Chapter Text
yūgen; subtly profound and mysterious grace
Jimin walks into the office with a headache— it’s nothing new, nothing to worry about, but a sharp pain drills into his skull as he waits for the elevator doors to open, and it only aggravates him more when he finds himself surrounded by strangers in fancy suits.
The floor-to-ceiling windows of the building make him feel nauseous as he walks through the bright hall, its white tiled floor so shiny he can see his own distorted reflection with every step. The city should look alive from up here, with its cars running through the roads and crowds of people rushing to get to work, yet Jimin only sees grey. Dull, faceless figures.
That’s nothing new, either. In fact, he finds comfort in knowing everything stays the same as ever. Unmovable, unbreakable. Stable, just like the law. Just the way he likes.
However, he has a bad feeling as he plops down on his chair, dropping his black leather bag carelessly on the desk with a grunt. The feeling is confirmed when Kim Taehyung, his best friend and coworker for more than five years, shows up thirty seconds later with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Good morning, lovebird,” he sing-songs as he sits down on the edge of Jimin’s desk. He's wearing a white dress shirt tucked in a pair of loose cream slacks that accentuate his slim waist, and Jimin can’t help but think Taehyung is the most beautiful man he has ever met. He’s proud to call him his soulmate, even if he’s about to make his morning even worse with his endless teasing. When Taehyung tilts his head, waiting for Jimin to reply, his curly brown hair falls over his eyes. He’s glowing behind the smirk.
Jimin groans, hiding his head under his arms, almost as if he’s trying to get under the desk. He must have killed a kitten in his past life to deserve getting made fun of by Taehyung on a Monday at 7 am.
“I’m never telling you anything ever again.”
“C’mon, Mimi,” Taehyung grabs his left arm and shakes him lightly. Jimin raises his head and glares at the man, but Taehyung’s smile only grows bigger. Something inside Jimin softens immediately; he could never deny Taehyung anything, no matter how hard he tried. “You’re dying to tell me. How was it?”
“It was fucking awful,” Jimin admits. He’d made the mistake of going out on a Sunday night, ended up at some random girl’s apartment, and had almost called the police when she’d tried to make him wear a cat tail in bed. He had never run as fast in his life. Taehyung doesn’t know the full story yet, only that he left the place in a hurry and forgot his left shoe. “She was a furry, Tae, a furry!”
“No fucking way.”
“Yes, way. I swear, I already found it weird how much she talked about cats on the ride there, but I didn’t really care, I was too horny, you know? But then she asked me to— “
“Don’t finish that sentence, Park Jimin.” Kim Namjoon’s voice interrupts his storytelling, and Jimin bursts out laughing at the sight of his friend’s disgusted expression. “Good morning, Tae. Good morning, furry.”
Jimin hushes him as Taehyung bends his body in a fit of laughter. “I’m not a furry! Shut up, someone will hear you.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Namjoon apologizes, still giggling. He’s also dressed fancily; they all are, but Namjoon glows differently, like he was born to be there. He adjusts his round glasses and clears his throat. It’s clear he’s about to start talking business, and Jimin is already tired.
The three of them met in Law School. Now it seems like an eternity ago, but Jimin has to remind himself from time to time that he’s not as old as he feels. To be honest, that is what life as a lawyer is like. It’s draining, boring. One day you graduate and the next you are forty years into your career, and you’ve done next to nothing in your life.
They had the luck of scoring a scholarship at Geummun, one of the biggest supplier companies in South Korea, and being able to slowly secure a job there that they’ve kept to this day. Although Taehyung spent a few years as an intern while Jimin and Namjoon were offered a full-time job right off the bat, eventually they all ended up working on the same floor. Namjoon has a slightly higher position, but it’s only fair. He is clearly the smartest person in the legal team and probably the best lawyer in Seoul, if not the entire country. Taehyung and Jimin are happy to stay where they are, but Namjoon has always sought something better. He’s restless.
Jimin will never show his lack of interest in front of his friend, obviously, because he knows he takes the job seriously unlike the rest of his floor (honestly, to be mostly made out of respectable lawyers, they sure are a bunch of irresponsible clowns), but that doesn’t stop him from dreading the moment he needs to stop goofing and get to work.
The only reason why he has not resigned yet is that he, unfortunately, needs to eat and pay his bills, but he has no sense of loyalty to the company whatsoever, nor a strong passion for what he does. Not that he’s ever carried a flame for it, but that’s a whole different story.
“Have you guys seen the email from Jeon Jeongguk?”
Taehyung nods. Jimin scowls at the mention of their entitled CEO, a name that always conjures a twisted face. “What is it now? Is he finally going to fire us?”
“Don’t sound too excited,” Namjoon scolds him. “No, he set up a meeting for today in, around,” he checks his wristwatch. “Twenty minutes with the legal team. Only with us. This might be serious.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen; he’s probably envisioning his future going down the drain. “We might actually get fired, fuck.”
Jimin rolls his eyes at his best friend’s dramatics. “No one’s getting fired, not while the best lawyer in Seoul works here.”
“Namjoon hyung can’t save us,” Taehyung laments, sighing while pressing the back of his hand against his forehead and leaning into Namjoon’s chest. “He has a soft stop for Jeongguk.”
“He’s right,” Namjoon admits, trying his hardest to keep a straight face. “I can’t help it. His eyes are adorable.”
Jimin rolls his eyes again. “I meant me, assholes. I’m not afraid to face Jeon if I need to. Actually, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to fight him for a while.”
“You are kind of scary when you get like that, did you know?” Namjoon asks with a raised brow. Taehyung is still pressing his back to his chest to prevent falling from Jimin’s desk and Namjoon pretends to not mind, slipping his arm around Taehyung’s waist, but Jimin sees the panic in his eyes.
