Happy people can only see happy people, and lonely ones can likewise see only their kind.”

Yoona rolled her eyes. She’d been with these people before; one time, there was a taxi driver who asked her to be his girl, and she laughed it all off. There was the kind truck driver whom she had spilled one of her rants at work, and she almost had to call the police to restrain the driver from prying into her personal life again.

She prayed that the stranger was just one of the “car flings” that she had before. And he did keep silent after that, much to Yoona’s relief.

Soon, they reached the hotel. Yoona quickly opened the door and waved her hand at the guy, telling him it had been a nice ride but she isn’t a bit interested in him.

“Wait,” the stranger said, and he walked out of the door as Yoona slightly opened in disbelief.

“You’re working here? But I’ve never seen you around here,” she said. In fact, one look at him—the faded jeans, faded polo shirt with folded sleeves, shoes with faded color—and one would think he was just some stalker or pap hungry for some inside scoop. It gave Yoona the instinct to walk away briskly, thankful that some rich stalking guy hadn’t taken her home and “God-knows-what-he-would’ve-done.”

“Hey, not even a thank you?” She heard the guy chuckle. She had to get away fast, until she couldn’t hear his voice.

“Get away from me!”

“What? Why, I’m not—“

“Just, don’t, come, near, me,” Yoona huffed. 

“I also--”

“Stop following me,” she said in a lower voice, partly because she was tired of walking too fast, and partly because more and more people were showing up at the hotel entrance. For once, she felt sorry she hitched in a ride with some stranger—she probably should’ve called Jong Woon, no matter if he was at work (he’s her boyfriend, for heaven’s sakes), or just waited for the rain to let in.

She slid through the sliding doors and made her way through the bellboys with their luggage carts, the cleaning staff, customers, until she made it to the reception counter.

“Good afternoon, Yoona. You’re a bit late.” A guy in coat and tie greeted her as she walked behind the counter and looked around, relieved to see her “stalker” gone away. Actually, she could forget everything about the creepy car ride and get back to work.

“Got stuck in traffic. And unfortunately, well, things happened,” she explained, her hands rummaging inside her bag for a small towel.

“Whatever that is, you better get your composure back and--” the guy eyed her from head to toe, “Fix yourself. You look like a chick.”

“Of course, I do.” Yoona proudly remarked.

“No, I mean, literally, a baby chicken, without the feathers, wet in the rain on a stormy night.”

Yoona was about to open to retort when a tall guy, also dressed in a coat and tie, approached the desk.

“Afternoon. I’m Choi Siwon, the—“

“Oh, so you’re the new management trainee. I see this must be your first day.”

After finding her towel, Yoona looked up at the “new management trainee” her officemate was talking about, and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“You! You,” she mumbled as Siwon, the management trainee, stalker, and kind stranger, greeted her with another smile. "Honestly, why do you have to follow me all the way here?"

“You met him a while ago?” Yoona’s fellow receptionist nudged her on the shoulder.

“I believe we did meet,” Siwon replied. He momentarily stared at Yoona, and Yoona felt a bit disoriented, because it was something that even girls with boyfriends would fall for.

“But I think I have to formally introduce myself. I’m Choi Siwon, the new management trainee in this hotel.”

He held out his hand to her, but she walked away, cautious, embarrassed and upset, and she wished she could give him the screw-off sign she held out at the makeshift bus stop. 

“I’m fixing myself.”

If that meant thinking of Jong Woon while she applied her make-up and tied her hair to a bun, then yes, she had to fix herself that way. 

Before closing the door, she peeped to look at Siwon again, trying to see what he would be aside from being a creeper that he was to her. Suddenly, Siwon was able to look at her direction, and she was almost caught off-guard when she quickly closed the door to the staff room.

She leaned her back against the door and sighed, realizing that she’d be “fixing herself” more often than the usual. 


---


Yuri stood in front of that glass door, confused, angry, and frustrated. Behind her smoky sunglasses, Yuri shot a glare at the sample pictures posted in the large glass display windows of the photo store, keeping an eye on them, making sure she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of him.

She couldn’t believe her boss, and she couldn’t believe her best friend. Worse, she couldn’t believe herself for turning up at ten in the morning for an appointment with him. Actually, it wasn’t an appointment, but he would have to deal with her no matter what.

Yuri’s phone rang, and she looked around her and endured the prying eyes of bystanders and passersby before picking up the call.

“How’s it going girl?”

