Chapter Text
Doyoung’s eyes stare up at the TV display that’s currently tracking the status of the train he’s on. His eyes focus on the small cartoon version of their subway train, watching as it slides along the bright blue line, his destination getting closer and closer as the lights from outside the windows flash by. The car is crowded, it always is at nearly eight-thirty in the morning, workers just like himself heading to their buildings to begin their day. The subway car is a blur of monotone colored uniforms, each one being nearly the same identical dark blue blazers and black pants or skirts for those who chose them. There’s only small differences between all of them squished on in the rocking subway car and the difference comes in the lanyards along their necks. Doyoung stares at the person in front of him, a young woman that looks even younger than himself. His eyes trail down to see the ID lanyard that’s hanging along her stomach, the words that are printed under her picture are too small for Doyoung to read but he notices the color difference in the stripe underneath the words, the color being pink instead of his own bright green.
There’s a familiar chime that echoes throughout the cabin and it tears Doyoung’s eyes away from the woman’s lanyard and up to the TV display. The small tracker has now turned into a black screen and Doyoung watches the way the words ‘A message from Kwangya’ pops up, just as it does every morning he rides to work. The words only appear for a brief moment before the screen turns to a person, a face that he’s seen practically more times than his own. The man has black hair much like his own, parted slightly off to the side, bangs positioned nicely to frame his forehead in a pleasing way. Doyoung sees the way his name tag is neatly pinned on his blazer, a name tag that Doyoung doesn’t need to read but does anyways, the three letters are ones he sees plastered along the city.
“Hello, my name is Kun and I’m the leader of the Neo City government, Kwangya. Here in Neo City we strive to make our city the most comfortable and reliable for all our citizens. We want to live comfortably while rebuilding so we can go on and live a meaningful life. In order to do that, we need your help in creating a safe environment so we can achieve our dreams. Kwangya has made it simple to help with four easy steps.”
The screen splits in two, one half being Kun and the other being a black screen that begins to light up with a column of numbers and before Kun even begins to say them, Doyoung is already repeating them in his head.
“Number one, making sure your chip is working correctly. Your chip is essential to let us know your state of being. It’s what keeps us connected, it’s what allows us at Kwangya to see how we are doing with daily life. Number two, take your pills. The pills are designed to allow you to work efficiently without distractions and that benefits the growth of our community. Number three, contribute to our efforts. By helping out at one of the government facilities, we will be able to strengthen our bond and be able to help one another more. And number four, obey.”
There’s a pause as Kun lets out a laugh, one that has his lips curling into a bright smile. “Remember, we at Kwangya know what’s best for you and if you follow our rules, we can ensure that your life will be meaningful and happy. No one knows you like we at Kwangya know you.”
The screen lingers on Kun for a bit longer before the familiar chime echoes once again and the cute animation of their train returns. It’s only there for a moment longer before it reaches the end of the line on screen and Doyoung grips his bag that’s across his chest, fingers curling around it as he turns around carefully, moving the same time everyone else does. They all move as one, their bodies fitting perfectly in the spaces between, slotting together like moving puzzle pieces as they exit the subway. Doyoung is met with the bright blue neon lights that line the top of the ceilings, the lights reflecting brightly off the stark white floor beneath him. Doyoung continues to move with the crowd, almost letting the others pull him along, the motions of his morning being machine-like and it’s at this time that he knows the pill is kicking in.
The subway station is large, it’s open and pure white aside from the blue neon strips of light that cascade down on him. The pillars that he passes are full of moving screens, each one sometimes being the same as the others and sometimes different, occasionally advertising goods and services instead of the videos that rotate on all the screens throughout the city. Doyoung stares at the large one that hovers over the moving walkways, Kun’s smiling face staring back at him as his voice can be heard repeating the daily reminders. Doyoung watches Kun talk as he waits for the walkway to take him to the end, his eyes not having much else to focus on. He lets his lips follow the movement of Kun's, the words being silent coming out of his mouth but he repeats them in his head.
Sun hits Doyoung’s cheeks as he steps out of the subway station. There’s the chatter of people passing by, those in uniforms and those not. He takes a moment to soak in the fresh air and the sun, knowing that by the time he goes home, it’ll be past dusk. When Doyoung returns home, he knows the streets will be quieter, leaving the city’s bright neon lights to speak for it instead of the different people filling the space. Mornings are Doyoung’s favorites. He likes to watch as children laugh and run along the sidewalks, stopping occasionally at the display windows of shops, specifically those of bakeries and toy stores, their tiny hands making prints on the glass as they look in with hopeful eyes. He likes the way the sky looks above him, the bright blue color with fluffy clouds that move slowly, going on for what feels like forever until they disappear behind the protective walls of their city.
Like the subway, the city itself is full of moving banners and billboards, vibrant colors and pictures looking unchanged due to the brightness of the sun. Neo City is small but it holds advanced technology that makes it feel as though it’s not the only city left in the world. The open air moving walkways that tower over the sidewalks and small parks that connect the sides of the city, make it feel as though it goes on forever, the endless stretches of green and tall buildings that vary in size just enough to make the view appealing seem to stretch for miles and miles. Doyoung knows it doesn’t though, knows that the large city walls contain a flourishing city but a small one. It’s big enough for Doyoung though, he enjoys the way it feels bigger than it is, enjoying the way that it will only take him a handful of minutes to reach the end by subway and just over an hour to reach by foot.
Neo City has everything that Doyoung could want in terms of living. There’s parks, there’s bakeries, shops of every kind, bars, but despite checking off everything a big city has, it’s quiet at night, as if he’s living somewhere off in the countryside. His entire life, the city’s entire life, is confined to their walls and Doyoung can’t think of living any other way. He doesn’t want to live another way, even if the walls were to suddenly open up and the world around them was to be restored, Doyoung knows he would stay put in Neo City. It’s everything to him, it’s the place that has brought him so much positivity in his life and Doyoung has to be loyal to it. Even the idea of stepping foot outside the walls, makes him shiver in fear.
