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« only know you drive a fancy car
but don't wanna know who you really are »

It's awkward. So awkward Wooyoung can feel it in his veins, taste it. It renders him frozen, unable to make himself useful. He stands in his new room (he's been here for a while), hands in his pockets as his eyes navigate every nook and cranny of the area, trying to find...something. But he doesn't know what.

The room, by his standards, is perfect. Large enough to contain a queen-sized bed and a colossal walk-in closet and still leave enough room for Wooyoung to walk around freely, but it makes him feel small in comparison. Like a tiny, needless speck of dust tainting the room's perfection. And that intimidates him.

If this is the size of his room when he's only a guest, Wooyoung can't even imagine how Choi San's room looks. He bets he even has more than one room, of course he does.

The thought of the guy -- the CEO -- snaps Wooyoung out of the daze he's in. Suddenly, he's not admiring his room anymore, anxiety lighting his insides on fire. Kim Hongjoong left a while ago after a couple more words and instructions, and after that Wooyoung had been more than eager to retreat inside this room, and San had disappeared as well.

Wooyoung can't hear anything, and that only elevates his nervousness. Dumbass, you're supposed to be outside. That's what you're being paid for.

The thought makes him wince, because it's true. He's not here because he did anything to deserve this luxury, he's here because he's on a paycheck. He tells himself he doesn't care, that he shouldn't. He's just happy he's found a way out of his predicament, even if it's temporary.

A knock pounds against the door at that second, and then it's pulled open, a mop of fiery orange curls filling in Wooyoung's vision.

It's not Choi San, but a guy Wooyoung has never seen before, and he's not sure if that makes him more relieved or not. For a moment, the stranger peers at him through unreadable, scrutinizing eyes, and Wooyoung shuffles on his feet, shoulders tense.

He clears his throat, the sound echoing embarrassingly through the large bedroom. "Uhm, hello."

The stranger pauses, and then he scratches his tangerine coloured hair, a sort of apologetic smile smoothing over his chiseled features. "Ah -- sorry. Forgot my glasses and I'm not too used to the contacts yet. Did I glare or something?"

Wooyoung blinks, once, twice, brows wrinkling in puzzlement. "W-What?"

The stranger fully steps in dressed in overalls, and he's even taller up close, plump lips upturned to reveal a lone dimple. A delectable aroma of baked goods wafts behind him, briefly distracting Wooyoung.

"I tend to glare sometimes without my glasses. Hope it didn't make you uncomfortable?" The unknown guy explains further, even when Wooyoung doesn't need him to. He's stuck in one of those situations again, where someone talks a bit too long to him while he just wants to leave.

Wooyoung cracks a small, painful smile. "Oh, it's okay. You didn't make me uncomfortable."

The man holds out his hand to shake, and that's when Wooyoung notices he has oven mitts on. The man notices as well, because he hurriedly pulls the right one off with an abashed laugh.

"I'm Mingi. Song Mingi," he introduces just as Wooyoung shakes his hand. It's soft but firm, and makes Wooyoung's hand feel like a limp noodle in comparison. "I'm a Chef. The chef, actually, because I cook sometimes for Sannie."

Wooyoung takes note of the casual way Song Mingi addresses Choi San, and he guesses they must be close. He quickly nods. "I'm Jung Wooyoung. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. You're the new guy, right?"

"Hm?"

"You're the guy Kim Hongjoong called me yesterday about," Mingi repeats.

"Uh, yeah."

Mingi nods. A thick silence follows, one where both males don't really know how to proceed, but Mingi soon breaks it.

"I made breakfast. If you want, you can go change into something more..." Mingi searches for the right word, "...comfortable. I mean, you are living here now aren't you?"

Somehow, Wooyoung has forgotten that. But he nods, returning the smile Mingi shoots him. "I will. Uh, I'll be out in a sec."

"Take your time," Mingi's fingers rest on the door handle, "but not too much time else the food will get cold."

Wooyoung gulps once he steps into the walk-in closet, coming across the life-size mirror situated at the edge. He makes the mistake of looking at his reflection. Even with his neatly styled hair and the absence of any skin blemishes, the hollowness in his eyes is still as clear as day. Faint rings of purple circulate them, making him appear as exhausted as he feels. He hates it.

Wooyoung looks through the pathetically bare wardrobe and pulls out a black shirt and sweatpants casual enough for the house, but not too casual that it makes him look like a slob. He decides he looks fine, inhales a deep breath, and steps out.