Jessica’s jolly kind of voice didn’t do much to relieve Yuri of her worries—in fact, it made her feeling worse.

“You’re dead when I get back there.”

“Well, I hope you don’t die before three in the afternoon. Your boss told me to check on you. Talked to him already?”

Yuri heaved a sigh.

“No. God, I’m stuck here for half an hour already!”

“Where?”

“Obviously, I’m here in front of the photo store.”

“You can’t be in the wrong store, right?”

Yuri made a step forward, then walked back to where she used to stand thirty minutes ago. She wished she was in the wrong store. She paused and hoped her silence meant anything to Jessica.

“Go for it.”

“You know what, I hate you.”

“Don’t. You’d have to thank me. I saved your from the load of work you were supposed to do.”

“Why do you have to send me here?”

“Because, you’re the one looking for a graphic designer, duh?”

“Can’t we just go over the resumes again?”

A beep sounded, and Yuri realized that Jessica had hung up on her, not even wishing her “Good luck” or telling her “You can do it”. Then again, Yuri wasn’t fond of acknowledging those things because to her, it was the same as whining—the positive one—they distract you and keep you from solving problems the other way around.

Yuri sighed again and tapped her heels on the concrete floor to shake off her worries. She held her breath as she swung the door to the photo store, mumbling a prayer that he wouldn’t come out in front of her that soon. 

From one corner of the room she saw customers sitting on the bench, patiently waiting for their pictures, rolls of film, their loved ones being taken a snapshot of at the cramped studio. Just beside her were customers—probably bystanders—leaning on the glass cabinets, marveling at the digital cameras and film boxes displayed and wrinkling their foreheads on the prices.

“Good morning, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

Yuri shifted her gaze towards the counter. A guy slightly shorter than she was greeted her with a toothy smile, and she removed her shades to properly talk to him.

“Um, I’m looking for your graphics editor. I have something important to discuss with him.”

“And who might you be, milady?”

“Just some,” Yuri stuttered, “Some, friend, from some company--”

She couldn’t talk much about herself, not only because she was nervous, but she was afraid of what Jong Woon would think when his friend from God-knows-when suddenly showed up at the store to offer him another job at the same old ruddy advertising company.

The guy shot her an inquiring look, the kind that people wore before calling security. Yuri didn’t think it was a good sign, so she cleared and decided to formally introduce herself to him. 

To hell with her "what if’s".

“I’m Ms. Kwon Yuri, promotions and marketing assistant for Static Screen advertising, and I would like to talk to Mr. Kim Jong Woon regarding some important matter.”

“Are you his girlfriend?”

Yuri swung her head and laughed airily at the guy, trying to make it sound like some dirty joke. The guy followed until they were in a tiny reverie of laughter—the guy meaning to laugh for real and Yuri meaning to slap him for laughing with her—until someone from behind the curtain walked out and stood in front of them.

“I already have one,” Jong Woon said wryly with a grin, walking towards the slowly hushed people in front of him.

“And it’s not her.”

Yuri froze at her spot, wide-eyed, and suddenly, her composure, pride, everything that had to do with the walls set around her heart, broke down. With Jong Woon just a few feet away from her, she was a puppy waiting to be kicked out.

“Hey, Yul. What’s up?” Jong Woon grinned at her again, and Yuri didn’t know if he was happy to see her or not.

“Ah, um, nothing,” she mumbled softly, cursing herself for being a whole different person poorly putting up a strong front at him, “Still the same, oppa. How about you?”

Yuri winced inwardly as Jong Woon patted the other guy on the back and told him to go back to work. She didn’t need to ask how he was—despite the fact that, yeah, he’s already taken and that he had a new job with new people around him, he still looked the same, smiled the same way, acted the same way whenever she was around.

It’s been two damned years since their poor-ended conversation, and all Yuri could do was tell him she was still the same. There could have been more about how she did at work, or how she is with guys around, but none of that came out of her lips. Thing is, she was more concerned with how he was and she didn’t know why.

“Where were we?”

“How about you, are you doing well here?”

“I could never be happier,” Jong Woon said. Yuri didn’t know if that was sardonic. But somehow she was a bit relieved to hear that from him. She took out a sheet of paper and pen and began to converse with him as if she was okay seeing him again after two years.

“Oh, great. Well, anyway, I was going to ask you something, oppa, and this is nothing personal so you don’t have to worry.”

Jong Woon raised a brow.