“Morning, Mr. Kim,” the woman at the front desk says as Doyoung approaches it. “Lovely day out, isn’t it?”
Doyoung smiles, his hand holding his badge out for it to be scanned. “Even if the sky opened up, it would still be lovely.”
There’s nothing else but a smile as a response and Doyoung is content with it. His body leans forward, face settling nicely into the eye scanner, the light bright but only for a moment as it scans him. There’s a pleasant beep and Doyoung pulls away, allowing the receptionist to press another piece of equipment to him, a sort of reader that is pushed up against the circular chip that sits behind his ear. Doyoung stands patiently, waiting for another pleasant beep and when it happens, the woman pulls the device away.
“Have a good day, Mr. Kim,” she says before she settles back into her chair.
Doyoung’s fingers curl around the strap of his bag as he sets off through the lobby, the large ceilings feeling as tall as the walls outside. There’s windows surrounding the left side, windows that are bigger than him and windows that Doyoung’s eyes look through as he walks down the hallway. There’s the greenery of the front courtyard that he mostly sees, plush grass and tall individually placed trees that provide shade over a set of benches. It’s a place where Doyoung spends his breaks, a place where he eats lunch when the weather is nice just as it is today. The windows continue down the hall until Doyoung turns and they disappear behind him. The elevators that he stands in front of are outlined in neon green, the light seeming to move like water around the frame of the elevator. The stark white tile under him reflects it too, the lime green spreading out underneath him, contrasting against his black shoes.
The elevator is just as white as the floor that spreads out in front of it. The illuminated buttons are the only thing that bring color, the distinct lime green of their company. Doyoung holds his card up to the scanner and the floor buttons all dim except for one, the floor that Doyoung needs to go to. Only seconds later, the elevator begins to move, Doyoung taking the chance to lean back against the white walls as he waits. The elevator stops before he gets all the way up, the number two being shown on the display above the board, three levels below where Doyoung has to go. The doors open slowly and Doyoung tilts his head when no one is waiting outside. He leans forward, ready to scan his card again to get it moving, his hand pausing when he sees someone run into view. The other is a boy, one with hair that bounces with every movement he makes into the elevator. The boy quickly holds his key card up to the same scanner that Doyoung’s hand was going for and the basement button lights up.
“Thanks,” the boy says, his chest rising and falling as he attempts to catch his breath.
Doyoung nods his head in response, his eyes choosing to stare at the boy for a moment. He’s tall, taller than Doyoung but only by a bit, a few centimeters at best. His hair is bright blue, a rather odd choice in Doyoung’s opinion but along with his blue blazer, it doesn’t look terrible. The other has a rather pretty face, if Doyoung has to admit, his features being pleasing to look at with the way his nose curves out and his lips seem plump even from the side. What interests him most though, is the fact that Doyoung doesn’t know who the other person is, which is something that doesn’t happen often.
There aren’t many people in his building, despite it being large and overly fancy. There’s perhaps fifty at best and Doyoung knows all of them. Doyoung is the one responsible for filtering the calls he gets to each department and in doing so, he’s created a relationship with each and every person. The boy next to him though, the one with his hands fiddling with his badge, isn’t someone that Doyoung has ever seen. The only item of information he can gather from the other is the floor number that his card takes him to. The basement is the actual restoration part of their building, the floor that is responsible for fixing all the products that are broken or damaged. Their entire company is a restoration company but the basement specifically fixes the items instead of floor five where Doyoung is located, the floor that answers calls and reads emails and then sends them off accordingly.
“Thanks again,” the other says when the doors open on Doyoung’s floor.
Doyoung nods his head again, “You’re welcome,” he adds as the elevator doors close behind him.
The glowing neon lights that surround the elevator are bright against the stark white floor, contrasting with the way Doyoung’s dark shoes tap against the surface as he walks. The glass walls that open up to the office stretch on for several feet, Doyoung’s eyes peering in to see his coworkers busily typing at their computers, mouths moving silently while Doyoung walks by. The main door is glass as well, the only part not glass are the handles, ones that match the white of the floor and reflect the bright neon green lights that come when Doyoung pushes his badge against the scanner.
From the inside, the office is quiet as well, the soft talking barely being heard over the taps of keyboards and gentle hums of holograph monitors that hover in front of their workspaces. Doyoung does a gracious head bow to the others as he passes to get to his own desk, each one of his coworkers doing the same in return before their attention goes back to their bright monitors. Doyoung himself keeps quiet as he settles down at his desk, hands busy booting up his computer and getting his papers organized for the day. The monitor lights up quickly, only needing seconds to display in front of him, the holographic screen curving slightly at the edges, creating a pleasing view of the desktop. Notifications begin to pop up along the screen in the form of virtual sticky notes, spreading out slowly and letting out a soft chime with each one that finds a place on the display. Doyoung’s eyes scan over each of them, reading them thoroughly as he sets up his headset, the band fitting nicely over his black hair. Fingers push the empty side against the circular spot by his ear until a robotic voice tells him that he’s connected, his other hand busy positioning the mic against his lips.
At exactly nine in the morning, Doyoung presses the large button on the floating screen above him that says ‘Begin Work’.
“Any plans for this weekend, Doyoung?”
Doyoung tilts his head, his bangs fluttering with the gentle breeze that brushes through the trees. He shakes his head, his lips parting to let out a breathy laugh as he pushes his fork into his salad. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he admits, “You?”
