#Anyway this is a continuation of another sketchy drawing I made a few months ago | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dibidibifiction · 4 years ago

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A Hundred-dollar Bill: PART 1

Warning: foul language Word count: 1.5k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

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“Mmm, Y/n, these are delicious!” Kibum exclaims as he takes one more full bite of my homemade triple chocolate cookies.

“Hand me one!” Taemin says, concentrating on the television screen where he and Minho are playing PS4.

“I'm really glad you like it. I’ve always loved baking,” I say to Kibum while joining him on Minho’s bed, ignoring Taemin. “This is actually my first time baking again ever since after my mom passed long ago. If you want I could—”

“Yeah!” Minho roars in the middle of his basement bedroom, making me jump. “I won, motherfucker!”

“I guess you're happy now?” Taemin mocks him while throwing the controller on the couch. Minho doesn’t ever let it go every time he loses a game. He would force his opponent to play more of FIFA 18 with him until he finally wins.

Minho continues to yell victoriously while he runs around the room with both of his hands in the air like an Olympic champion. He proceeds to Kibum and I on the bed. He jumps, and lands on us belly first.

“Ah!” I shriek in cramping pain, his boney hips hitting my thigh. “What the hell!”

Kibum, who doesn’t even look up from his phone, scrunches his forehead in irritation. “Hey, get off!”

While Minho annoys us even more by moving all his limbs like he’s swimming, together with his contagious high-pitched laugh, an idea comes to mind. With all the strength I have, I heavily climb on top of him, sitting on his butt to pin him down. I avenge, starting to poke and scratch his sides up and down.

“Shit, no!” Now laughing even louder because of the tickling, he suddenly draws his whole heavy body to roll to the side, making me crash onto Kibum’s shin. Now he’s the one pinning me down. Before I know it, Taemin jumps in and starts tickling me with his fingers, switching back and forth my neck and my stomach. It’s like they planned to destroy me.

“What did I ever do to you, Taemin!” I scream at him breathlessly, shaking my whole body in a struggle to escape the boys’ strong grasp.

“Hey! Would you guys stop that?” Kibum, the one who bitches the most, shakes up from the bed and transfers to the sofa where the other two boys were playing video games. “Why am I even friends with you?” he complains, taking another one of my cookies from their box on the side table.

Minho and Taemin stop what they’re doing. Breathless but are still laughing at me.

I’m finally free, exhausted from their physical bullying. I look like I’ve just had rough sex and got all fucked up in bed. “He’s right. Why am I even friends with you?” I sulk. I am sick of always being the weakest target. I blow my messed up hair away from my face as I get up and follow Kibum to the couch. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. “Kibum, save me.”

“That’s on you, babe. That’s what you get from bringing us all together in the first place,” he says, as sassy as ever.

Oh, right. I did introduce them to one another. I met them all separately. In different places and different times, but all in the same year. Two years ago.

I first encountered Kibum on Instagram. I followed him and commented on his IGTV about easy outfit hacks. It’s from him where I learned how to cut my jeans stylishly when they’re too long, or turn old clothes into good-as-new ones. He is brilliant. I even sent him a private message to tell him that, and we ended up hitting it on.

A few days after that, I ran into him on the streets of the city. I’m genuinely surprised that he recognized me, chatted me up and practically forced me to have lunch with him. He fell comfortable with me that same day and blurted out all his frustrations about being stuck in life. He had been wanting to go to fashion school but money was too tight and the influencing career wasn’t really working. I was weirded out at first since I’m not really good at making friends. But this guy appreciated me instantly just because of my comment on his post. I don’t get that a lot. He said that I was only one of the few who constantly followed him and actually cared. Plus, I was the only one who's close by.

He’s been doing Instagram for years but his audience had grown too slowly, which I didn’t understand. Kibum’s work was absolutely impressive and effective.

We had been having dinner at the same café, where we had lunch for the first time, almost every evening since then. We just connected.

Taemin used to be a famous pop singer but his career fucked up because of rumors gone wrong about him using drugs to appear happy and funny in reality shows.

It was a late night, just around two months after I met Kibum, a man with bleach blond hair in a dark hoodie bumped into me for running from men with huge cameras. In my attempt to help out, I ran after him and pulled him up into an alley where he’d be hardly seen. However, my plan failed and he started to panic. When the paparazzi was gaining on us, I started panicking as well. So without extra thinking, I pushed him onto the wall and made out with him. That way, they’d be too uncomfortable to even look and just puzzledly proceed to different directions.

Taemin stayed on my couch that same night and disappeared the next morning. On my way home from work a few days later, he randomly approached me to borrow money for some errands—which I did lend him—and offered to pay triple. I immediately and strongly declined that payment. Instead, I asked him to have dinner with me and Kibum at the café.

We, including Taemin himself, expected that he’d just eat with us only for a few days, but he figured it was a safe place where almost no one crazy could recognize him and chase after him, especially when he dyed his hair back to its natural color.

Since then, I’ve got two best friends by my side.

Minho is the son of my boss—well, former boss—who is the CEO of the company I worked for, which he’d soon inherit. He hated the company. Hell, he hated his father. So did I, which is why I quit just recently.

Minho and I bonded over cigarette breaks every four P.M., right before my work hours ended. I’d then head to the café to meet up with Kibum and Taemin.