It’s been more than three years of them dancing around each other, but none of them seem to be aware of their own feelings. It’s infuriating, especially for someone like Jimin, who has practically given up on romance. He doesn’t understand why they don’t take their chance while it’s there. They should know time never waits, not for unsure hearts, and the least he wants is for any of them to end up with a broken one.
“It’s hot,” Taehyung adds. Then he glances at both, who are giving him pointed looks, and raises his arms in self-defense. “What? It’s true. Jimin is hot. I would let him dom me platonically.”
“Stop, you’re making it worse,” Jimin grimaces, but there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. “And yes, for your information, I do know I’m scary. It’s my only personality trait, besides hating on our boss and western film directors.”
Namjoon chuckles fondly and reaches out to ruffle Jimin’s raven hair, only to be batted away by the younger, who complains about having styled his hair barely an hour ago. “I love the white streak, by the way,” he adds. “It fits you.”
Jimin blushes at the compliment, reaching mindlessly to touch his hair. He’d gotten the strand bleached by impulse, after having gotten bored of his basic black hair. He knew no one at work would bat an eye at it or cause him trouble, because he’s too essential for the higher-ups to get pressed by some bleached hair, and he’s damn proud of the fact. He likes how it’s a reminder of how far he’s gotten thanks to his hard work. It’s a bit dangerous sometimes, that rush of adrenaline that boosts his ego, but so far Jimin has managed to keep his feet on the ground.
“I wonder what Mr. Jeon will think about it,” Taehyung muses, laughing at the sight of the signature annoyed look on Jimin’s face.
“Speak of the devil…” Jimin mutters, glancing to his right, where Jeongguk has stopped to chat with one of their colleagues. He sighs, already irritated by the younger man’s presence.
Jeon Jeongguk is the son of Jimin’s previous boss. After his death, Jeongguk was rushed to take over his position barely a week later, when he had just turned 24. To say he was unprepared for the job wouldn’t be fair— the whole purpose of his birth was to have an heir for the company after his father passed away, but his day had come too early.
It left an impression in everyone who’d worked for him, and Jimin isn’t sure if they’ll ever recover from seeing the man wishing them a merry Christmas with his usual breathtaking smile— the same one on Jeongguk’s lips right now— and getting an email the next morning telling them to get the day off and show up to the funeral to pay their respects if possible. The man was only 56. Died of a seizure, apparently. It wasn’t meant to happen.
For that reason, Jimin understood Jeongguk’s awkwardness during his first days at the office, but what irked Jimin was that time passed and he didn’t improve: he was unorganized, clueless, and a stuttering mess and Jimin wasn’t willing to lose his job just because some kid couldn’t pull his life together, so he started resenting him.
It only got worse when they bumped into each other in the bathroom one fateful day. Jeongguk stopped in his tracks as Jimin entered and stared shamelessly at him.
“Did my father allow you to wear your hair like that?” he asked, one brow cocked.
Jimin frowned and touched the crown of his head, where his pastel pink hair had started to fade to white. “Yes. Why, what’s wrong with it?”
Jeongguk widened his already big doe eyes. “I just— it’s... pink. Aren’t you a lawyer?”
Jimin scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The fucking nerve of this kid. “And what about it?”
Jeongguk seemed taken aback by Jimin’s boldness. No one in their right mind would ever talk back to their CEO, but Jimin wasn’t a nobody. And Jeongguk might have taken his father’s place, but he would never be above him.
The man had supported Jimin from the very first moment he had started working at Geummun as an intern, and he’d offered Jimin a job after it ended because he saw the potential in him. If Jimin was half the person he was now, it was all thanks to Jeongguk’s father.
“You’re supposed to be professional.” Jeongguk frowned. “That hair is the farthest from it.”
Jimin jutted his jaw. “I don’t work with customers; there’s no need for me to adjust to a certain image. I just sit prettily at my desk and do my job with my mouth shut. I suggest you do the same.”
“I— I’m going to have to ask you to dye your hair back to your natural color by tomorrow.”
Jimin let out a laugh. Who did he think he was? “You can’t force me to do that.”
“I’m your boss, of course I can.”
Jimin separated himself from the wall and walked until he was standing in front of Jeongguk. The man was taller and way broader than Jimin, but he made sure to make him look small under his gaze. He hooked his index in the hole between Jeongguk’s collar and his tie and pulled, bringing him down.
“Trust me, honey. I’m a lawyer. You try to pull some shit about my appearance or even dare to question my value in this company, and I’ll sue you until every single cent you own is mine.” He let go of him and stepped away. “Want some advice? Always make sure I’m on your side of the court.”
From that day, Jimin had declared Jeongguk as his sworn enemy. It might be an incredibly childish and petty reason, but Jimin was a man made of pride. Every hope of eventually learning to like Jeongguk vanished into the air the moment he commented on Jimin’s “unprofessional” appearance.
Even if he got a hold of his job a few months later and became a trustworthy leader, the damage had already been done. Jimin could acknowledge Jeongguk’s worth, but he would always be a judgmental, rich asshole in his eyes.
Nothing— and he means nothing— could ever change the fact that he, Park Jimin, would always hate Jeon Jeongguk with a burning passion.
To see him standing there, looking expensive and fresh with a wide smile plastered on his face like it isn’t 7:30 in the morning, is frustrating, to say the least.
Jeongguk’s beauty is undeniable; even Jimin has to admit he is extremely attractive, but it should be illegal for someone to look good this early. He’s taken his jacket off and folded it over his forearm carefully, and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his veiny arms. Jimin squints his eyes when he notices the fact and condescendingly raises his left eyebrow.