The other besides him, a man named Yuta, stretches his legs out, black shiny shoes pushing into the soft grass of the courtyard that is spread out in front of their building. “Think I’m gonna get sushi with Taeyong and Mark,” the other says, his hands quickly catching the empty take out container next to him before it can be pushed off the bench by the wind. “It’s become our routine these days.”
“Sushi does sound nice,” Doyoung says, “Been a while since I’ve been.”
Yuta’s hand reaches out, nudging the back of Doyoung’s arm, “Why don’t you come with us?”
“And hear Mark drunk talk about work for three hours, no thanks,” Doyoung laughs.
Yuta laughs with him, his head tilting back and the small ponytail that’s tied behind his head brushes against the tree, making it splat out in different directions. “Come on,” he exclaims, “that’s the best part!”
Even with Doyoung’s conflicting words, he lets his lips curl into a smile, knowing that Yuta is right. Mark, another employee that works in the Parts and Services section, is one of his best friends, despite his habit to ramble for hours. “Maybe,” Doyoung finally says after their laughter settles down. “Don’t hold your breath on it though.”
“I know, I know,” Yuta coos, “Weekends are meant for cuddling up on the couch and watching shows.” Doyoung nods his head in response, knowing that those are the exact words that he’s said more than enough times to count. “How’s Neo City supposed to grow if we don’t contribute though? The more time we spend out, the more it benefits the city. As much as you like lazing around, I know how much you like helping out and what better way than to go have dinner with your best friends?”
Before Doyoung can respond, there are two chimes that go off, both Doyoung and Yuta’s fingers pressing the notification away on their watches. Doyoung’s hands gather his half eaten lunch, the lid going on the salad and his lips wrapping around the straw of his juice box, sucking the rest of the juice out as he waits for Yuta to clean up.
“What time on Saturday?” Doyoung asks as the elevator door closes in front of them.
Yuta tilts his head, his hands sliding into his pocket as one of the buttons that are lit up fades to nothing. “Eight? Taeyong teaches that art class until seven.”
“Eight sounds good,” Doyoung smiles as Yuta pushes himself off the wall, walking out of the elevator with a bright smile.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he says with a click of his tongue and a wink. “Now don’t work too hard or else you might not make it to Saturday.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes, his arm jutting out to press the door close button, watching as Yuta laughs, the man slowly disappearing in front of him thanks to the doors. Doyoung settles back against the wall, the lime green light of the button still lit up reflecting brightly against the white of the elevator.
Doyoung is the first one back to his desk, the others most likely on their way, most of them enjoying heading to a restaurant or cafe for lunch instead of packing their own like Doyoung does. The monitor lights up as soon as Doyoung presses the button, his documents and notes still up on the screen. His finger moves around a few, sorting them into their proper folders accordingly and soon, his display is clean as can be, Doyoung even taking the time to make sure the actual folders are perfectly even with each other off to the side. It doesn’t take long though for another notification to pop up on screen, one that Doyoung immediately assumes is an email for a complaint. It is an email but it’s not one regarding a product not working. Instead, it’s an email that loads into a video, the entire monitor switching to it, the familiar logo of their work filling the screen.
“Good afternoon,” the man on the screen says as the video changes, “This is Moon Taeil, company president speaking. This email is to inform you of our new employee here at Neo City Technology Restoration.”
Doyoung’s eyes follow the screen as Taeil moves to one side, allowing an image of another person to pop up next to him. The person is immediately recognizable as the person that Doyoung saw in the elevator in the morning. There’s no doubt when the bright blue hair shows up and the pretty features that capture Doyoung’s attention once more, the front view being just as nice as his side profile.
“This is Kim Jungwoo,” Taeil announces, “He will be joining us in the Parts and Service section. Jungwoo was chosen by Kwangya to be transferred to our office due to his outstanding performance. If you see him, please give him a warm welcome. That’s all for now, thank you for your time.”
And before Doyoung can pause the video to rewind and look at Jungwoo’s picture again, the video collapses back into the email. His fingers hover over the email and it’s so close to touching it, hovering right over the video that has Taeil’s face on it. His hand slowly drops though, knowing he has other, more important things to get to. As he closes the email, the other workers begin to slowly file in, filling up the office space one by one. They get settled at their desks and as their monitor lights up, so does the email from Taeil and once again, Jungwoo’s face can be seen through the backs of hologram screens. Doyoung stares at him through it, watching the way Jungwoo’s face gently moves, the video familiar with ones they take for new employee’s, digital moving profiles that are stored with each of their files. Then, as soon as Jungwoo appeared, he’s gone just as he was on Doyoung’s own screen.
The room gets quiet only for a moment before the gentle ringing begins as work starts once more. Doyoung’s finger taps against the spot behind his ear as he hears it in his own ear. “Hello, thank you for calling Neo City Technology Restoration, this is Doyoung, how may I assist you?”
As Doyoung nods his head, listening to the long and over detailed problem that the customer has, he lets his right hand scribble on a physical sticky note that’s stuck right next to his keyboard. He writes just a simple name before he tugs it off the stack, pushing it against the other sticky notes he has scattered along the outline of his cubicle.
‘Kim Jungwoo - Parts and Services’
The subway at five-thirty is a mirror image of how it is at eight-thirty. The subway cars are full of people in their work uniforms, the dark blue blazers and shiny black shoes with lanyards of different colors fill the space. The cartoon tracker of the train switches between the line of stops and the rotating announcements by Kwangya. There’s occasional product promotions, all mostly having to do with everyday necessities such as vacuums, more comfortable covers for the chip tucked behind their ears, new shoes that sync to their watches, all technology based items with the more than familiar name of Kwangya written somewhere on them. The advertisements are more for the common folk, the ones that live normal lives or those with children that need accessories like those. The commercials are long, all giving detailed information about the product that they’re selling along with demonstrations and guarantees from the workers at Kwangya. There’s always a number that pops up on screen that people can type in their watch to buy, the commercial promising same day delivery no matter what time of day. The one that’s playing gets cut off by the chimes of the subway car, the cartoon train popping back up as it slows at Doyoung’s stop.