One afternoon, he just invited himself to join us since he claimed that he had nowhere else to go.

Just then, our little group stopped growing in numbers and started growing something tight and unbreakable. We would learn about each other’s hardships and be there for one another. We would celebrate every little achievement. The bond that we had was just very natural and unexpected. Some of us had fights but they were never too serious and we would realize that our friendship is always bigger than anything. We are the broken pieces that are mended together by one another.

“Hey, here’s an idea,” I announce to no one in particular after a moment of silence.

“I hope it’s not another sketchy party like last time,” Kibum grumbles. He is laying on the sofa, using my lap as his pillow.

“I heard the family I used to babysit for is going away for the weekend. What do you guys say?”

I sigh when nobody says anything. “They have a pool. So…” I trail off, waiting for somebody to be excited as I am.

“There’s no way I’m breaking and entering someone else’s house,” Minho blurts out.

“We’re not breaking anything, we’re just entering,” I shrug.

“Yeah, Hyung. Stop being a wuss,” Taemin pats Minho’s back once. “I’m in! There’s no reputation to ruin anyway,” he shrugs as he walks towards the couch and sits under Kibum’s feet, taking my side.

I turn to Kibum, who is biting dead skin off his nails, pretending not to hear us. “Fine!” he rolls his eyes as he sits up. “I’m in too. Just for one night, right? We’re not staying there the entire weekend. My life is fucked up enough. I’m not going to jail.”

“Yes!” Taemin and I high five. We three then look to Minho. We are not taking no for an answer.

“Oh, what the hell,” he gives in. I love that he doesn't need much convincing. He stands up, and runs towards us. Once again, he flops his wings, jumps, and touches down on all three of us.

There was loud laughter, which I always love experiencing with these people. Next thing I know is we are group hugging.

“So, when do we go?” Minho asks when he pulls away.

I smile cockily. “Tonight.”

PART 2

#shinee #shinee fanfic #taemin fanfic #SHINee fanfiction #taemin x reader

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oh-so-scenarios · 5 years ago

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Loose Ends | one

⇢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʟᴀsᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴍᴘʀᴇssɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ...ᴛᴏᴏ ʙᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ sᴛɪᴄᴋ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀᴜsᴇᴅ.

⇢ᴄᴇᴏ! ᴋɪᴍ ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ x ᴀᴅᴍɪɴ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴛ! ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇx-ғɪᴀɴᴄᴇs!ᴀᴜ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇsᴛᴏʟᴏᴠᴇʀs

A/N: This one jumps right into things. First chapter is a bit...meh. but we gotta lay down the foundations first right? Not edited! (Word Count: 5K) Is this

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PRESENT

Y/N:

Egotistical. Cold. Detached. Aloof. Inconsiderate. Narrow-Minded. Rigid. Narcissistic. All negative personality traits you could think of. Throw some more out there. Unfriendly, Greedy and more. All those words could describe my bosses. My past bosses and probably my future bosses.

I’ve looked into the eyes of the coldest and most unbending people in the business industry. I stared them down, pulled a tight smile and flutter my eyelashes while speaking in a calm tone. That is my job. That is my career. Though I have only been doing this for 3 years, I live for it.

Secretary, CEO’s assistant, Executive Assistant; there are many names for what I do. Call it what you will, I make sure important people know what they have planned for the day. I make sure they don’t fall apart and they do what is required of them

I am the most requested worker from Trim Line, the hiring agency I work for. My contracts never exceed 6 months; I come in to fix things up, find and train a new secretary and see myself out. I’ve declined too many long term offers and though it’d be more stable to stay in one place ...I don’t want to.

“Accept it.” Ms. Kwon said. I glanced up from the open folder that laid on my desk. I looked back down and bit my lip. She stood in front of my smaller desk with her arms crossed. Her amber-brown hair was resting on her shoulders. She’d just cut it short a few days ago. It made her appear to be younger. Her face was lacking wrinkles and though she was 54 she looked no older than 35. She often brags about her skin routine, the one she refuses to share with anyone.

Everyone has come to the conclusion that it’s some expensive serum we couldn’t afford anyway.

Ms. Kwon is the CEO of Trim Line. she started the company 23 years ago and has been growing since. Trim Line provides qualified Lawyers, accounts, Secretaries and more. I am simply a secretary. I have refused all her offer to be trained in a different department. She believes I am limiting myself, but that’s fine with me.

My hard work over the last 3 years has made Ms. Kwon draw me under her wing. She often checks on me, and always recommends me to potential clients. I’m thankful for her support and the support of the company. I tell everyone that Trim Line is just the place to work if you have the skills but can’t seem to find a job.

Just be able to speak Korean and that’s enough. It doesn’t matter your gender or race, Trim Line will find work for you. The company was founded in South Korea but locations have been opened in Japan, China, and Taiwan. The growth of the company is something Ms. Kwon takes pride in. Her eyes twinkle and her chin raises up while she puts a hand over her heart.

She has a hard time believing she’s come so far. That’s why I appreciate her.

“It’s 8 months,” I answer, speaking like that statement justified my answer. She places a hand on my desk and leans on it a bit. She narrows her eyes and cocks her head.