“Show-off,” Jimin mutters. “There’s no way he’s not cold. We’re in October, for fuck’s sake.”
Suddenly, Jeongguk’s conversation with their coworker seems to come to an end and he walks towards Jimin’s desk. Jimin sees from the corner of his eye how Taehyung adjusts his tie discreetly and Namjoon takes off his glasses in a rush, and he takes a deep breath, irritated. Jeongguk is handsome, sure, but he’s nothing special. He will never understand his friends.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” He bows politely and his friends bow back, smiling at their boss like he’s the love of their lives. Jimin just sits further back on his chair and crosses his legs, disinterested.
“Good, I see you’re all ready for our meeting,” Jeongguk says, noticing the folder Namjoon is holding and grinning at him in response, satisfied. Then he glances at Jimin and raises his brows. “Well, some more than others.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin demands, but he doesn’t move an inch, only raises his chin a little, and gives Jeongguk a sharp look.
“That posture isn’t good for your back, Jimin-ssi. At your age, I’d better start getting worried before it’s too late.”
He flashes him a dishonest smile and walks away, not before bowing one last time to Namjoon and Taehyung, who are left speechless.
Jimin furrows his brows and straightens his back carefully, watching Jeongguk go inside the meeting room where some people are already sitting, waiting for him. He catches his best friends staring at him and he glares in their direction, daring them to say anything about what just happened.
Obviously, Taehyung is the first to do so— he has no shame, that little shit.
“Mimi, he ruined you, holy shit.”
“He said you were old,” Namjoon snickers, failing to hide his laughter. Taehyung starts giggling violently and soon, both are gasping for air, clearing the tears away from their eyes. Jimin sulks in his chair, unwilling to admit Jeongguk had hurt his pride even if he’s only two years younger than him. Practically a kid, still.
“Whatever,” he mumbles as he gets up, straightening the wrinkles in his black pants. “Let’s get this stupid meeting over and done with.”
“Ohh, he’s mad, huh?” Taehyung whispers as Jimin walks away, but he hears him anyway. He stops and turns on his heels to face him, faking a sweet smile. Sinisterly sweet.
“I’d advise you to shut up, Tae, or I’ll tell everyone about who really was behind the photocopier incident,” he says. As expected, Taehyung pales visibly.
“Did I tell you today how much I love you, my dearest Jimin, my soulmate, the love of my life?”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
x
If there is a place Jimin hates more than the office itself, it would have to be the meeting room. Jimin dreads every single minute he spends in there, listening to incompetent lawyers who think they’re better than him because they have been given a position of power above him, drone on.
This time, however, he can’t help but let a spark of curiosity pulse through him. It’s not often that the CEO— Jeon Jeongguk— calls a private meeting with just one department of the company, so he’s itching to know what sort of trouble Jeon must have gotten into. He thrives off the little times the man is caught slipping.
When everyone in the room settles down, coffee cups and notebooks set in front of them like they’re a set part of their uniform, Jeongguk gets up from his chair at the front of the large, white desk and smiles at his employees. The smile could fool everyone else, but Jimin wants nothing more than to slap him.
“Thank you all for coming,” he starts, clasping his hands together, flashing another ingenuine smile. Could he get any more stereotypical? “I apologize for how early it is, I’m sure none of you would be here if you had the chance to leave. At least, I wouldn’t. But I’m afraid the reason I called you here is rather urgent.”
Choi Jisu, the new addition to their department, raises her hand shyly. She’s the youngest of them all yet one of the smartest. Jimin has quickly grown fond of her and her witty remarks yet lovely eye smiles. “We’re not getting sued, right?”
Jeongguk laughs brightly. “No, Jisu-ssi, we’re not getting sued. Thank you for your concern, though.”
There he is again. Playing nice, acting like he’s friends with his employees and could possibly care for them. Everyone at Geummun may think he’s a sweetheart, but Jimin doesn’t buy it. No employer has ever strived for their employees’ well-being and sense of love and belonging in the workplace. If they had, Marxism wouldn’t exist.
“I’m currently in the middle of an intricate negotiation with MINS Group,” he begins. Jimin raises his eyebrows in surprise. It was common knowledge that Jeongguk’s father was close to the Min family, who owned one of the most successful arms manufacturing companies in the country. Shady people, if you ask Jimin. Nothing good ever comes out of making war a business.
Yet, something must really be going on if the two families are having trouble coming to terms. It hasn’t happened before. Then again, Jeongguk’s father died years ago— things have changed, substantially. “We’re thinking of merging both companies.”
If the tension was palpable, Jimin could feel it— everyone’s eyes widen as they turn their heads discretely to stare at each other. Taehyung brings a hand to the side of his face to cover it and mouths something at Jimin.
“He’s gone insane.”
Jimin can only agree.
Jeongguk seems to account for the uneasy feeling that has taken over the place, so he speaks more gently this time. “If it goes well, it’d be a great opportunity for us to grow. We’d expand our end-of-the-year profits incredibly, and with that money, I intend to raise your salaries by 15%.”
Hushed whispers break the previous silence. Everyone seems to be astonished by Jeongguk’s generosity, except for Namjoon, who is too calculating to believe his claim right away, mentally doing the math in his head, and Jimin, who’s waiting for Jeongguk to break the news.
“Where’s the ‘but’?” he asks, lifting his eyes from the table where he was scribbling circles on a notepad, making the room go quiet again.