There’s less people that get off at his stop and he’s able to comfortably walk without having to find the spaces between everyone. The neon blue lights are even brighter as the sun sets, the colors seeming more vibrant against the sterile white of the walls and floors. Doyoung grips at his bag as he walks through the subway, the corridors filling with the smell of ramen and other savory foods. He takes a right before the escalators, following the smell until he hits the small number of vendors that have shops tucked away in the subway station. Doyoung finds the shop he frequents, easily settling down at one of the stools, the woman coming over to him before he can even take his bag off his shoulders.
“Doyoung,” she says as her arms cross over the small ledge that’s raised above the counter, the curtains that separate the guests from the kitchen shaping her round face. “Usual for you?”
“Please,” he says with a smile, “You can add extra pork today if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she responds, “coming right up.”
She’s true to her words as she always is, a fresh bowl of ramen being set in front of Doyoung in no more than five minutes. It looks good as always, the broth steaming, filled with glossy, translucent bubbles from oil. Vegetables are placed precariously on the inside, the tops of them peeking out from the beautiful looking broth. Meat that looks juicy and full of flavor leans against the back of the bowl, the normal three large pieces being six this time and Doyoung feels his stomach growl at the sight of it. Fingers grab at his chopsticks, giving his dinner a quick shift, lifting the noodles up before he places them back down carefully. The first bite is always the best, it’s always the most flavorful and Doyoung lets his body slump as he chews. One bite turns into two, then three, then four, then Doyoung doesn’t bother to count and eats until there’s nothing more to grab. His cheeks are tinted pink from the warmth of the food and the slight spice that lingers on his lips. He takes a moment to let it settle, his eyes falling to the TV that’s hung up in the corner of the small shop, his lips wrapping around his cup of fresh tea as he watches the news play.
Doyoung doesn’t stay for the whole broadcast, knowing that it’ll still be playing by the time he returns home. He grabs his bag and tugs it over his head, saying a thankful goodbye as he walks out of the shop, the curtains that separate it from the corridor brushing against his hair as he ducks out. The subway fills with people once again as another train stops, this time more people stepping out than before. They follow behind Doyoung as he goes up the escalator, choosing to walk up it instead of letting it take him naturally. The air has cooled when he steps out of the station entrance, the setting sun lighting up the sky in a warm way. The streets are just as quiet as the subway, only a handful of people wandering along the sidewalks along with Doyoung. They come and go at an even pace, some appearing from tall buildings while others enter them. When one turns a corner, another comes from the opposite way. It’s a flow that can be found no matter where Doyoung goes in Neo City.
The apartment building that Doyoung resides in is easy to spot. It’s tall, the shining building stacked with twelve floors, standing slightly taller than the neighboring buildings with it. What truly sets it apart from the others is the bright, lime green color that it gives off. It’s the same color as the lights in the company building, the same as the elevator buttons, and the same as the green on Doyoung’s lanyard. The lanyard that’s used to enter the Restoration building is the same that Doyoung uses to enter his apartment building. They’re all connected, Kwangya feeling as though it’s best to group workers together for easy accessibility. The group living is beneficial for announcements and other important work related things and Doyoung doesn’t mind one bit, knowing that he would rather be living in the same building with people he knows rather than people he doesn’t. Doyoung has his own space though, as does everyone else, it’s just nice to be around friends in case he may ever need them.
Doyoung takes the elevator to the seventh floor, the ride being smooth and uninterrupted. He takes his time walking to his apartment, his door being second to last in the hallway that three rooms occupy. Fingers push in the outer pocket of his bag that’s against his hip, blindly feeling around for his keys. They are grabbed by the time Doyoung reaches his door, his key is easily slotted in the hole, the small pad lighting up on top of it. Doyoung types in his passcode and the door gleefully chimes at him and the sound of it unlocking quietly runs through the hall.
As Doyoung closes the door behind him, the light above the entryway turns on, allowing him to see as he takes off his shoes, not bothering to lean down and untie them but he shimmies them off instead. Keys are hung up on the line of hooks that he put up when he first moved in, the four hooks looking just as they did when he put them up nearly two years ago. The bag on his shoulder is neatly set in the closet, tucked right behind Doyoung’s jackets. The rest of Doyoung’s lights turn on as he makes his way through his home, a setting that he chose not too long ago. The bedroom is the first place that Doyoung goes to, wanting nothing more than to change out of his work uniform and into something more comfortable. A pair of striped pajamas is what he comes out in, the pant legs just the slightest too long for him and they nearly cover his feet as he shuffles towards the kitchen.
A buzz on his watch makes Doyoung tilt his wrist as he opens the door to his fridge. It’s a reminder but one that he already knows of, one that he’s preparing for as he pulls out a fresh bottle of water from the fridge. He sets it down on the counter, opening the cabinet next to the fridge to pull out a tall glass, one that Doyoung carefully pours half of the water into. Fingers curl around the handle of the drawer next to the sink, one no wider than his hand. Inside are neatly organized containers, all filling the space that once was empty before he moved in. Each container is a week, Sunday to Sunday, the date written neatly on a small square of paper that Doyoung meticulously writes and tapes onto the plastic surface. The tip of his nail runs along the containers until he sees the date he needs, thumb popping the small lid open, the plastic part bobbing as he digs his fingers in carefully to grab the blue pill inside. The pill, no longer than the length of his fingernail, is pushed past his lips with ease. It only takes one gulp of water and a single swallow before it’s gone, Doyoung pausing for a breath before he finishes off the rest of the water that’s left.