Hongjoong had shown him the directions from his bedroom to the dining room before he left, but Wooyoung is back to being disorientated as he takes in the long, white marble halls, wondering which way is which.

He smells the food again, and decides to follow it to lead him to his destination. It works, and his mouth drops.

When Mingi said he 'cooked sometimes' for Choi San, Wooyoung thought he meant meeting the guy sometimes to cook him a small meal or something. At least, that's how Mingi made it sound. But the sight that greets him does not look like a meal or two.

Plates of food overflow the dining table lengthy enough to host ten people. Toppling pancakes drizzled with syrup, bacon, berries -- even chicken, fill every space available, mouthwatering and yummy. In the middle of it all, looking out of place, is a whole pizza, and it's strangely the only thing Wooyoung feels like he's allowed to eat.

"Oh -- there you are!" Mingi says, sauntering out of the kitchen.

"This...this is amazing." Wooyoung stares at the table again. "How did you..."

Mingi laughs, features softening. "It's nothing much, but thank you. You can take a seat anywhere you like, but not the ones closest to the head of the table. That's where San sits."

"Oh, uh -- "

Choi San himself appears out of nowhere, a round plushie clutched in his grip as he marches towards the table with a sullen look on his face. Instantly, Wooyoung stiffens, but Mingi's as relaxed as ever.

"San," he speaks, "no plushies at the table. You know that."

San doesn't reply, nor does he put the plushie down, but he does look up, skin all soft looking and dewy, and his eyes starlit. His inscrutable gaze cuts through Wooyoung like a knife, causing the younger man to quickly look away.

"San," Mingi presses, tone more stern this time around.

Don't be afraid to lecture him. Hongjoong's final words ring loudly in Wooyoung's head.

Wooyoung doesn't know what possesses him at that moment, but he suddenly finds himself standing in front of San.

The man's eyes are sharp, showcasing surprise, but Wooyoung tries his hardest not to stare at them, or at the way his long hair frames his refined, symmetrical face.

"Like Mingi-ssi said -- " Wooyoung gulps, hoping he doesn't sound like a fool, "plushies aren't allowed here when we're eating. It's disrespectful, and I'm -- I'm sure Mingi-ssi will really appreciate it if you don't have it around during breakfast, San-ssi."

Choi San's eyes flicker with challenge as he squeezes the plushie. "No."

Wooyoung extends his hand. He can't believe he's doing this. "Please, give it to me."

"No, I won't." San's eyes are squinted in annoyance, pouty lips the shade of fading rose petals.

"Wooyoung, it's okay. Let's just eat," Mingi voices out a few feet away, but Wooyoung crosses his arms, an idea infiltrating his thoughts.

He observes the food laid before him. "Mingi, what's his least favourite food?"

San's eyes broaden as Mingi innocently gestures at the side dish of veggies across from the chicken.

"Thought you wouldn't mind it," Mingi clarifies, shrugging at the pointed glare the CEO shoots him.

Wooyoung shakes his head. "I don't. But San can have it since he's so eager to have that plushie beside him."

San's burning stare reverts back to him, and Wooyoung hopes with all his might he doesn't look as he feels -- like a leaf trembling in the wind. He honestly doesn't even know how he's made it this far without embarrassing himself.

San doesn't relent. At first, that is. He spends half of breakfast chewing on the greens at the pace of a snail, face twisted in one of the most hilarious expressions ever as he struggles to get through the food. But as Wooyoung takes a timid bite out of his third slice of pizza, he feels something grazing his knee.

It's the round plushie, resting on the seat closest to him.

He has no idea why he feels as happy as he does right then.

Mingi leaves right when breakfast is over and after all the plates have been packed, drenching the room in a thick, disconcerting silence.

San stands up and runs off to the right with his plushie, socked feet thudding against the marble floors. Wooyoung contemplates heading back to his room, but realizes he can't use his phone or the tablet Hongjoong gifted him because he doesn't know the WiFi password.

When he finally shows up at the sitting room with his phone in hand, he's once again struck by the remarkable size of everything. How does San feel everyday living alone in this gigantic house? It's something he can't fathom.

San sits cross-legged on the floor across from an electric fireplace, staring at the flat screen TV, but it's obvious he isn't actually watching anything.

Warm purples and blues from the TV screen spill onto the contours of his face, and reflect off his eyes. Wooyoung shakes his head. Stop fucking staring at him.