“I don’t know why you keep battling me on this Y/n. Take the offer. The pay is good, the ability to network is there as well. It’s just two months longer than your regular contracts. I don’t see the problem.” She argues, glancing down at the folder again.

I sighed and leaned back in my seat, “This offer is...sketchy.” I always speak with her honestly.

“Everyone knows KM Publishing. They are on top of the world right now. All the books that come out of there are best sellers. Published in Korea, then translated for many countries. They practically came out of nowhere and took over the publishing industry.” I said.

Ms. Kwon took her hand off the desk and held her arms open as if her point was made, “Aren’t you supposed to be arguing against me, Y/n? Everything you said is correct! It’s a wonderful opportunity.”

I shook my head, “You know what else is correct, Ms. Kwon?”

Her eyes shift around the room as if waiting for someone else to answer. She shakes her head and shrugs. There was something childish about the action and I almost laughed at how childlike she looked at that moment.

“There isn’t much known about the CEO, but what is known--”

“--Yes, yes! I’ve heard it!” Ms. Kwon cuts me off, “I heard he’s awful.”

“Correction, he’s the worst,” I added sharply, “and it was Mina who said that! Mina, of all people!”

Mina is a co-worker of mine. She does her job well and isn’t a pushover. However, I remember hearing her experience with Mr. Kim of Moonchild Publishing. She met him in passing when working on as a lawyer for a smaller publisher.

“His aura is terrifying.” She’d said.

“He didn’t say a word but the look in his eyes was so demeaning. Like a father that sees his child as a failure.”

Mina looks for the best in people. She’s someone who has worked for some rude people but I’ve never heard her speak negatively of a person, let alone call some terrifying.

“But you’re tougher than Mina! That’s why I brought this offer to you!”

“How is anyone gonna improve if you bring all the tough jobs to me?” I muttered under my breath. I crossed my arms over my chest and almost glowered at Ms. Kwon. She brushed off my irate gaze and continued with her lecture.

“This isn’t one for someone who wants to grow Y/n. I need someone who is qualified and can deal with whatever stuck up, arrogant man is thrown her way. That’s you.” She points her manicured finger at me, before wagging it around the office.

“No one in this office has been able to work under such pressure. You’re the only secretary Mr. Jeon, CEO of JJK IT, hasn’t made cry.” She reminds me.

Oh right, Mr. Jeon. A young man whose brilliant idea brought him to a high status of power. The way his company has been overtaking the IT world is alarming. It makes me wonder just when it’ll become too close to a monopoly, because the short 3 months I was there showed the young man’s desire to expand.

His attitude was...condescending. He walked about looking down on those around him. He was the King and we were the lowly help. He was one of the most talkative CEOs I’ve worked for. He’d often grin at me, while his eyes racked up and down my body.

I never mentioned his attempting to wine and dine me to Ms. Kwon. He felt no shame in letting me know he was interested. Ugh. The more that I think about it, the more I realized how much I disliked Mr. Jeon.

Mixing personal desires into work is so unprofessional. I lost some respect for him, but there wasn’t much in the first place.

I pick up one of the papers from the folder and scanned it, finding what I wanted.

“Who put in the offer to the company? He did?” I ask, pressing my lips into a tight line.

“The Chairman of the company did. They need someone who can keep up with the CEO’s demands and fast-paced workday.” She explained. She peeks over at the paper in my head, her gaze flickering between my unmoving face and the printed words.

“The pay is exceptional.” She pokes at me.

I chuckle, “Ms. Kwon,” I almost sang in a warning manner.

“I want you to accept this offer Y/n. It’s not only good for you but also for the company. Moonchild Publishing has connections with production companies. You know a lot of their novels are being made into movies. In the 23 years of building Trim Line with my bare hands,” She pauses and sighs.

I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Here she goes!

“...I haven’t been able to break into the film world. Imagine if we Trim Line could provide agents, writers, and even graphic designers! This may be the step I need to get my foot into the door.” She pouts, fluttering her long eyelashes.

“Y/n, take the job ...for me.”

I close the folder and give Ms. Kwon an apologetic look, “I’m not taking the job.”

I TOOK THE damn job offer. Why! Why! Why?! It was probably Ms. Kwon’s begging. The way that a grown woman would follow me around the office with a sad look in her eyes for the last week. Sighing loudly in my presence and muttering sad phrases to herself, but of course loud enough for me to hear.

She was being over-dramatic, saying stuff like I was opening a massive door for her. The future and growth of the company were sitting on my shoulders.

No pressure!

Ugh, I just gave in, finding that my co-workers were pushing me to take the job. They didn’t want the offer pushed their way if Ms. Kwon got desperate. She’d result in sending someone who could at least manage with Mr. Kim or KM as he often goes by.

That’s how I found myself standing in the large elevator that had a gold interior. The elevator moved fast, taking me up to the 23rd floor where Mr. Kim would be found. I leaned against the wall, looking at the box of my things in that white office box I’d used too frequently. I looked down at my outfit, wondering what to wear tomorrow. My red flare pants came a bit higher up on me, like high rise jeans. I had on a plain black blouse with a black blazer.

My heels were a dull white but were concealed by the flare of my pants. My nails were nicely due, but not long enough to get in the way of my work. My hair was slicked back into a well put together ponytail. I kept the accessories to a minimum.