The L-shaped couch welcomes Doyoung as he settles down on it. There’s a glass in his hand, a thin stemmed one that has replaced his water cup, the contents that flow with his movements being wine instead. The glass finds its usual home, standing on a round coaster, one that Doyoung had purchased from the shop on Main street. It’s a small store, one run by an elderly woman who can sew even the most complicated of things. Doyoung frequents it, most of the time not actually buying anything but choosing to look around to see what she had newly created, always interested in her craft. The round coaster on his table is the only item that he’s ever bought. It’s a simple coaster, one made out of a piece or two of fabric, perhaps scraps that she had lying around from previous projects as the cream colors are slightly off from one another. There isn’t a particular reason as to why he was drawn to the coaster, it certainly is one of the least appealing items on display. But perhaps it was the simplicity of it that made him stop. It’s a simplicity that fits him, that fits Doyoung.
At seven-fifteen is when Doyoung is halfway through his wine glass. It’s when the TV in front of him, hung up perfectly straight on the wall, gets turned on. It takes a moment for it to fully turn on but when it does, Doyoung sets the remote back to where it belongs on his coffee table, the channel he wants to watch already on from the previous night. The screen goes back and forth between images of their city. It bounces between new construction sites and ones that have just finished, happily showing off the growth of Neo City while a monotoned reporter gives details on the new additions. The news continues just as it always does, providing Doyoung with information about things he needs to know and things he doesn’t. He watches the usual reporters go through their piece of paper in front of them, each one delivering information without any hesitation or confusion.
One of the reporters, Winwin, is a person that Doyoung has met before. It’s been several months since their meeting but he was requested to make an appearance on the news, being chosen to give an interview on his life. It wasn’t a very detailed interview, Winwin only asking basic questions such as if Doyoung is happy and things that he thinks could be improved on in the city. Doyoung had well thought out answers, ones that only took moments to be formed into words, more than happy to offer his opinion. The interview lasted only a handful of moments, a time where Doyoung got comfortable in the leather chair he was seated in, almost sad to leave once it was over. Winwin was the same in person as he was on TV; a monotoned reporter that sticks to the piece of paper he holds in his hands. Though, Doyoung supposes he was probably the same as he is at work as well; straight and to the point and as professional as he can be.
Doyoung nurses his wine as the news continues on. There’s hardly any changes compared to last night's broadcast, Doyoung seeing the same few subjects be brought up again in the same fashion. There are small breaks that are filled with commercials that Doyoung can recite by heart, even giving the perfect impersonation of the overly excited salesperson that tries their best to get him to type the number on his watch. By the time his clock on the wall reads nearly eight, the reporters say their goodbye’s and the screen fades to black. No more than ten seconds later, a familiar sentence cuts through the pure blackness. ‘A message from Kwangya.’
The message starts off the same way as the ones in the subway do. Kun appears out of the darkness, still in his suit and still smiling brightly at the camera. Doyoung figures that they recorded all of the messages at the same time seeing as Kun’s hair has remained unbothered, Doyoung having seen the broadcasts enough now to be able to know such a thing. It would also make sense, seeing as there would be no point to film everything separately, especially videos that get played daily.
“Good evening,” Kun begins, his head tilted slightly as his smile widens, “This is Kun, your Kwangya government leader. As the day winds down, I want to remind you of a few things.”
Doyoung tilts his head back, his eyes still locked on the screen, seeing Kun’s face through the bottom of his wine glass, his features distorting as he finishes his drink. He lets out a sigh, one that comes from the back of his throat, wet and garbled by the lingering sting of alcohol.
“Your participation in our regrowth is vital,” Kun says firmly, his hands moving along with every word he speaks. “It is important for us all to be on the same page and follow the same rules, no matter who we are, no matter where we work, no matter where we live. If we all work together, our city can continue to thrive and expand outside our walls.” There’s a pause, one which has Doyoung counting one, two, three, four, five, before Kun begins again. “Remember that you can help our city grow if you follow the four important rules; make sure your chip is working, take your pills, contribute to our efforts, and-”
“Obey,” Doyoung says, finishing the sentence in place of the other, his own voice melting with Kun’s.
“I wish you all a pleasant night,” Kun says as his goodbye, his head tilting in the shallowest of bows before the screen fades to black once more.
Doyoung lets the TV linger on, watching as the blackness once again comes to life, this time with silent recaps of the news broadcast, written words appearing over the screen instead of voices. The weather for the week comes and goes, profits from the different companies are shown on colorful charts, virtual renditions of their city expanding being shown in all different angles, it’s all things that Doyoung watches every night. It’s when Kun’s face reappears, that Doyoung finally turns off the TV, his apartment fading into silence.
The clock on the wall reads just past eight but the outside world is just as silent as Doyoung’s apartment. Not a single car horn, not a flurry of muffled conversations as people pass by down below, not a peep from the two apartments on either side of his, nothing. There isn’t a curfew in place, nothing restricting people from being out at a certain time. There isn’t a rule about noise, even in the apartment building that Doyoung resides in. Instead of official rules, there are ones that people have created themselves, choosing to be quiet at certain times so as to not disturb those around them. Doyoung doesn’t live on Main, a place where nights are much livelier and people are out until the moon reaches the top of the sky. To be fair, no one lives on Main, the strip of land being that used for business, not a single house nearby for anyone to live in. So once people leave the area, there’s a switch that flips, one created purely in their conscious.
The silence is a part of living that Doyoung enjoys. He isn’t one that needs to be doing something constantly. His friends are like that, especially Yuta, the other always making plans, always out and about. Doyoung is a homebody, enjoying the comfort of being in pajamas and lounging on the couch in his small living room. There are times that he wishes he was like Yuta, wondering what it must feel like to constantly be on the move. It’s not that their job is hard, sure some parts of it are more draining than the others but Doyoung’s job only requires minimum exertion. There’s never a day that Doyoung feels as though he’s too tired to go out and that’s why he doesn’t, of course there are moments, mostly due to his eyes staring at the hologram screen for hours on end. Home is just where Doyoung would prefer to be most days.