Jeongguk grimaces. “I don’t trust them, nor myself. There are some points in the contract they’ve offered me which look less than trust-worthy, but I’m not entirely sure. That’s why I need your help. I’d love to be able to say that I have it all handled, but it’s not true, and I don’t want to put you all at risk for being stubborn.”
Taehyung smiles, moved by Jeongguk’s sincere words— somewhat sincere, to Jimin. “Thank you, sir. I mean, it’s kind of our job to go through every contract just in case, but it’s good that you contacted us before signing it. There’s only so much we can do once the deal is sealed.”
“It was only fair. Shall we go over it, then?”
Half an hour goes by over technicalities, numbers Jimin doesn’t care about, and discussing shareholders’ rights. By the time they finish revising every clause and warranty, Jimin just wants to get out of there and scream into the void. He can’t believe his coworkers are in favor of signing that bullshit. It’s clear they stopped listening once Jeon mentioned the salary raise, but it’s puzzling to see how they are ignoring how unfair it is.
Signing the contract means the company gets access to Geummun’s shares, granting them the power to influence the board’s decisions, and even to completely dismantle the current board and place their own people there. Depending on the agreement they reach, things could stay pretty much the same (on the outside) or a lot of people could get fired. Sure, the money looks amazing on paper, and it also comes with a list of benefits for Geummun (as they would also be acquiring shares from the other company), but it’s clearly a distraction.
Jeongguk is, by no means, a business expert, nor a lawyer. His inexperienced ass relied on his team to advise him, and it’s been working extremely well over the past years. So, as much as Jimin hates the guy, he can’t risk his job like this.
“Jeongguk-nim,” he speaks up. Jeongguk fixes his eyes on him, and it would be intimidating if he didn’t look like a deer caught in the headlights. “Allow me to be brutally honest for a second.”
"Go ahead, Jimin-ssi.”
Jimin sighs deeply and sets his palms flat on top of the table. “If you sign this contract, your company will be entirely theirs in what? Three months? You’d be practically selling it. I’m honestly disappointed in my colleagues for missing how obvious the set-up is. Of course, I’m just a lawyer. I can only tell you this is, in legal terms, like running purposely into a wall.” He leans back against his chair and crosses his legs. “But you’re free to do as you wish, just let me know when I can start looking for a new job because there’s no way they’re not firing half of this department.”
Everyone in the room looks like they have just been slapped in the face after Jimin’s statement. Namjoon clears his throat and mutters a quiet “he’s right”. Taehyung tries to high-five Jimin from under the table but Jimin holds his hand instead, grinning as he watches Taehyung blush from the corner of his eye.
“That was…” Jeongguk finally speaks, still clearly shocked. “Intense. And worrying. I’m— actually, would you mind coming to my office later? I really would like to, uh, hear more of your thoughts on this.”
Jimin hears Taehyung fail to hide his snort, and he tightens his grip on his hand until his friend hisses, all while giving Jeongguk a tight-lipped smile.
“Sure.”
Jeongguk nods slowly and then blushes when he notices the whole team staring at him. He clears his throat. “Of course, I’ll consider all your opinions, none are more valuable than others… um. Yeah, okay, that was lame,” the tension in the room dissipates as he laughs awkwardly.
“You’re dismissed. Thank you for your time, everyone, great job today.”
Jimin coughs and whispers so only Taehyung can hear. “Great job my ass.”
The two best friends giggle as they pick their things up, but Jimin tenses once he feels Jeongguk stand behind him.
“Are you… uh…”
“Going to your office?” Jimin finishes for him, turning on his heels with grace. Honestly, for a CEO, Jeongguk lacks confidence most of the time. That sparks another flame of annoyance in Jimin. If Jeongguk were anything close to professional, he would have resigned years ago, but he’s an entitled prick. “I mean. You’re my boss and you asked me to do it, so I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You always have a choice in this company, Jimin-ssi.”
“Jesus, you’re so corny.”
“The name’s Jeongguk, but fair enough.” Jeongguk shrugs, and God. Jimin wants to slap him. “That’s not what I was going to ask, though. Only partly. I wanted to know if you were free right now. I don’t want to interrupt your routine, but it’d be great if we could get started as soon as possible.”
“Wait, right now?”
Jeongguk blinks slowly. “Yes, that’s what I said two seconds ago, Jimin-ssi. Wasn’t it?”
Jimin curls his hand into a fist around the strap of his bag. “I know what you said.” He grits his teeth. “That was my polite way of telling you I have work to do.”
Jeongguk’s hard stare fixates on Jimin’s face for a second, making him rage. What the fuck is he looking at?
“I expect you in my office in five. Don’t be late.”
With that, he exits the room. Jimin’s knuckles have turned white at this point, and he’s fighting with all his will the need to chase Jeongguk and scream at him. Who does this kid think he is? Ordering him around, like Jimin isn’t solely the reason why his little company won’t burn to the ground.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Taehyung’s voice startles him. Jimin had almost forgotten he was still there. “But you can’t commit homicide. As much of a lawyer you are, you can’t get away with murder.”
Jimin clicks his tongue. “That we’ll see, my friend.”
x
Jeongguk’s office is on the very last floor, the 45th, which Jimin considers almost offensive. A place that is so much like Hell should be as close as possible to the Underworld. However, at this moment it is incredibly convenient for him and his lack of patience since he works on the 40th floor.
The office has a big downside: it’s made of glass. But it’s not just any type of glass, it’s some high-tech bullshit from Japan that allows Jeongguk to turn the walls opaque when he wants some privacy, which is basically never because he’s obsessed with “throwing down the walls between him and his employees”, which is asshole boss language for being overly invested in his workers’ lives and pretending he cares— learning their names, using closer honorifics, making sure everyone gets free days from time to time.