He blinks, and then San's eyes meet his, dark and narrowed.

"Uh," Wooyoung coughs. "You've uh, you've got a nice TV, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir'," San answers, baffled. "That's weird."

"You're a CEO," Wooyoung can't help but blurt, and bites his lip as a way to chastise himself. "Sorry."

San's face falls, looking far more like the man Wooyoung had seen many times on catalogues and those digital billboards. "I know I am, you don't need to remind me."

"I'm sorry."

San doesn't answer to that, but points at the phone he's holding. "What's that?"

Wooyoung hides it a little. "A phone...?"

"Yeah, I know. But it looks so shabby."

Wooyoung chews his lip, shoulders hunched in defeat. "Oh."

San leans back, lips quirked to form his first actual smile at Wooyoung, and it takes the younger by surprise. "I was just teasing you."

Wooyoung coughs again, before walking around San. He pretends the man isn't staring at him as he settles himself on the floor as well.

The hard surface is downright cruel to his butt, but he doesn't let it show, not when San's eyes are on his face, studying him.

"You're Number Three," San states after a second.

"What?"

"The third person Hongjoongie's brought over here to babysit me," San says, fingers making quotation marks on 'babysit'. "It's you. And I don't like it, because I'm fine here by myself even if he thinks I'm not."

Wooyoung looks at the elder, and maybe it's the lighting, but marks line underneath his eyes, nearly putting his eye bags to shame. He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed them earlier during breakfast.

He picks at a loose thread on his shirt. "Maybe he's just worried."

"He shouldn't be. I'm fine." San doesn't look that fine, but Wooyoung refrains from commenting on it, because he has a slight hunch it won't be appreciated.

"I'm Jung Wooyoung," Wooyoung says, though he's sure Choi San already knows his full name. He just wants to steer their conversation elsewhere and not feel as awkward. "...I'm turning twenty two at the end of this month, and...I'm a college student."

San rakes his fingers down his hair, exposing a smooth forehead and perfectly arched brows. He scoffs, but it's not mean sounding. "Wow, what interesting facts."

"I know right," Wooyoung answers, tone dry.

San bites his lip (Wooyoung looks away when he realizes he's staring. Again), his toes wriggling as he pipes up with a wide grin that knocks Wooyoung's breath right out of him.

"Oh, I have an idea of how we can spend the time! And it's not as boring as yours."

Things like hugging plushies, colouring and watching cartoons are some of what San likes to do when he's in little space. Entertain him, but do not let it get out of hand. Wooyoung remembers Hongjoong's earlier words, so he isn't surprised when San scrambles towards the black leather sofa large enough to fit up to four people, and returns back with a colouring book and a set of markers.

But that doesn't mean Wooyoung doesn't understand it. He really doesn't understand it, because like everyone else, things that aren't familiar to him get a little frowned at, a little judged. That's just how he feels, he can't help it. But he doesn't say anything, because that isn't what he's here for.

He's here to tolerate Choi San and get paid, not to understand him.

"This one's new. It's got stickers I like," San says as he sits, before opening it up to a certain page. It's half complete, full of a bunch of different foxes.

Wooyoung watches on like a distant presence as San starts to colour in the rest of the foxes with the markers. He realizes the older man pays a lot of attention to detail, shading in the drawings with utmost care and patience.

But when San grabs the orange marker and starts to shade a new fox, he accidentally colours outside the lines. San hurls it at the floor with a petulant huff, whimpering like an injured puppy. The marker leaves an ugly smear over the shiny floor.

"Why did this have to happen? This is why I hate orange!"

"You shouldn't do that," Wooyoung says, but San's groans easily overpower his low voice. "Pick it up," he says much louder. "It'll dirty the floor."

"People clean it every evening," San says, flinging yet another marker at the floor. "I don't care."

"Just because they do doesn't mean you can't pick up after yourself," Wooyoung answers. It's weird how easy it is to talk to San now. Maybe it's because he's currently staring at the floor, his slanted eyes hidden from view. But it's fine, Wooyoung likes it like that.

"You're not Jung Wooyoung anymore to me. You're officially Mr. Nag Nag. 'Cause that's what you're doing right now: nagging your butt off."

Wooyoung ignores him and reaches to pick up the markers, but San decides to dump the rest across the floor.

"Sir -- "

"Don't call me that, Nag Nag -- "

"Pick up the markers. Right now."

San pouts, but the his eyes light up. "Lie on the floor and I'll pick them up."