Doyoung’s hands reach up, tugging at the large curtains that hang over his windows. The windows that are next to the couch are as tall as the ceiling, starting at the floor and acting as a wall between him and the outside. The soft lights of the small apartment filled town that he lives in glows through his windows. Despite the windows being large, they don’t provide Doyoung with much to look at. There’s space between the next building, empty air that isn’t filled with branches of trees or even an ornate light post that Doyoung can watch bugs wander to. The building next to them glows blue, a similar blue to the color of the pills that are neatly sorted in the drawer in his kitchen. Staircases that lead up the side of the building can be seen, not a single wall shielding them from nature, an open air staircase that his building holds as well. Occasionally, the curtains of another apartment will be parted, much like Doyoung’s are at the moment, giving him a little glimpse as to what another person’s life may be like. It’s rare though, especially at night when the sun doesn’t offer any protection, the glass clearing for the night time and the moon doing nothing to glare his vision. The only thing he sees is the faint light that seeps through heavy curtains and Doyoung’s hand moves, allowing his windows to provide the same image.
At eight-thirty, Doyoung rises from the couch. The wine glass is carefully washed, joining another on the drying rack. He pours himself the rest of the bottle of water, finishing the glass in a few heavy gulps. The glass is washed and the plastic bottle is set neatly into his recycling bin, adding to the four already in the container. Doyoung’s fingers carefully turn off each light before blindly making his way to the bathroom. A shower welcomes him with warmth, the water holding him like a blanket while he washes. Skin care is done with meticulous motions, Doyoung taking his time with each step, making sure to do it just as he does every night. A hairdryer takes only a few minutes to fully dry his hair, Doyoung having to pat down the frizzy parts before he finally leaves the bathroom.
At five minutes to nine, Doyoung lays in bed, tucking himself neatly into his comforter and sheets. They’re silk, a choice that Doyoung is happy he made now that summer is approaching. His old sheets were cotton, a gentle and soft feel against his skin but they were old and worn, loved for nearly a year and with frequent washes, they didn’t feel as nice as they once did. The silk sheets contrast with the warm shower that had welcomed Doyoung, the fabric being cool but just as inviting.
And by nine, Doyoung is asleep, his body tucked on his side, knees bent and arm holding the pillow up against his cheek.
Doyoung gets weekends off. Not everyone in the company does, though most do, the only section to not have the weekends off is Parts and Services. There are no days off for them and even if someone uses a vacation day, there’s always at least one person that occupies the floor, the sounds of machines working filling the silence of the rest of the building. It’s a fact that he wasn’t aware of until he became friends with Mark soon after Doyoung had joined the company. Mark was Doyoung’s go to person when contacting Parts and Services, he was the one that Doyoung was to email after a call came in. The more they talked though, the more Doyoung got to see what it was like to work on that floor of the building and how it was much different from his own office.
Despite the weekends being bare of work, Doyoung still follows the same motions he does during the week. He wakes up at the same time, still brushes his teeth thoroughly, and still does his hair for ten minutes despite not having to. The watch on his wrist still buzzes at five minutes until seven while Doyoung walks to the kitchen. A water bottle is taken out, half of it poured into the glass he takes from the drying rack. His finger slides along the written dates that he meticulously taped onto the pill containers in the drawer next to the sink. The blue pill is taken out and swallowed in one heavy gulp before he finishes off the rest of the water. His cup is washed carefully and put back exactly where it was before he took it off, resting next to the wine glasses that still reside there.
Doyoung makes himself a simple breakfast, choosing to cook a pan of eggs and spread strawberry jam over the last two pieces of bread that he toasts. The stool that’s tucked under the bar counter is pulled out, Doyoung settling quietly on it, his clean hand slowly scrolling through his phone, reading through the news instead of watching it on TV. It’s all the same though, the stories being ones that would be featured on the broadcasts along with ones that were rotated through after hours. There are a few headlines that have Doyoung stopping to read, his fingers gently wiping away the crumbs from his toast as he does so. The news is something that always interests Doyoung, no matter what the content is. He indulges in it every morning and every evening without fail as it’s become a part of his life. There isn’t anything ever of much interest in the topics or reports that come out but he stays up to date for loyalty purposes, feeling as though if he doesn’t, he’s not contributing enough. So he reads the same article that’s written five different ways, five different times, not missing a single word in each.
There’s a gym in the basement of the apartment building. Doyoung finds himself there at nine, immediately settling into his routine. The weekends are the only times that Doyoung works out, the only time he dedicates to the shabby gym in the windowless basement. It’s certainly not as grand as the gym that sits on the corner of Main. It doesn’t have fancy equipment or ceiling fans that rotate slowly. There’s no TV or speakers that play music to fill the silence. Instead, there’s the earbuds that hook into the small circular chip behind Doyoung’s ear, giving him the music he needs to be productive. His routine is a simple one that he created the first time he walked into the gym and has stuck with ever since. It’s a set of stretches with muscle building exercises that do just enough to keep him toned. There’s no desire to increase the frequency of the trips down to the gym for better results, no thought to change up his sets to something more challenging either. Doyoung enjoys the simplicity of his routine and he’s more than satisfied with the results that come from it.
No one joins Doyoung in the hour that he’s there. Not a single person in or out, not even an inkling of someone that may have walked by. There never is. At some points, Doyoung is convinced that he’s the only one that uses the gym and he wouldn’t be surprised as there’s a much better one that their city offers. Doyoung doesn’t blame them for not wanting to use old equipment with faulty touch screens and weights that have the numbers smudged on the side. Doyoung doesn’t mind though, he enjoys the solidarity of it. Even if someone were to come and join him, he would still frequent the gym just as he does.