Another adventure is beginning. An 8-month adventure. This isn’t anything new to me. I was ready to come in and do my work. I know I am amazed at my job and no one can tell me otherwise. There were no butterflies, not nervous or worries. I am not here to befriend anyone or become the CEO’s favorite. I know my place and my purpose.

The elevator pings before the doors open to reveal a white hallway with a grey granite floor. The ceiling was lined with gold and the walls were so white I’d be afraid to touch there no matter how clean my hands were.

I picked up my book and stepped out of the elevator. I walked to my right because the left was a dead end. My heels clicked and echoed through the hall. Anyone would think it was vacant on this floor. The hallways were so wide, it made you feel small.

I turned the corner and could faintly hear the sound of a buzzing office. The sound of paper shuffling, keyboards clicking, and small conversation. I kept walking and saw a foggy glass door in front of me.

“Oh!” A small voice said. I turned my head to see a girl sitting at a large white desk. She stood up, giving me a full view of her small frame. I was so focused ahead that I hadn’t noticed the two items on either side of me. The desk where the quiet girl stood and across from her desk, two wooden double doors.

I looked forward again, staring at the fogging glass door that was on the wall adjacent to the wooden double doors.

“Ms. L/n?” The young woman said. I turned my head to look at her again, finally giving her my full attention. I walked towards the desk, showing her a small smile.

“So you already know of my arrival?” I ask, and follow it with a small giggle. I walk around so I’m behind the long white desk. There are two seats and two computers, on which the young woman was occupying.

“I’m Sana.” She stretches her arm out as I set my box on the floor beside what I presumed to be my seat. Her hair was so silky straight, I’d thought it was a wig. I shook her hand swiftly gently before bending down to take the top off my box. I started taking out the all-new planner I’d bought, as I always do with a new contract. I took out some folders and took out my phone that I’d carelessly thrown into the box.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Sana says, trying to stop the silence. I didn’t find the silence awkward, and frankly, I didn’t feel the need to speak to her. I don’t start my first day going around the office and learning everyone’s names.

I did at first, but I’d notice the friendships I made at each office would die over time.

“I heard you’re a pro at these types of things.” She kept talking even though I didn’t reply. Ugh, I already know what type of co-worker she will be.

“Mr. Kim--” I cut her off.

“--is in a meeting, I know,” I said, before digging through the box again. Sana must have forgotten I’d already asked her to email me Mr. Kim’s schedule two days ago. I already know what’s on the agenda for the next week, which leaves me prepared.

I kept rummaging through the box until I made it to the bottom where my ID badge was. I put it on over my head and kicked the box under the desk. I took a deep breath before plopping down in my seat.

I laid my hands on the desk and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath in and out. When I opened my eyes Sana was peering at me with her brows furrowed.

I opened up the new planner I had bought and was already filled with Mr. Kim’s schedule.

“Oh wow!” Sana gasped from beside me. She moved her chair closer, it is easier since there were wheels on both our chairs.

She stared at my planner, reading over everything, “You really are a pro at this!” The tone in her voice shows that she was doubtful. The way her eyes shined at my organization was kind of cute. She smiled widely as she looked at my face.

“I am so glad you’re here. I could tell Mr. Kim was getting frustrated with me.” She relaxed in her seat, her shoulders dropping in dejection.

I raised an eyebrow at her, “What exactly is your job? I didn’t know Mr. Kim had another secretary?”

She straightens up and puts both hands up. She shakes her head and hands in a ‘no’ fashion.

“I am not a secretary by any means.” She laughs awkwardly, “I am merely the receptionist. When clients come for appointments or authors come for interviews, I show them their way. I make appointments, I restock the staplers…” She trails off as if hearing herself and regretting her words.

“I just mean that I don’t have to deal with anything pertaining to Mr. Kim.” She says softly.

I nod and look back at the schedule, “The previous secretary?”

“Her last day was a few days ago, so I was attempting to handle Mr. Kim’s stuff. He was getting frustrated because my abilities were limited.” She pouted and turned her chair to face the front again.

I only nodded in response before taking my planner and rising from my seat. Sana watched me in curiosity, the question written all over her face. She was wondering where I was going. She probably didn’t want to face Mr. Kim along when he got back from his meeting.

As I pushed the heavy glass door open with my hip, I remember that I didn’t ask what Mr. Kim’s first name was. He goes by KM and a few said he accepts Kim J at times. But what is his first name? I didn’t do too much research on Mr. Kim as a person, cause that shouldn’t matter much.

I did more research into the company and its functions. Did I even look up a picture? I don’t remember. I’ve done this too many times to waste the effort of such trivial things. I stood in the middle of a big room with different cubicles and desks, people seated at all of them. Only some people noticed my presence, stopping to size me. The stares of the women turning sour and the men ogling.

My eyes move around the office, avoiding eye contact with any of those who were watching me. I finally notice the names of each employee on their desks and outside of their cubicle.

“Mr. Min,” I muttered looking back down at the planner. Mr. Min is supposed to have a sales report for the latest release. Mr. Kim will review it then proceed on the restock of the book. I started walking through the office, noticing the floor was carpet when I didn’t hear my heels clicking.

I walked past desks and wandering gazes to I came to the name I wanted to see.