“How about—“

Yuri looked down and breathed deeply. She was clearly hesitating to offer Jong Woon a job, partly because he might cause another trouble at the office again, but mostly because it meant she was going to work with him again, which was another story. Then again, Jessica was right: she had to learn grow up and out of her feelings—whatever they meant.

“How about,” Yuri spoke again, her eyes still rooted to the marble floor, “Working at Static Screen again?”

Yuri expected a quick, violent reaction from Jong Woon. The guy, on the other hand, frowned and shook his head.

“No.”

It was a bit of reprieve, and a bit of pressure, because Yuri barely had days left before her big break at a company event. She wasn’t really that good at persuasion, not when it came to luring former employees to their former jobs, but she struggled to use what was left of her will to hire a graphic designer and spoke to Jong Woon in a firmer voice.

“Please, oppa. We’re in need of it. I think—“ 

Yuri didn’t mind a word vomit, not when she’s a bit desperate for the wrong reasons.

“I think you’re the best man we can get for the company event I’m setting up, because you think out of the box, you have great concepts, and you, you’re just—“ Yuri then sighed, looking up at Jong Woon, whose face expression didn’t still change.

“You’re a great graphic designer.”

“I’m not buying it, Yuri. I’m sorry.” Jong Woon replied. “I can’t go back to Static Screen. Besides, I’m happy here.”

In a way, Jong Woon was right, though it was something Yuri feared he would say to her. 

“You sure? Because people there are itching to have you back, you know. Remember Jessica? She’s the one who told me you were the best among the twenty people out there—“

Jong Woon’s snigger interrupted Yuri’s line of thought, and she paused, looking around her for some lifeline to save her from her shame.

“I’ve quit my job there, and I still stand by my decision. I’ve made mistakes, and I’m not going through those mistakes again.”

She couldn’t say it wasn’t his fault, because she had in the first place condemned him for it.

“We’ll give you a higher salary,” Yuri said, “And there’s a set of benefits, loan offers, and other privileges you’d enjoy. I think you’ll do well with them.”

They both knew that there are things that couldn’t buy trust, though. Jong Woon balled his hand into a fist on the counter, and Yuri grabbed her shades from her bag, meaning to leave.

“Ah, Yuri. Still not good at persuading people, eh?”

Yuri laughed, more at herself. Then she frowned, realizing what that statement meant.

“I can’t, Yul. I’m not strong enough to start over,” Jong Woon said apologetically, because he’d rather do it by shouting—if he wasn’t such a good friend. Why can’t he just be a man for once? She thought.

“Again, I’m sorry if I kept you waiting here. But I can’t take the job offer,” Jong Woon said, “It was nice seeing you, anyway. Whew, it’s been two years.”

Yuri nodded silently, though deep inside she couldn’t believe how he could be seemingly unmoved by the situation. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She didn’t want another rusty argument with him—she was tired of ruining a tainted friendship.

“I understand, oppa. I’m—“

I’m sorry.

“I’m leaving.”

Yuri would’ve put up a fight with him and lay more sensible arguments on his table just like what she did at work or anywhere else where she needed to. Instead she put her shades back again and headed for the glass door with slow, sure steps. She didn’t want to look back at Jong Woon. As she opened the door out, she pondered over their conversation a while ago and thought that it wasn’t fruitful at all—just a couple of nitty-gritty sentences which ended up in vain. 

She fumbled for her phone and put her boss’ number on display, then Jessica’s number, rehearsing lines and words which pointed out that it wasn’t her who was rejected but the company itself. 

In truth, she wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with Jong Woon rejecting her job offer. Unlike him, she wasn’t the type of girl people would say “no” to; hence, Jong Woon’s humble refusal was like a slap on her face. 

“So that’s how it feels like.”

It was exactly the same moment she realized that the unknown feeling in her gut was that of guilt and nothing else. 
It was also the time she decided to mend a broken friendship; problem is, she didn’t know where to start anymore.

It pretty much explained why Yuri was almost run over by a car in an attempt to cross the street.


---


It was the time of the day when Jessica didn’t like to be disturbed. Her eyes were glued to the computer screen, and her fingers incessantly tapped the keyboard as lines, paragraphs, sections to the human resource report she was writing on were starting to stitch up together.

But, of course, being a patient worker that she was, Jessica entertained phone calls, papers for signature, cups of coffee, or a nice chat from her officemates. All of that, she could do, despite a report that was due the next day.