That’s another thing that annoys Jimin to no end. The fake positivity makes him feel sick. Unlike his father, Jeongguk is that type of fresh-faced CEO who believes that mindfulness and being environmentally friendly actually do something for the world. As if he weren't directly contributing to capitalism full time purely by existing.
His father was a man who set clear boundaries between the people that worked for him and the higher-ups, yet still respected everyone, and he didn’t particularly make their lives hell (although Jimin admits he doesn’t miss working extra hours unpaid).
On a more positive side, Jimin loves visiting the 45th floor for three reasons: the broken vending machine that gives free chocolate cookies, and Jeongguk’s assistants, Jung Jinsol and Kim Seokjin.
They are easily the nicest people in Geummun after Namjoon and Taehyung. Jinsol is young, relatively new to the company, but she’s just like Jisu: insanely smart and mature. She somehow manages to work for Jeongguk while being a college student, and a great one at that. Jimin has nothing but respect for the girl.
As for Seokjin, he was working for Jeongguk’s father before, and apparently he and Jeongguk are close friends, so it only made sense that he maintained his position once Jeongguk stepped in. He always looks impeccable, has a gorgeous smile plastered on his full lips, and not a single hair out of place. Despite his goofy attitude, Jimin is sure he’s the only reason why Jeongguk managed to keep the company afloat those first few months, and why most of his mistakes go unheard. Seokjin is always there to do damage control before anyone finds out.
The two are chatting excitedly when Jimin arrives, exactly one minute late just to irk Jeongguk. Jinsol is sitting on top of Seokjin's desk despite having her own, and she’s taking a sip of her cup when she spots Jimin. She hurries to place the cup on the desk and jumps off it, waving excitedly at him.
“Jimin-ssi! It’s good to see you.”
Jimin smiles fondly at her. Her wavy platinum hair is carefully brushed, and she’s wearing a white chiffon shirt with a black bow that matches the color of her tube skirt and heels. “It’s good to see you, too. Love the shirt, by the way.”
She beams at Jimin’s compliment, her already rosy cheeks lighting up. “Thank you! I love your hair,” she adds with a little pout. “You’re so cool.”
Jimin laughs wholeheartedly, albeit a little flustered. He hears Seokjin snickering beside them, so he turns to smile at him.
“It does look good on you,” he agrees, “but you won’t be able to dye your hair this often if Jeongguk fires you, so you better get your ass inside now.”
Jimin sticks his tongue at him and glances at the office in front of him, getting a clear view of Jeongguk’s back. He’s on the phone, facing the fancy floor-to-ceiling windows that show the grey October clouds towering over the city.
“Wish me luck!” he exclaims before knocking on Jeongguk’s door. He hears Seokjin snort when he has to knock twice, making Jeongguk turn around startled and blush deeply with embarrassment. He gestures to Jimin to come in and take a seat while he finishes taking the call.
Jimin walks in and sits down in one of the two black leather chairs in front of Jeongguk’s beautiful black and white marble desk. Sadly, that is the only interesting thing in the office. There is a grey couch on the left side and a few horizontal bookshelves on the right, and that’s about it.
On top of his desk, he has a single cactus, next to a metallic lamp and a half-empty cup of tea. Other than that, there are a few documents and pens scattered on the surface, but nothing else. It’s cold, empty, nothing like the image Jeongguk tries to sell to Jimin’s coworkers. Jimin scoffs at the thought. He should at least have some family pictures, for fuck’s sake.
Finally, Jeongguk hangs up. He clears his throat as he takes a seat and tries to smile at Jimin, but it comes out like a grimace. He seems stressed. “Sorry, I had to take that,” he apologizes. Jimin brushes it off with a shrug. “Shall we start, then?”
Jimin shrugs again. “I’m not really sure what you want to hear from me, honestly.”
Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek. It’s in moments like this when Jimin must admit just how ridiculously attractive he is. His round dark eyes, his sharp jawline, his broad shoulders, and his small waist; he’s got everything. Too bad he’s insufferable, or else Jimin would have the biggest crush on him. Although he wouldn’t mind having him bend him over that desk— Jesus. Jimin really needs to get laid.
“Jimin-ssi?” Jeongguk calling his name snaps him out of his thoughts, and he widens his eyes, suddenly aware of the fact that he had spaced off.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. You were saying?”
“I was telling you I wanted to know why you’re so against merging both companies, what is it that you see in the contract that sets the alarm off. But apparently, my chest was more interesting, huh?”
Jimin opens his mouth ready to get back at him with a snarky comment, but Jeongguk laughs and waves his hand in the air.
“I was just joking.”
“Then you need to work on your jokes,” Jimin mutters. “But, anyway. The contract. You have the copy, right?”
Jeongguk hums, reaching for his bag and taking a plastic folder out with all the papers inside to hand it to Jimin. Jimin flips through the first few pages until he finds what he’s looking for with skilled eyes. Grabbing one of the pens on the desk without permission, he circles a segment and shows it to Jeongguk.
“Here. I don’t like how vaguely they talk about buying the shares, which is basically the whole purpose of the operation. And the fact that they don’t even mention if it’s a merger or an acquisition? That’s basic, and it sets all the difference. It’s all the “to be discussed later” bullshit— excuse me— they’re pulling, like they want to buy your stocks promising to not touch anything but then will change their mind and do major changes that you won’t be able to stop.”
“Because they’ll basically own the company,” Jeongguk finishes for him, frowning deeply. “But I don’t understand why they’d want that. I talked to Min Hyunsik personally and he promised an equal merger. None of that is supposed to happen.”