‘Mr. Min -- Accountant” My joy was short-lived as I noticed the desk empty. My mouth fell into a frown and I looked around the office, checking if maybe he’d left his desk for only a moment. I was about to turn around to leave when I spotted a packet of paper on the further right corner of the desk. I stepped closer, noticing a pale blue sticky note with a message written.

Completed Sales Report for new Secretary. I smiled to myself, scooping up the packet and spinning around on my heels. I started out the way I came.

“Are you the new secretary?” Someone called out. My footsteps slowed to a stop and the office felt a lot quieter than before.

I spun towards the voice to notice a man in a white dress shirt with black slacks. He stood not too far from me. His hands were in his pocket while his eyes studied me. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek and his gaze was hot on me.

I stared back at him, bored. Ugh, at least try to not be oblivious.

“Yes, I am.” I hold the packet and the planner close to my chest. I take note of the other employees tuning in.

“I have to admit,” He smirks, “You’re the cutest one by far.” I scoff at the comment.

“That's what you stopped me for?” I ask, “How disappointing. If you’ll excuse me.”

“You seem so sure of yourself.” He calls out again, his tone harsher this time. I only took one step and stopped. I turn to face him again, listening as he continued his insults.

“I give you...a month.” He says, turning to his co-workers who giggled in agreement.

I look over my shoulder, “Give me 8 months instead. That’s how long my contract is.” I turn to face him again, looking him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.

“Maybe the reason it’s so hard working for Mr. Kim because rather than focus on your work, you’re standing here eyeing me so intensely that I just might have to call HR.” The light and kind tone I used made the man’s confident smile drop, for it took him a moment to process my retort.

“It’s 10 am, I’ve only been here for such a short time. At least let me have lunch before you start your, what I am guessing is frequent, harassment.” The open mouths of those in the office weren’t of the only shock but of laughter. Some were clearly stunned by my words while others tried to keep their chuckles low.

I didn’t stay to watch the man gather his thoughts in an effort of a rebuttal. I had already wasted too much time. I headed towards that same glass door, pushing it open with my hip as I’d done before. Sana only looked up from the computer screen to acknowledge me. I walked right to the double doors.

“Is he back?” I asked over my shoulder. I could barely see Sana shake her head no. I made my way into the office, not spending too much time on the decor. I was too focused on my thoughts. The details of the rest of the day playing in my head.

I want everything to go smoothly. I place the packet on the walnut wood desk, peeling off the sticky note in the process.

I spend the next 30 minutes out at my desk with Sana. I’m making arrangements for dinner Mr. Kim suddenly emailed me about. The footer stating ‘sent from iPhone’ told me that his meeting went well. I also sent emails out to Mr. Kim’s driver, travel agent and more. They need to be familiar with me and I with them.

I am typing away at my computer, ignoring Sana’s gleeful humming. I’m sending out documents and sending things to the printer. I push myself away from the desk and stand up, heading back into the office area. The copy room has to be around here somewhere. Everyone can tell that I’m looking for something, but no one makes an effort to help.

Good.

I find the copy room, grabbing the sheets of paper I sent. I looked over them, making sure it’s how I wanted it to be. I hear whispers when some women entered the copy room. I sighed, already tired of the people here. My goodness, how many times has Mr. Kim gone through a secretary? Are they not used to it by now?

Or were they trying to feel me out? I grabbed my sheets of paper and strolled out the copy room, not giving them the chance to say whatever it was. I am not going to be joined into any cliques. I strolled through the office space and back out to the lobby to meet a panicked Sana standing up in her seat.

“What’s up?” I ask, my face scrunching up. Why did she look like that? Her eyes dart to the double doors and she fumbles with her fingers.

“Mr. Kim is in.” She says then nods towards the doors, “He would like to see you.” She swallows, looking like he’s asking for her instead of me.

I set the freshly printed papers on the desk and grab my planner with a pen. I straighten my blazer and hold my head up high.

I knock on the doors and hear a faint, “Come in.”

I push one door one and waltz in. He’s sitting in a chair at his desk, but with the back facing me. I didn’t notice the beautiful square windows that were behind his desk till now. Under the windows were some bookshelves. There were awards, books, and figurines. The walnut desk was complemented by the black spinning chair I was staring at the back of.

There were no pictures on his desk. It was cleaned off except for the report I placed down later. I could barely see the side of his arm that rested on the armrest of the chair. Was he looking out the window?

I stood there in silence, waiting for him to say something. Nothing. Did he not hear me come in? Ugh, I can already tell how this guy is going to be.

“You called for me?” I asked as kindly as I could. I shouldn’t get on his bad side so quickly. I’ll admit, he does have a commanding presence. The silence was heavy and almost disapproving. Now I used what mina was saying. I feel like I’m about to be scolded, though I haven’t done anything wrong.

“Did you make the reservation?” He asked.

“Yes, for 8 pm,” I answer, flipping the planner opened to today’s date.

“8 pm is too late.” He retorts in plainly.

“I’ll change it to 7 pm. Anything else?”

“You’re the one who put the report on my desk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t do it again. Don’t enter my office when I am not here unless you’re told to. I don’t want anyone snooping in here.” He almost spits.

He thinks I care enough to snoop? Anyways.

“Got it. Anything else, Mr. Kim?”

It’s silent again. I stand there, waiting. He’s gonna ask me to do something else isn’t he? I can tell he wants to say something. Say it. Say it so I can leave.