Then, out of nowhere, someone had called her from the Interpol. It wasn’t the first, but it was a rare occasion nonetheless—Jessica had been there, done that, when she was called because of some accounting trouble. 

Jessica rubbed her temples with her fingers. Did the voice mean there’s going to be another trouble?

“Jessica, I think that’s you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She calmly stood up from the cubicle and walked out of the office and towards the elevator. The funny thing, which was more like a moment of suspense, was when Jessica failed to realize that she’d been crossing her fingers from the nineteenth floor to the ground floor of the office building.

As she strode off closer and closer to the information booth, Jessica’s heart raced even faster. She couldn’t see her boss, or any other of the executives, but it didn’t mean the coast was clear and she could breathe again easily.

“Hey, Jessica!”

A tall figure soon appeared from the booth, and a few more steps closer, Jessica could see someone familiar. Awfully familiar.

“What the—what are you doing here?!”

It was Donghae, and Jessica was about to call security after recalling the afternoon that he stole her train pass and perhaps her wallet, when the guy showed her a long, brown purse.

It was her wallet.

“How could you, after robbing me of my pass at the train station?” Jessica took her time to ignore it, and looked over Donghae’s faults instead.

Donghae scratched his head and smiled apologetically. “I meant to return it to you.”

“I wasn’t in the mood for fooling around at that time. And now, you have the nerve to show up?”

But Jessica was absolutely in the mood to get to know Donghae at the train station, and by the sound of her voice, it was obvious she didn’t know how to get mad.

Well, she knew how to, but with Donghae around, she learned to forget all about it.

“I’m sorry,” Donghae said, “I mean, I wasn’t kidding, I had to come home fast because—but no matter. I was about to step into the train when I changed my mind, and I had to run back through the gates. Then I found this and—“

“That’s mine,” Jessica quickly grabbed the purse from Donghae. “I’m really surprised you have to come back to bring this. But anyway, thank you, and please don’t do this again.”

She walked away and pried into the folds of her wallet, not knowing what she really was saying to him, which is why she had to hurry back to her cubicle before Donghae pulled more tricks up his sleeve.

“Oh!”

Jessica turned to one corner of the building and saw a the Xerox copy machine spit out what looked like bundles of paper and toner. To her, it wasn’t a surprise; she used the same damned machine for a year when she was still in the accounting department. 

Donghae, on the other hand, ran towards the machine and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

“I can handle this,” he said coolly. Jessica raised a brow, but she followed Donghae anyway. “It’s been years. 
There’s nothing you can do,” she said.

She was standing there, a few meters away from Donghae, as he suddenly became a boss in his own right. He unplugged the machine and asked for the mechanic, the supplies personnel, the toolbox that people thought was obsolete. But Donghae knew that there was something he could do—he twitched the wires here, turned the screws tight there, and removed junked sheets of paper and toner ink from the rollers of the machine.

Jessica watched him for half an hour, having completely forgotten that she still had a deadline to catch up the next day. At last, the guy closed the compartments of the machine and turned it on. 

“Try it,” he spoke. “It will be as good as new.”

And it did, because for the next few hours, perhaps until it breathes its last breath, the copying machine would work perfectly well. Donghae earned warmth of applause from the people in the accounting department.

“I think that spares you from the divine punishment of stealing my train pass,” Jessica interrupted. “Thank you.”

Donghae grinned as he wiped sweat off his forehead. “Then I think I’ll have to do that again and again.”

“So you really want to end up in jail, do you?”

“No, I guess I want to stay longer here,” Donghae replied.

“For a job?”

“No.” he chuckled.

That afternoon, Jessica resumed her work of figures and sheets of paper, typing in front of the screen, not wanting to be disturbed, shooing away offers of coffee or tea—anything to keep her from thinking about what Donghae really meant.

“Excuse me, Jessica?”

Someone did keep her from thinking of the meeting that ensued earlier.

“May I help you?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on the numbers in the monitor. She paid little attention to the guy who stood just outside her cubicle. 

The newbie—yes, but no, he wasn’t, because he’d been there before—tapped his fingers on the wall of Jessica’s cubicle, straightened out the collar of his shirt, finally did away with the funny uniform and the job he suddenly let go later that day, and he said:

“You said I was better than the twenty people you called ‘out there’, right?”

Jessica thought she saw a ghost, but Kim Jong Woon was there, alive, well, and perhaps ready to work at Static Screen again after two years.