Jimin raises his brows, pointing an amused smile at Jeongguk. “And why would you trust his words? He’s doing business. Friendships don’t exist here. And anyway, he was friends with your father, not you."
Jeongguk’s stare hardens at Jimin’s words. He’s clearly annoyed by what Jimin has just said, but Jimin can’t bring himself to care. He asked for his point of view, and that was just a filtered version of it. If Jimin were to say everything he thought about the Min family, he would be fired in a matter of seconds.
“That man practically raised me, Jimin-ssi. He was there for me after my father’s death, taking care of me. On a personal level, I have no reason to question our bond, and I ask you to do the same.”
Jimin raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, understood, but my point still stands. This is business, it’s different. It’s pretty clear by the way this contract is drafted.”
Jeongguk sighs, leaning against the back of his chair. “Is there a way to change it?"
Jimin tilts his head. “We could ask for a revision. Try to settle, make it a little more specific, more beneficial for us. In the case they refuse to settle, we could always go through arbitration, that is, requesting a solution to our dispute from a neutral third-party, an arbitrator. Basically, forcing them to settle. It’s not recommended if you wish to avoid conflict, but judging by how this contract is written, I doubt we have a chance to end negotiations on good terms. He has a good legal team. Wicked, but good.”
At that, Jeongguk smiles a little, but it's filled with venom. “So, like you?”
Jimin glares at him. He really thinks he’s funny, but he's only making a fool of himself. “Yeah, like me. So I’d advise you to not get on my bad side, sir.”
“Aren’t I already?” he wonders, not expecting an answer. “Anyway, I’ll get in touch with MINS Group and let you know if that meeting is happening. In that case, I want you to be there with me. You’re dismissed for now.”
Jimin straightens his back and smiles, pleased. Then he gets up and gives a little bow to Jeongguk, smirking after he catches the wrinkle between Jeongguk’s eyebrows. Jimin has won this time, and he knows.
“Close the door on your way out.”
x
“I swear to God— he’s... the most annoying person… in the entire world,” Jimin complains in between bites of his blueberry muffin. “I can’t stand him, Tae, I really can’t.”
His best friend sighs for what feels like the hundredth time in five minutes, tired already of Jimin and Jeongguk's feud, to which he likes to refer as “one-sided beef”. They’re chatting in the elevator, waiting for it to reach their floor, after having grabbed breakfast in the small coffee shop that’s right by the corner.
They have made that their little tradition since they first got started in Geummun. Since the two live on opposite sides of Seoul, they can’t commute to work together, so they made a deal to meet on Fridays, either in front of the coffee shop or inside the subway station where they both stop, even though they take different lines.
It’s sort of therapeutic for Jimin, to see Taehyung’s smile first thing in the morning, to have him be his first real human interaction of the day. At first, they had tried to make it happen every day, but one of them was always running late, so they agreed to never miss Fridays instead. After all, they do see each other every morning, so it wasn’t hard to adjust, but Fridays are different. They allow Jimin to simply breathe, enjoy twenty minutes of laughter and warm food before he has to walk into Hell.
“I’m going to make you pay me five thousand won each time you talk about how much you hate Jeongguk,” Taehyung threatens at the same time the elevator doors opens with a ding. “I’ll become rich in no time.”
Jimin simply sticks his middle finger out.
“Wow, very mature, Park Jimin,” Taehyung mocks him without looking at him. Instead, he’s scanning the booths, counting the heads of their coworkers like he’s roll calling them in his mind. “Namjoon hyung isn’t here yet.”
Jimin searches for his friend’s desk, only to be faced with an empty chair. Taehyung then grabs his arm, forcing him to give him his full attention.
“Do I look good?” he asks anxiously.
Jimin laughs, amused and endeared by the panic in his lovestruck friend’s eyes. He lifts his hand to caress Taehyung’s hair briefly and smiles tenderly at him. “As handsome as ever.”
Taehyung visibly relaxes at the compliment. “Okay, good. He can’t catch me slipping.”
“Baby, he’s carried you drunk to your dorm as you babbled about jam-making jellyfish,” Jimin deadpans. “I think you’re good.”
“They’re a very real thing!” Taehyung argues as they walk over to their desks, which are fortunately close to each other, separated only by the little corridor in the middle of the office.
Jimin drops his bag on the floor and groans, partly because of Taehyung’s shenanigans, but mainly because the day hasn’t started yet and he already wants to go home. He’s considering the purpose of his whole existence as he watches his computer monitor turn on when a hand squeezes his shoulder. He tenses but immediately relaxes.
“Good morning, hyung.”
Namjoon stands by his side, dimples out, glasses on, glowing as usual. “Hi, Min,” his voice turns softer. “Hey, Tae.”
Tae waves excitedly at him before he manages to lure him into a conversation about jellyfish, since Jimin hasn’t been listening for a good ten minutes now, but he still must prove his point.
If there’s someone who will put up with Taehyung’s running imagination, it’s Namjoon. Not because he matches his level of wilderness, but because he knows how to listen to Taehyung. Well, he knows how to listen to everyone, but it’s different with him. It makes Jimin happy knowing that there’s someone out there to take care of his Tae when he can’t, even if he wishes he could be better for him. In these rare moments, Jimin realizes his job isn’t that bad. It can’t be, not when he has them.
However, his little bubble of fond happiness is soon burst by a phone call. He’s used to taking several of them during his shifts, but this one is different.
“Jimin-ssi?” he hears Seokjin’s muffled voice on the other side of the line. “Jeongguk wants you to come up to his office.”
Jimin rolls his eyes, thankful that he can’t see him through the phone. “Does it have to be right now? I’m busy.”