"No."

"You have to do as I say. I'm the boss."

Choi San technically is, but Wooyoung doesn't want to acknowledge that. "...No," he tries again, his tone bordering on insecure, which the older man picks up on.

"Lie down," San scoots closer, batting his lashes dramatically. "Pleeease."

Wooyoung looks away as soon as their gazes meet, but crumples to the floor either way. I hope I don't regret this.

"What is this for?" He asks, shivering a little at the coolness of the marble tiles.

San doesn't answer him, but he doesn't need to. In a matter of seconds, he's leaning over Wooyoung, long hair flowing down his face and falling easily over his shoulders as if he's in some photoshoot.

Wooyoung's breath hitches at his proximity, even more so when San smiles, popping open a black marker.

San's face is mere inches away when he presses the warm pads of his fingers over Wooyoung's forehead, slowly shifting the hair that gets in the way off to the side.

Wooyoung doesn't know where to look, but he does know he can't look San in the eye -- even if it's tempting. So his eyes dart every possible way, before abruptly landing on the older's nose.

It's a straight nose, a little thick at the tip, but it's cute. No it isn't what the actual fuck --

Something cold and wet hits Wooyoung's forehead then, and then he realizes that San is scribbling something down on him.

"Wait, San-ssi -- "

San scribbles even faster, then sticks something at the end before Wooyoung can even react.

"What did you write on my forehead?" Wooyoung questions.

San shrugs, so Wooyoung has to stand up and find his way to the nearest bathroom (which just so happens to be a whole staircase away). When he sees himself, he wants to scream.

L O S E R is scrawled across his forehead in thick, blocky letters, along with a large '🤪' sticker. The emoji sears his skin, taunting him, because he feels like it. He feels like a big fool.

Wooyoung hears something and then he turns, and there San is by the doorway, grinning at him like a sly cat. "You!"

"Revenge for making me eat veggies!" San yells and speeds off, cackling at the top of his lungs.

Wooyoung wants to do the logical thing here, which is to calmly inhale deep breaths and try not to explode at what Choi San, a fricking CEO for Christ's sake, has done to him. It may be hard, but he has to. He has to be the bigger person and --

Wooyoung rips off the sticker and chases after San.

The older man is light on his feet -- and fast too -- blowing Wooyoung a raspberry as soon as he sees him, before descending the spiralling staircase into the sitting room.

Wooyoung follows after him, having to hold on to the rails so he doesn't trip and rip his skull open, but then he gets distracted by the thought of his blood getting all over the polished stairs, and slips just as he reaches the ground floor.

He doesn't fall, but San sees everything, and fuck, it's embarrassing when San laughs harder than before.

"Lo. Ser. Nag. Nag!" San chants like he's at a football game, narrowly missing Wooyoung's hands when they reach to grab him.

Wooyoung hates this. He hates this so much, doesn't know why he's even bothering with this rich snob of a boss when he can just let it go and fucking ignore him for the rest of the day as planned, but something in him prevents him for listening. He wants to catch Choi San and make him pay for what he's done.

San arrives at the hall when Wooyoung snatches him and flips him against the wall a little harsher than he'd intended. San doesn't wince though, only stares right into his eyes.

"What are you doing? Are you a fucking child? What is wrong with you?!" Wooyoung spits before he can stop himself, his earlier frustration getting to him.

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth, of course, but the deed is already done. That's the thing with words; once they're spoken, you can't take them back no matter how hard you try.

Something breaks in San's eyes but then he blinks and it's gone. He leans in and ruffles Wooyoung's hair. "You look cute."

Wooyoung flinches at his touch and grabs his wrist, but lets go as soon as he does. He steps away, keeping his gaze locked on the ground. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," San replies, voice lowered, huskier, not at all like the bubbly man Wooyoung had witnessed earlier. He moves in until he's all up in Wooyoung's space, and Wooyoung makes the mistake of looking at him.

"You're only in it for the money, just like the others..." San's eyes are intense, intimidating. He taps Wooyoung's forehead, softly at first, before roughly pushing it away. "But I'll make you leave. I'll make you give up, just like the loser you truly are."

Then, San walks off, leaving Wooyoung reeling with surprise, guilt, and even more shockingly, hurt.

It hurts, not because of the way San said it (not really), but because it's the truth. He is a loser.

To make things worse, Wooyoung realizes right then and there he hasn't even gotten the WiFi password yet.

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a/n: thoughts? is this interesting or what?