#sr pushing back his hair……yeah we know where Carlos gets it from now

[leclercskiesahead]

They are THE family

[eyes0ny0u]

Pastel Mafia

@quagmireisadora finished Chapter 2 - FINALLY! TT ^ TT

CHAPTER 1: A ROUGH DAY

CHAPTER 2: WHEN THE GOING GETS ROUGH

Kibum sighed as he entered his apartment. Leaning against the door as he took off his shoes. He glanced at the microwave clock he could see from where he stood: 2:18 am. He's got maybe three hours before he has to get up for his part-time job at Albert's, a fancy bakery in the upper east side, at the opposite end of town. He would love nothing better than to sleep in tomorrow, but Albert's paid the best out of all his part-time jobs, and he got tips. 

Right now, he needed all the tips and extra hours he can get. His last roommate had bailed on him, leaving him with an entire two-bedroom apartment to pay. He had begged his landlord to let him pay for his half of the apartment and will get him the rest later.

Kibum remembered the call from St. John's collection department, he still owed them a portion of last month's installment. His fist clenched at the embarrassment of admitting to a total stranger he didn't even have five dollars to his name. His last one disappeared when he lost his wallet.

Kibum trudged to the tiny kitchen and pulled out the leftover Chinese from his bag, thankful that the shift manager had let him take home whatever portions were left. He popped the take out carton into the microwave and looked around his apartment, with its peeling paint and cold air - he had barely turned on the heater since winter began. He was sleeping with thick clothes on, the thermostat just above '5' at the dial. 

Kibum's eyes landed on the syllabus stuck to the fridge. The tears exhaustion couldn't squeeze from him poured at the thought that he will have to stop school. 

 God, he was tired. 

 So tired - but life didn't care. 

 Kibum wiped his cheeks. Squaring his shoulders as he pulled the warmed up Chinese and dug in. No use in indulging his tears. He didn't have enough food to drown his feelings.

  - O -  

 "Carlos Amarillo at 57, was confirmed to have passed away by his son, Gian Amarillo today. No details were given to what caused the business tycoon's sudden death. Amarillo, who was the head of the Amarillo Group conglomerate, was a noted businessman and humanitarian in the area -," Jinki tuned out the late night news, lips tightening at the praises. 

 "What a bunch of hypocrites," Taemin sneered at the TV. "Not a month ago, they wanted Amarillo's head for Hawthorne Bridge!"

 "Had they pushed a little further, they would've found proof of involvement," Minho interjected. 

 "They would have gotten paid off or threatened," Jinki said, reviewing the report on the shipment of electronics that arrived yesterday. "Or found their contact dead."

 "True," Minho agreed, swirling the scotch he had been nursing since the news started. "What do you think Junior will do?"

 Jinki leaned back, loosening his tie. He'd never worked with Gian before. All he knew about the new head of the Amarillo was that he was in the business, and he was ambitious.

 "I heard Gian was banished from the main family for running that side deal with Salazar," Jinki said, referring to a semi-prominent Mexican cartel. "So, I'm not sure if he's going to declare war or be open for business."

 "My money is on declaring war," Taemin said, slurping an oyster. "If he wants to gain the respect of his father's men, he'll be doing just that. I mean, you did when you took over the business."

 "Yeah, but Gian has a hater with his father's numero uno," Minho said, leaning over Taemin's oyster bucket to reach for the charcuterie board. "Rumor has it Vincenzo Benotti might be the old Amarillo's love child."

 "Really?" Jinki asked Minho. "I've never heard of this."

 "I'm not surprised," Minho shrugged before popping a cracker piled with pate and cheese into his mouth. "It's parlour game rumours; some drunken Amarillo lackey may have blabbed over drinks or said out of spite. You know how it is."

 Jinki turned to his computer and pulled up the file on Carlos Amarillo. Under the 'Known Associates' directory, was a picture of Vincenzo. The man had black hair and brown eyes. Just like Amarillo Sr. Being Italian that didn't mean anything. But something about the slant of the man's jaw reminded Jinki of Carlos. 

 "Minho, investigate Vincenzo," Jinki ordered. "I want to know everything. What town his ancestors were from to the brand of their favourite red wine."

 Jinki wasn't sure if he was seeing things, but it was worth investigating. Lovechild or not, Vincenzo might be vying for the top seat. Gian Amarillo could need some help with ensuring his position in the organization. His deal with Carlos Amarillo may not be as dead as he thought it was. On life support, but it looked like it could be revived. 

 He just needed to convince either Vincenzo or Gian that he would make a good ally despite the little fiasco last week. What're a few bullets between business partners? In their world, it was practically considered a nicety. 

 "By the way," Jinki suddenly remembered his pet project. "What do we have on the guy who saved my ass last week?"