That’s a half-truth, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Seokjin lets out a laugh. “Ha, sure. Busy gossiping with Taehyung-ssi, I suppose,” he teases. “I’m afraid he wants you here now, yes.”
Jimin cracks his knuckles against the edge of the desk. “Tell him I’ll be there once I finish what I’m working on. Ten minutes maximum.”
“You sure love playing with fire.”
“It’s my specialty.”
Jimin actually finishes one of the reports he was meant to send out that morning and then goes to Jeongguk’s office, getting off the elevator on the 44th floor and taking the stairs only to make him wait longer. It pays off when he sees the annoyed glare the younger gives him when he knocks cheerfully on his door.
“I'm afraid we have different ideas of what ‘ten minutes’ means,” Jeongguk says when Jimin walks in.
Jimin shrugs, smiling sideways. “I took the stairs,” he lies. “I mean, you seemed worried about my health yesterday, so I decided to take up exercising.”
Jeongguk lets out a huff, irritated. “Moving on— let’s get to it, shall we?”
Jimin nods curtly, putting on his business face, which is also just his usual resting bitch face. He takes massive pride in the fact that he's been told he's intimidating at first sight. His eyes, usually soft around the corners, turn sharp as knives. It gives him power, and who doesn’t love power?
“I talked to Mr. Min,” Jeongguk starts explaining. “He’s attending some matters in their Japan office, the one in Tokyo, so he’s unable to hold a meeting with us until next week.”
Jimin frowns. “Why can’t we just meet up with his legal team?”
“He says he wants to be there to make sure everything runs smoothly,” he says. “Video-conferences won’t work with him, either.”
“God, I hate boomers,” Jimin mutters, and then raises his voice again. “I don’t think we can wait much longer. We only have four weeks before you seal the deal, don’t we?” Jeongguk hums. “If we waste one and a half waiting for him, we won’t have time later to prepare in case things get complicated. We need to get in touch with them immediately.”
Jeongguk clicks his tongue. “I know, but what options do we have? It’s not like we can fly to Japan just for this.”
If his eyes weren’t wide enough, they stretch impossibly so when he realizes what Jimin is thinking, the small smirk blooming on his lips revealing his thoughts.
“Who says we can’t?”
Jeongguk clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s a little rushed,” he reasons. “But we could make it work… if you wanted to. We’d have to travel there on Monday and get back on Tuesday because I can’t leave the office unattended...”
“Make it from Monday to Wednesday, and I’ll go,” Jimin says, leaning forward and setting his hand spread on top of the table. “Give me a day to see the city, and I’m yours.”
Jeongguk eyes him warily for a few seconds before sighing. “Fine. I’ll email you all the details this evening— wait, I need your phone number.”
He blushes immediately after the words leave his mouth, and Jimin lifts his brows. “Why?”
He speaks quickly. “It’s-it’s easier than going back and forth through email about documents required for the plane tickets and hotels, you know. And, uh, in case something goes wrong in Tokyo, I’d like to have a way of contacting you.”
He has started to fidget anxiously with the silver rings in his fingers, and it’s when Jimin remembers the articles written that awful December week. “Jeon Jihwan found dead in his apartment after hours of failed attempts to reach him.”
His kids (Jeongguk and Jeonghyun) had called him for around seven hours after he hadn’t shown up in their vacation house, located in the Japanese countryside. He had never taken the flight he was supposed to take to go see his family, who had been staying in the country for around a week after the man had insisted on finishing some business he had in Korea. Jimin guesses the fear of losing contact with someone, especially with people who he’s responsible after, like his employees, must have taken a toll on Jeongguk. Surprisingly, he finds himself feeling pity for him.
“Right,” he finally agrees, taking the phone Jeongguk is offering him with a polite, although a little forced, smile. “Here you go.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk bows shortly, out of habit. “And thank you again for your hard work.”
Jimin scoffs lightly, amused by the way Jeongguk manages to be completely respectful and nice yet throw little jibes at him whenever he gets the chance. For a Virgo, he is pretty double-faced. Jimin would find it hot if he weren’t such an asshole.
“I’m being paid for this,” he brushes it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s nothing heroic. As for my number, I have a request.”
Jeongguk perks up, curious. “What is it?”
Jimin gets up from the chair wordlessly and walks to the door, knowing well Jeongguk is following him from behind to show him the way out. Growing up filthy rich, he has been brainwashed to act politely, and Jimin takes full advantage of that small hint of submission.
Once he reaches the door, he spins on his heel and points at Jeongguk with a threatening index finger. “Only use it for good, which means no good morning texts, no GIFs, no ‘how’s the best lawyer in Seoul doing today’ texts— although you wouldn’t be lying, mind you. Text me exclusively when you require my services or let me know when you intend to give me a raise. Thank you.”
He bows and leaves the room with a stunned Jeongguk behind, snickering when he hears Jinsol tell Seokjin Jimin had broken him.
Jimin knows he is supposed to worry about the fact that he’s leaving in three fucking days, and he’s going to spend another three with the person he can least stand on earth, but now he’s too high in adrenaline. Fuck, he’s damn good at his job, and Jeongguk knows that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have agreed to any of what Jimin said; he wouldn’t even have asked for his opinion on the topic. Jimin is living for the attention, for the recognition.
Especially because it comes from someone who has refused to acknowledge how good he is and questioned his choices for as long as Jeongguk has. Now he has to swallow his pride and follow Jimin’s lead.