“Make calls to these authors in regards to their release dates. Get availability from each other them and schedule dates according.”

I wrote down the names and phone numbers as he called them out. I can’t say I'm surprised by his cold and detached personality. I’ve worked for businessmen and women like him. No hello, welcome to the company or it’s great to have you type of bullshit. He doesn’t care who does the job, he just wants the job done. That’s fine with me.

As I scribbled down the information, I heard a chair spin around. Oh, how kind of him to finally put his eyes on me!

I wrote the last phone number and closed the planner looking up to ask for further instruction. But I couldn’t speak as I looked up at the man seated.

He stared daggers at me, his eyes shuttered while his arm was propped on the armrest and his hand was on his chin. It was hard to tell what he was thinking or if he was thinking at all. All I could do was stare back in a gut-wrenching manner. It felt like my heart stopped for a few beats before accelerating to the point of concern. Was I about to have a heart attack?

My body was growing hot while my heart continued to pound in my ears. A shiver traveled up my spine and for a moment it felt like I lost all the strength in my legs.

I blinked a few times, thinking that the man in front of me would disappear if I looked away. I cleared my throat, moving my eyes to the way on my right. Though it felt like I was losing all control of my body, it wasn’t showing on the outside. Rather my heart and body were reacting on the inside.

But to any regular person, you’d just see me blink multiple times.

What is this? What is this thick and weighing quiet? Should I say something? Is he going to say something?

Mr. Kim gazed back at me with an unreadable expression. His eyes took in every corner of my face. My hair, my eyes, my nose, my lips and once again, he did the same thing. What is he thinking? His eyes move to down my body, all the way to my feet and back up to my face. I thought he was going to say something. Do something. Make a face of disgust or recognition. But worse, he looks away.

He leaned forward, taking the report in his hand. He sat in a crisp navy suit with his black hair slicked back and out of his face. He looked sharp and expensive. Not a hair out of place. He looked like a higher class man. The energy coming off him demanded attention and obedience.

What a scary man indeed.

I became aware of the fact that I was watching this man read in silence. He wasn’t going to dismiss me so I dismissed myself. I moved slowly, not trusting my legs to carry me out in one piece. I gripped onto the handle of the door for dear life, using it to steady myself. I flung the door open and zoomed out of the office.

I didn’t pay any mind to Sana concerned eyes as I strolled past the desk, down the white-walled hallway, and to the elevator. I pushed the button, my breathing became heavy as I waited, my eyes stinging so painfully small gasp left my lips.

I coughed, a choked sob coming up quickly after. The sob shook my chest and physically made me hunched over with my hand on my mouth. The elevator doors opened. I was glad to find it empty. I walked into, leaning against the wall while I caught my breath. I didn’t press a button so the doors closed, and the elevator stayed still.

I took in a shaky breath and pressed the button for the lobby. The elevator started to descend and so did. I slid down the wall, a sob getting stuck in my throat as tears ran down my cheeks. My body felt like it was freezing over and I shivered violently. My throat suddenly felt dry and all composure was leaving me.

Joonie. Joon. Namjoon. Mr. Kim was Kim Namjoon. My old schoolmate, my childhood friend, my first love ...the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

A man I loved with all my heart and soul stared into my eyes like he was watching grass grow. Like I was a stranger. Maybe...maybe I am a stranger because that emotionless man in there couldn’t have been my Namjoon.

I clutched at the fabric of my shirt, sniffling, throwing my head back and closing my eyes.

Get it together Y/n! Get it together! You’re supposed to be collected one. You’re supposed to have your shit together. Don’t do this now, don’t do this here. You’re better than this!

The feelings of pain, bitterness, and regret were overwhelming. Sadness overtook me as memories of the past years replayed in my mind.

What right do I have to feel so sad? What right do I have to pity myself in such a way?

Everything fell apart 3 years ago, and it was my fault.

∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ∙ ❣

Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! I didn’t drag out the reunion cause that’s not the main point of the story!

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markrichardson · 6 years ago

Text

My Year in Spotify Listening

Like a lot of people I checked out the Spotify year-end summary thingy, and since Spotify is only a certain percentage of my listening, the results were surprising, and I tried to figure out what it meant. In general, I listen to new music via iTunes, if I am sent promos. That only encompasses a certain amount of new music of course, but if I’m sent a download, I tend to use that for my listening all year long. Often, I’m “done with” an album more or less by the time it comes out, but sometimes I’ll keep listening (as w/ DJ Koze this year) and I do that with my promo files. My Spotify listening tends to be a mix of things I stick on a few different playlists based on mood or genre, and they could come from anywhere (but they aren’t usually new).

In terms of my favorite artists (Bill Evans wound up in my top spot, somehow, followed by Joni Mitchell) it was hard to figure out how it’d happened, because I didn’t spend the year obsessed with either. Then I looked at my 100 most played songs, and that did bring back a few things. I’m not sure if the whole list is in order, but the first 5 songs in the playlist are the 5 listed when Spotify gave me my most-listened-to tracks of the year, so I think so? Anyway, that’s what I am going with here. This is how my Top 10 songs show up on the playlist, in order, with one exception: in the middle of the list was Bow Wow Wow’s “See Jungle,” which I already wrote about on Tumblr 8 years ago (and about which I have very little to say now, except that yes I do still listen to this song a fair amount), so I’ve omitted that and included No. 11.