- O -

 Albert's was, as usual, teeming with yuppies, grabbing their trendy breakfast before heading off to work. Kibum rang up orders as fast as he could, but his mind still on the unpaid bills he needed to take care of. Kibum glanced down the line, trying to determine how much longer the rush was going to last. With detachment, he noted the quality of apparel Albert's clientele sported and envied the financial security, all of them exuded. 

 "A croissant and a large of your medium roast, please," a woman with flawless makeup and Gucci bag said, barely looking him in the face as she pulled out a Valentino wallet. Kibum punched the order in; $15.08 for Anna. A breakfast for Anna was Kibum's meal budget for 3-days, courtesy of his employee rate at the Dong Fan Chinese restaurant.

 "An espresso please and the fruit and protein box," man in gleaming Rolex and Balenciaga briefcase ordered. His suit was probably Italian, ranging around $5,000.00 to $8,000.00, depending on the make—the leather briefcase around $2,000.00. The Rolex was at least $3,000.00. The guy's entire ensemble would have more than paid off his grandmother's hospital bill. 

 Sir, would you mind pawning me your Rolex so that I can get the hospital off my back? Kibum silently asked the yuppie who didn't bother leaving a tip. 

 "The yogurt parfait and medium-light roast, please," a red-head regular asked. The diamond engagement ring on her finger was so big; it was at least 2 carats with a platinum band encrusted with tiny diamonds. Kibum's entire year of schooling was sitting on that woman's ring finger. 

 Would you mind lending me your ring so I can enroll? Kibum asked the woman in his head as he flashed his practiced smile when she dropped a toonie in the tip jar. I would like to make more of my life than bussing tables and waiting on people. Please. 

 The next customer was dressed in a simple navy blue pinstripe suit. One could say the man didn't belong in the "fashionable" line. Working at Albert's for the past three years had taught Kibum how to size people at a glance. Gauging where they belong in the socio-economic ladder had become his weird expertise. Though the outfit was simple, borderline plain, the perfect fit of the shoulders and elegant drop of the knife-edge crease of the pants said tailored. The understated silver - most likely platinum - watch and leather loafers screamed old money.  

 "The blueberry muffin and a tall medium roast, please," the man said, handing Kibum a fifty dollar bill. 

 Kibum barely stopped an eye-roll. C'mon, dude, it's barely 8 am. Have a little sense, and don't drop a bill so large so early in the morning. "Sir, do you have a smaller bill?"

 "No change?" the man asked an eyebrow raised. 

 "Unfortunately," Kibum said with a fake apologetic smile. 

 "Keep the change then."

 "Sir, your total is $12.30," Kibum exclaimed. 

 "I don't have a smaller bill," the man said as he placed the bill on the counter and walked away.

 "Sir -," Kibum called out, but the next customer stepped in front of him. 

 Kibum punched the payment on auto-pilot and dropped the change in the tip jar, almost feeling nauseous. That was hella over the top, and somehow assholish in its extravagance. But he was thankful for the extra cash he was going to get. 

 After his shift at Albert's, Kibum rushed to the bus stop for his afternoon shift at Dong Fan. The bus was pulling away from the curb when he arrived. Kibum gritted his teeth against the frustration surging through him. He was going to be late for his shift and that meant income loss. 

 Kibum took a deep breath to stifle the string of curses rising from his chest. He took out his phone to call the restaurant but noticed he had an email from St. John's. He was tempted to ignore it but tapped on the icon anyways. 

 Kibum blinked at the message. He scrolled up again to check the sender. Yeah, there it was, St. Johns Hospital. But something was wrong because the email contained a receipt for the amount he owed the hospital.

 Confused, Kibum clicked on the phone number in the signature, brow furrowing as the call went through. After being transferred to accounting he asked about the status of his account. 

 "Your account is up to date."

 "Excuse me?"

 "Your balance was paid for in full yesterday."

 "By whom?" Kibum asked still in disbelief, afraid to believe. "I didn't make the payment," Kibum said. "No one else would make the payment."

 "Payment came in electronically from Jjinggu LLC," the agent answered. "It could be one of those angel-sponsors."

 "What's an angel-sponsor?"

 "They're anonymous individuals or organizations who will settle random accounts as part of their charity work."

 "And you don't know their names at all?"

 "No, I'm sorry. Payors are not required to identify themselves."

 "Ok... but you're sure, they made the payment against my account?"

 "Yes, sir," Kibum heard the operator's smile. "I'm one hundred percent sure, Mr. Kim." 

 "OK," Kibum whispered. "Thanks."

 "Was there anything else I can help you with?"

 "No, that's it."

 Kibum disconnected the call, reeling from the relief. Tears pricked his eyes as the weight of the debt lifted off of his chest. Kibum cupped his hands over his phone, holding it against his forehead. 

 "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you," Kibum chanted in whispers, collapsing on the bus stop bench, trying to contain the tremors running through his body. Glad for a very long time he was alone.