The buzz dies down once he collapses on his couch in the evening. He only gets an hour of rest before receiving a text from Jeongguk asking for a copy of his ID and, for some reason, a list of allergies. After he gets a forwarded email with the flight information, he turns his phone off and binge-watches a show while he eats take-out and drinks cheap wine. His definition of self-care is still a little messed up, but right now he feels content, unaware of what any of it will mean once he steps out of the plane and realizes he’ll be stuck with Jeon Jeongguk in a foreign country.
Namjoon and Taehyung drop by on Saturday and Sunday respectively to check up on him, help him pack, and even if Jimin insists he doesn’t need it (“it’s just three days, I’m not going to war, hyung”) he lets them do it because he knows it’s their way of taking care of him. Since he was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, back in their last year of school, they have gone through hell and back to make sure Jimin feels comfortable and safe.
Jimin knows he doesn’t deserve them, but it’s been a long time since he let that stop him from loving them. He used to push them away, sure that it would be better for them to be as far as possible from someone like him, but they refused. They stayed, and they are still standing, waiting by his side to pick him up if he falls.
When he asked them why they hadn’t left, Taehyung didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Because if we’re the ones who pick you up, you’re the one who cleans our wounds while we’re sobbing on the floor.”
Jimin knows he doesn’t deserve them, but he loves them so much it would be foolish to walk away.
x
Jimin hates airports. It makes him sick to think people find beauty in them, that the frantic crowds and loud noises and the smell of cheap coffee could elicit something akin to joy in them. Jimin loves traveling, but if there was a way to avoid the long queues at the security control and the awful kick in his stomach when the airplane takes off, he would do anything to get it.
The fact that he’s traveling with Jeongguk only makes it worse. Jimin considers himself an extrovert, but he enjoys his time alone, especially when it comes to traveling. He’s thankful for the small distance between Seoul and Tokyo, though, because he doesn’t think he can stand Jeon for more than three hours. He’s praying to get a seat next to Seokjin, who promised to accompany them. Truly, Seokjin is his only hope of making it through the trip.
And Jimin has never been superstitious, but when he spots Jeongguk, he thinks he should have kept his mouth shut.
He jinxed it.
“Where’s Seokjin-ssi?” he asks as he comes to stand in front of Jeongguk.
He cocks his right brow. “Good evening to you too, Jimin-ssi. Nice glasses, by the way. They suit you.”
Jimin takes his sunglasses off and glares at Jeongguk, knowing damn well there’s a hidden “you look like an asshole” in that compliment. He tightens his grip on his bag. “Where is he?”
Jeongguk clicks his tongue; the fun has been ruined. “He had to cancel last minute. His brother’s wife is about to give birth; it’s kind of a big deal. I couldn’t let him miss it.”
Jimin slumps. “Fucking fantastic,” he says to himself. There goes his sanity down the drain.
“Cheer up, Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk says, and Jimin allows himself to stare at him for the first time. To his surprise, he isn’t wearing his usual plain suit, but a pair of grey sweatpants and a huge black hoodie that engulfs his entire figure. His hair isn’t pushed back, instead, he let his fringe fall like a curtain just right over his eyes, and he isn’t wearing any make-up. It makes him look impossibly young, but Jimin can also see how dark the bags under his eyes look. He looks oddly sleepy, considering it’s 8 pm. “The trip hasn’t even started.”
“And yet I already want to go home,” he flashes him a fake smile, making Jeongguk clench his jaw. “Let’s get this over with.”
They don’t talk much after that; they go through security and find their gate in silence. They still have to wait for an hour, so Jimin checks the news and Twitter on his phone with his legs crossed on the chair.
Jeongguk takes out a book in Chinese from his bag to read, and Jimin almost scoffs at the sight, not wanting to let Jeongguk know he had noticed. Condescending prick. Jimin can’t understand much of the title, given that he took Japanese in high school instead, but judging by Jeongguk’s personality, it probably is about business or some boring shit. It obviously isn’t a best-selling novel.
It’s been half an hour when Jimin notices Jeongguk is gone. He rolls his eyes and goes back to texting Taehyung, who is home alone and bored, unbothered by the younger. He could go missing for all Jimin cares.
He is giggling at a silly picture Taehyung sent of himself when a cup is placed between his face and the screen. Jimin squints his eyes and then backs away.
“I got you tea,” Jeongguk mumbles, eyes on the floor. “I also bought snacks, if you want.”
Jimin blinks a few times before retrieving the steaming cup and taking a sip. Matcha. His favorite.
“Kind of creepy that you know my order,” he comments, “do you stalk all of your employees or am I special?”
Jeongguk frowns. “I didn’t know you liked that— and I don’t stalk my employees, for your information.”
Jimin scorns. “Chill, I was joking.”
“You’re not funny.”
What a fucking child, Jimin thinks. “Whatever.”
They arrive in Tokyo in the blink of an eye. The flight was short, comfortable, and quiet, and on top of it, Jeongguk-free. Jimin guesses an advantage to traveling with your CEO is getting first-class seats that are booths, so he doesn’t even have to see his irritating side-profile. It’s heavenly, really. If only the whole three days could be like that, he would be the happiest man on earth.
Fate has other plans for him, it seems. It always does.
It’s obvious when Jeongguk spends ten whole minutes at the reception. Jimin is starting to get pissed off, and then he sees him walk towards the sitting area with his hands empty.
“Where are our keys?” he demands, straightening his posture on the love seat.
Jeongguk exhales through his nose and takes a shiny white card from the pocket of his hoodie. “Our key, in singular.”
Jimin halts. He must be fucking kidding him. “What do you mean?”
Jeongguk sighs. “There’s been a mistake. Apparently, we only booked one room. And it's Fashion Week, so they don't have any spare rooms.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Jeongguk has the audacity to smirk at him. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Jimin-ssi.”