February 24, 2011

Arriving the restaurant, Sehun audibly sighs with exasperation like a little boy ready to throw a tantrum. “Must I do this?” He snaps, closing the car door behind him. Arriving home from work earlier this evening, he had planned to devote the rest of the night for leisurely purposes: to read a chapter or two of 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami, to fix himself a healthy meal and to catch up on a few episodes of the series Game of Thrones before sleeping. For a while, everything went according to plan. Until of course, his phone rang. And just like that, here he was, wearing one of his best suits and standing before a fancy restaurant.

“I promised your mother I’d handle it,” Chanyeol sibilates. Ever since the incident, he had noticed the brusque changes in his friend. Sehun used to be so tolerant, so calm. Now he couldn’t stand long waits or aggravating people, his temper ill most of the time. Sehun used to drink once or twice a year in a bar nobody goes to. Now he was bar hopping almost every weekend, laying waste to Gangnam’s commercial district just a few days ago. Sehun used to be amazing at his job. Now he works as the department head for his father’s company, turning his back on his firm and unutterable love for justice and law.

The changes are extremely alarming that the man had been more than tempted to confront his friend about it. But so far, he’d been too much of a coward to see it through, thinking it’s an initial reaction to Jongin’s death. “A coping process”, he would tell himself. He knew how much Jongin meant to Sehun, knew how far they go back. So for now, while he attempts to help him back on his feet, Chanyeol waits for a more opportune time.

“Why do you even talk to my mother?” Sehun asks, his face twisting in question, his mind automatically imagining an idle Chanyeol flicking through paperwork and sipping from his Earl Grey while chatting with dear ‘ol mom over the phone, exchanging information—or maybe even plotting behind his back. He gracefully traipses into the building, a hand tucked into his pocket while the giant handed his keys to the valet. The man keeps an icy expression, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the dining crowd, trying to spot his mother and –

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