Wussy: “Runaway” This was my favorite song of the year, it has 600 plays on Youtube and 5,400 on Spotify, which makes me a little sad. Technically it’s not from this year—Wussy put this out on a small-release tape or CD-R a few years ago—but I’m still counting it. This is the rare case where the streaming media playcounts tend to match the responses of folks I’ve talked to about this song—I mentioned to 4 or 5 people, and in each case they said “Yeah that’s kind of nice I guess...why do you like it so much?” I’ll try to answer that here.

First I should say that I have no real interest in or knowledge of Wussy. They’re an indie rock band from Ohio, most notable at this point for the fact that Robert Christgau loves them, and has written rapturous reviews of their work over the years, which surely has helped them to achieve whatever small amount of notoriety they have. I checked them out here and there but they didn’t make much of an impression on me. I wish I could remember how I came across this particular song, but I can’t, probably either Twitter or a streaming media algorithm. But I loved it immediately, like, stop-what-you-are-doing-and-listen kind of loved. It just clicked.

The first thing that comes to mind is the chorus: “I love you, let’s run away.” That’s the theme of so many of my favorite songs, I mean, the first album I bought in my life was “Born to Run,” and if you could sum up the first three Springsteen albums in in 6 words, “I love you, let’s run away” wouldn’t be bad. And I think I liked that this song didn’t try for poetic phrasing, just said it in the simplest way possible.

But the romance of a song like this has a shade of darkness to it, and that draws me in even more. Escape is never a long-term strategy. Eventually you have to figure out how to make life work when you’re in the thick of it. So while it’s such an appealing dream to exit the world with someone you’re crazy about, there is a shelf life to that sort of gesture. I relate to this idea of being fed up with everything in the moment and wanting to jump in the car with the only person who gets you, but eventually, the car is is going to need gas. What then?

I didn’t know when I first heard this song that it was a cover, so the immediate impact of it was as a Wussy song. But I learned that it was written and recorded by another Ohio artist that people in the band had known, a woman named Jenny Mae. She died last year. Pitchfork did a news story on her passing. She was 49. And when I found that it was her song, I listened to her version and I loved it almost as much (but not quite), though her take also made my Spotify Top 20. I did think enough of her version to order the 7-inch, which was her first release. When I read about Jenny Mae’s life, the song took on another layer of meaning. She suffered from mental illness and self-medicated with alcohol. And she was described by people who knew her as brilliant and creative and hilarious but also impulsive and self-destructive. Which for me gives a sentiment like “No one likes us anyway / I hate my job / Sweet, sweet are the innocent / I love you, let’s run away” and “40 ounce between your legs/ Shakin up my heart / Turn around and look at me / Light another smoke” a different tint. These are the kinds of things you say when in the throes of a rush of feeling, but they’re not impulses you can safely follow for a lifetime, even though goddammit, sometimes I want to.

Bo Diddley: “Nursery Rhyme” In Richmond early this year I bought an old Bo Diddley album called The Originator. I saw it in a used bin, it was $20, and, it was pure instinct, I had a feeling it was interesting. For me, buying used records, $20 is a fair amount of money, I don’t pay that for something I’ve no idea about, typically. But something compelled me to pick it up. I was intrigued that it had none of the hits I knew. And I took it home and when I put it on a short while later it blew my mind. This surprised me because on the one hand it sounds so much like the idea of “Bo Diddley” I keep in my brain, the one rhythm we know from the song he named after himself, but this was just so controlled, so well rendered, with so much atmosphere. The whole thing is brilliant. I became particularly obsessed with this cut from the record, and then I started exploring the “Bo Diddley” beat in general, reading whatever I could about it and listening to examples. This kind of random deep-dive is the best thing about the internet era for a music fan.

Mulatu Asatke: “Tezeta (Nostalgia” At nights when I hang out with my Mom at her condo in Michigan I play music over a Bluetooth speaker I bought a year ago. My Mom’s default has for a while been to put the television on, but at some point I asked her about playing music instead so we could talk or just hang out, and she grew to like it. Sometimes we’ll chat about stuff, and sometimes she will play Candy Crush on her iPad while I do things on my phone, which sounds distant but is actually very comforting to me. One of the things I’m doing on my phone during these evenings is finding songs to play. It’s quite fun (and interesting) for me to say to myself “What is a playlist that would make my Mom happy?” and then try and figure out what that might be on the fly. She was never really a music person so I don’t have a lot to go on, mostly her age, a story or two about a song she liked, and a vague knowledge of what she might have heard on the radio in my lifetime.

In September, my Dad died, and I stayed with my Mom in her condo for a number of days that month. I felt a strange mix of feelings. On the one hand, he was father, I missed him, I thought about never being able to talk to him again, to not be able to share the things in my life. I thought about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to learn more about his life, my knowledge of which is pretty sketchy. There were all the usual things a person would be sad about. But then there was the fact that he had a severe and debilitating case of Parkinson’s disease for the last eight years, and at times he suffered so terribly. I remembered how on a few occasions he called me while he was delusional, he would tell me that he was sure he was going to die. One time, he told me that he saw someone in the driveway who was going to kill him. Another time, he said that it was hard to explain but that he had been split into two people, and he couldn’t take it, he was terrified. I told him that it would be better tomorrow and he yelled, “I’m going to be dead by tomorrow!” I would get calls like this while I was walking to work in Brooklyn 700 miles away, and I would feel so helpless. And so when he passed, I thought about him during situations like that, and also felt like maybe not he had some peace.