Eleven-thirty is when Doyoung locks his apartment, his key being placed into his pocket as he walks towards the elevator. The day time brings a softness to the building. There’s no more blinding neon lights, though, they’re still there, just seemingly not as bright. The green color compliments the warmth outside, Doyoung’s cheeks immediately being hugged with sun. The subway is far less crowded on the weekend and Doyoung is able to find a seat easily, his body sliding down into the empty spot next to the door. There are a few people that have joined him on the subway, people that are spread out as far as they can be from each other. Doyoung’s eyes scan up, choosing to stay on the cute animated version of the subway as it slowly dances along the straight line in the middle. Doyoung gets off at the same stop he does for work, wanders through the same open corridors of the subway station, the bright blue lights bouncing off the white walls and floors. He follows the arrows on the floor to the escalator, walking up it instead of letting it carry him naturally.
The warmth of a spring day is what greets Doyoung when he leaves the subway station. The sun curls around his cheeks, giving him a welcomed hug, one that spreads throughout his entire body. A mixture of freshly bloomed flowers and fresh food from the cafe to his right makes the perfect combination, one that almost has Doyoung stopping to peek at the baked goods. He doesn’t though, his watch buzzing against his wrist to remind him of the time. Instead, he walks along the sidewalk of Main, his eyes following the flow of businesses that blend into one another. There’s shops that he’s been in before, shops that he’s never taken the time to look at, shops that are new, shops that are old, it’s a fitting combination for the city.
Doyoung always finds it odd to be on Main when he isn’t in his uniform. It’s not often that he walks the colorful streets on the weekends, mostly choosing to stay at home and relax from the work week. If he needs anything, he gets it delivered, a common practice among the entire city, everyone more than happy to utilize the very efficient and fast artificial intelligence bots that carry out the services. On occasion he’ll wander out if he feels the desire to but it’s rather rare, even with the weather moving past winter and into spring. Today though, he has an appointment at the clinic, a bi-weekly meeting that everyone in the city has.
The clinic isn’t necessarily crowded but it’s not the emptiest he’s seen it. There’s three rows of chairs, all positioned to face different angles to create a pleasing space to the eye. Doyoung finds himself in a chair that’s tucked against the window, the warm sun slowly melting against his light blue sweater. There’s magazines on the table to the right of him, a stack that has been meticulously placed, each magazine on top of each other, positioned so the edges line up perfectly. The magazines aren’t of any interest to him, at least not enough to break the work of whoever put them neatly on the table. Instead, Doyoung pulls out his phone from his pocket, watching the screen light up when he holds it up to his face. Notifications are bare and Doyoung scrolls through the expanse of emails that he’s already read, threading through them carefully and organizing them into the different folders he’s made. Most of them aren’t anything important. It’s emails about newsletters he’s signed up for, keeping him up to date on mundane things that don’t hold any significance in his life. Emails from their A.I services that tell him of new and upcoming models or changes, the emails being colorful and descriptive in an attempt to get him excited. There’s emails about work, none that Doyoung ever has to respond to but automated ones that send him his report for the week, detailing his own statistics against others in his section. Doyoung is always number one, his small moving picture popping up with each email that he drags to his work folder.
“Mr. Kim Doyoung,” the nurse says, making Doyoung look up from his phone. “You can come back with me.”
Doyoung stands up from the chair, the leather creaking as he leaves it. The nurse smiles at him, a generic and standard smile that Doyoung returns to her as they walk down the small hallway behind the swinging door. He follows the nurse through the curves and turns of the clinic, his gaze occasionally meeting with the others working as they pass. It’s not a very large clinic, in fact, Doyoung goes to the smallest one on Main. Yet there’s more than a handful of nurses and doctors that fill the building and he counts at least 5 other patients that fill the small rooms.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” the nurse says and Doyoung does just that.
The chair in the room isn’t nearly as comfy as the chairs in the waiting area. They’re leather but not as plush and Doyoung feels as though he’s sitting on a bench rather than a leather cushioned chair. The nurse sits across from him, settling down on a rolling stool that her foot taps against, nearly melting with the sound of her fingers tapping on the keyboard.
“I see no reports of your chip not working, is that correct?”
Doyoung nods his head in response, “Correct.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice trailing off into nothing as Doyoung watches her enter more information into the computer. “Any concerns today?”
“No,” Doyoung answers simply, “Just here for my check up.”
“Perfect,” the nurse says, her hands pushing her away from the desk, the rolling stool gliding along the floor until she stands up. “Let me just get your vitals and then we’ll send you for your bloodwork.”
Doyoung’s hand begins to tuck the pieces of hair away from his ear, doing his best to expose the circular spot behind his ear. The nurse comes with a hairclip, one that gives Doyoung’s hands relief, no longer needing to be at an awkward angle. A small, flat, square is placed onto the spot behind his ear, easily being placed on and the nurse stands next to Doyoung, one hand on her hip and the other holding a tablet. The device is only slightly bigger than the chip in Doyoung, the edges of the square only grazing against the back of his ear. It’s not uncomfortable, there’s no pain, no pressure, nothing to indicate that it’s even there, doing the job it’s made to do. The moment Doyoung hears a beep in his ear, the nurse reaches and tugs off the device, tossing it directly into the trashcan on the floor next to Doyoung.
“Alright, vitals and levels are perfect. Let’s get you to the lab and then you’ll be on your way.”