A night or two after my Dad died I was sitting with my Mom, talking, and playing music. She dug out some old photos and we were looking at them, pictures from her in high school that I had never seen. I wanted to see everything, learn every detail. And over that Bluetooth speaker I was playing some random playlist I had found called something like “Jazz for late night.” I wanted background music. And while we were hanging out and talking, this song came on, “Tezeta” by the Ethiopian jazz bandleader Mulatu Astatke. And man, it’s hard to describe, but the mood of this song so perfectly captured the exact feeling I had. The phrase that comes to mind is “bombed out,” that’s the way it seemed, like I’d been beaten up and thrown in a ditch and my ears were ringing and now I was trying to reorient myself after all that had happened. There was a feeling of weariness and sadness but also a feeling that life continues, that we have to gather our memories and keep on. And this impossibly beautiful song captured every bit of that, the one-chord riff moving ahead, in spite of it all, while the sax line captures all the sadness dripping off everything at the same time. I listened to it constantly in the weeks afterward.

Galaxie 500: “Fourth of July” (live) One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite band in my favorite version. This song is indicative of how (as with all songs on this list) when I’m in the mood I can listen to one track over and over. On a couple of occasions in 2018, I listened to this maybe 8 or 9 times in a row, immediately hitting “back” when it had finished. And the thing I was typically listening to was Naomi Yang’s bassline, which to me holds the lion’s share of the song’s feeling. Her bass playing in Galaxie 500 is so incredibly emotional to me, and it was never more so than here.

Pusha T: “Infrared” The one truly “new” song on here.” I didn’t have an advance of this record so I listened on Spotify when it came out and I loved it. And this song in particular seemed so perfect, the carefully constructed rap, executed as if it’s coming off the top of his head, the sample—I listened to this many times in a row on a few occasions, and it also sent me to revisit Clipse, which brought me a lot of joy.

Joni Mitchell: “Carey” Another song about freedom, but here it’s real. Blue is a perfect record but I probably revisit this one more than any other single song because I’m so in love with the production—that bass, that hand percussion...sonically, an album recorded almost 50 years ago simply cannot be improved upon. I remember hearing this one on AM radio when I was very young. It was a single, b/w “This Flight Tonight,” one hell of a 7-inch. I’ve always thought the picture it painted was so incredibly romantic—”Maybe I’ll go to Amsterdam, maybe I’ll go to Rome / And rent me a grand piano and put flowers 'round my room.” Hey, why not! And if Carey is indeed keeping her in this tourist town, we know it’s only for another hour, another day, another week, whenever she’s ready, she can’t be tied down. But then, that’s the future: this night, now, is a starry dome, and we’re alive, inside it.

Arthur Russell: “That’s Us/Wild Combination” Sometimes w/ my favorite Arthur Russell songs you can hear the strain as he creates a new genre trying to get a particular unnamable feeling across. But not this one. Sitting in a room with his friend Jennifer Warnes he made a song that feels as natural as a breath.

Carole King: “Pleasant Valley Sunday” I’m in awe of Carole King’s ability to write songs that sound perfect on the radio. Even if her prime hitmaking years only lasted a bit over a decade, the number of her songs with her name on them that left a huge mark on culture is staggering. Her demo for the Monkees hit “Pleasant Valley Sunday” shows how perfect everything was before the artist who would bring the song to the public got anywhere near it. I found this one on Youtube 8 or 9 years ago and it’s been in regular rotation since.

Hank Williams: “The Angel of Death” In February and March I was doing research my Pitchfork Sunday Review on Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska. It’s one of my favorite records, and I’ve wanted to write something long on it for years, so spending time w/ it as the winter wound down was an intense pleasure. It’s common knowledge that Springsteen was listening to a lot of Hank Williams when he was writing the album, and when I came across this song, I became obsessed with it. One, the melody sounds right off Nebraska, and “My Father’s House” (another song I listened to a lot this year) especially seems directly modeled on it. But this song has so much going for it on its own. It’s about death and the moment of judgement, but Hank’s melody and phrasing don’t sound frightened. It’s hopeful, a prayer instead of an admonishment.

Guided by Voices: “Motor Away” I’ve loved this song for years but I listened to it intently around the same time I was playing the Hank Williams, when I was thinking about leaving Pitchfork. I’ve never been a big fan of Robert Pollard’s lyrics (though I love many of his tunes), but he second line here is the one I couldn’t put out of my mind: “When you free yourself from the chance of a lifetime.” That’s where I felt I was. Editing this music magazine that I cared so much about was the culmination of a dream that took a long time, a ton of work, and a fair amount of luck to realize. When the chance of a lifetime comes along, you’re supposed to hold on to it as tightly as possible for as long as possible, until someone finally pries it away, which will happen eventually. I knew that. And yet, deep down, I knew that after 11 years, I wanted to try something else. Run away, motor away, drive away. Sometimes a song can give you the tiniest push.

#writing #myfather

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