The lab is less inviting than the sterile room of the clinic. It’s not as though Doyoung finds either nice in any way but the large open space of the lab isn’t as cozy as the private rooms. He’s not the only one there, a few other people occupy the plush reclining chairs, some with nurses next to them and some without. The walls are still white, still as pure as the raw color, not a single inkling of dirt or old stains anywhere to be found. Even the chair that he is motioned to go to, is in pristine condition, the leather taunt around the curves. The leather doesn’t cry out when Doyoung shifts, allowing himself to get comfortable as he waits. Instead, it welcomes him softly, the cushion shaping around him, changing specifically for him.
“Doing well today?” the phlebotomist asks, her hands rubbing together as sanitizer works its way into her skin.
“As well as I can be,” Doyoung jokes.
The woman smiles, her hands coming to slide along Doyoung’s arm, skin dry and cold. “We’ll be done here in no time,” she adds as if it’s Doyoung’s first time.
Out of all the things in Doyoung’s life, getting his blood drawn is his least favorite. It’s not particularly painful, the nurses always do a wonderful job at making it as painless as it can be. There’s no side effects, no dizziness or nausea that others experience. The band around his arm is the most uncomfortable part, the pressure making his veins bulge in his arm, the soft blues and purples easily seen under his pale skin. There’s no one specific part that makes him hate it either, no one reason that Doyoung can think of that is the sole cause of his dislike. He hadn’t experienced any trauma from it, never had any bad jabs or nurses that didn’t seem to know what they were doing.
Despite the dislike, Doyoung watches every step, his eyes unable to look away as the needle sinks into his skin. It’s a tiny needle, one barely bigger than the sewing needle he watches the old woman at the shop on Main work with. He watches the nurse screw the vial on and slowly but steadily, his blood fills it. Perhaps that’s the part he dislikes the most, the way his blood so easily gives itself up. There’s no hesitation to spill into the vial, more than eager to give what’s needed. There’s not just a single vial either, there’s two, then a third, then a fourth before the nurse finally pulls the needle out. Doyoung’s fingers press the small cotton ball against the spot, just as he always does, not even needing to be instructed. The uncomfortable pressure is gone as soon as the wrap around his arm is tugged off. There’s still no pain in his arm, not a single sting or any indication that there had been a needle in his arm. Doyoung dislikes the whole thing but he watches every time, watches all the way up until the nurse walks away with the vials.
Fifteen minutes he has to wait. It’s the time they need to run the tests, not allowing him to leave until they do so. It’s not a long time and the steady flow and change of people keeps Doyoung occupied. He watches women and men exchange seats, the leather recliners only empty for a brief moment before someone else fills the space. Doyoung watches them get their blood drawn too, his eyes falling to the vials filling up, each one just as eager as his own. The flow is mesmerizing, the way everyone moves like fishes in a school, conscious of one another while working together to be more efficient. That’s how the entire city works, no matter where Doyoung goes. That’s the goal of the city, to all work together without question to make the most of their hours in the day.
“You’re all good to go, Mr. Kim,” the nurse says. “Everything is perfect.”
“Thank you,” Doyoung says with a smile.
“Of course,” she adds as Doyoung rises from the chair, “You’re more than welcome to get your report on the way out if you’d like.”
Doyoung does just that, patiently waiting at the front desk for the man behind it to email it to him. It’s not necessarily anything he needs, not something that he’s not already going to have stored somewhere. But as soon as Doyoung receives it, he tucks it away into the folder in his inbox with the rest of his biweekly tests, each one being a carbon copy of each other. He reads through the report on the subway ride home, eyes scanning over the blood tests until the subway chimes at his stop.
“No, I told him that and he didn’t listen to me! Why wouldn’t he listen to me? Sure I’m younger than him but that shouldn’t matter.”
Doyoung tilts his head as the person across from him talks with his hands. Doyoung’s own hand is busy catching condensation from his glass, a drink he’s been nursing for the last twenty minutes. The ice has melted, thin slates slipping past his lips as he takes a sip, letting his eyes break away from Mark across from him, letting his eyes fall on the watered down beverage instead.
“Wait,” the person next to Mark says, “who are you talking about again?”
“Dude,” Mark says with a sigh, his hand running through his hair, letting the brown locks fall in all different directions. “Have you not been listening this whole time?”
Doyoung can’t help but chuckle at the question, his lips curling around the cool glass of his drink, his laugh finally coming out when he sets his drink down on the wet coaster under it. “He’s talking about Haechan,” Doyoung interjects, earning himself a grateful gaze from Mark.
“Well, no offense but why would Haechan listen to you? He’s not even in the same department.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter,” Mark emphasizes, “Actually, you know what, it does matter because he’s inputting things all wrong! How am I supposed to get work done properly if he can’t even put the right information in?”
Doyoung lets the conversation fade in and out for him, his mind wandering elsewhere as the other two across from him go back and forth. It’s useless banter, frustrations that always get expressed whenever they get together like they are now. Mark will complain for hours, stretching the time that they’re seated at whatever restaurant they choose to go to. It’s never unwarranted complaints, at least not in Doyoung’s eyes. All the things he expresses are all reasonable. Though, Doyoung does wonder how he has so much to complain about. Sure there are bits and pieces of his job that never go just right but the way that Mark talks, it seems like almost nothing in Parts and Services goes correct.
The other person next to Mark, Johnny, who is part of the Researching Department, never does anything to help Mark either. Well, his words never soothe the wound that has him complaining. He doesn’t do anything to harm it more, never dismissing his claims or calling them unnecessary, it’s mostly him fueling the fire and it only brings out more frustrated words.
“Maybe you should switch to my department then,” Johnny says, his lips curling into a grin as he finishes off his own drink.
“No, no,” Mark sighs, “Hopefully things will be better now that we have Jungwoo. He seems really good.”
Doyoung’s attention returns to the conversation, his wandering eyes and thoughts now focused on Mark across from him.
“Oh yeah, he’s the new transfer right?”
“Mhm, he’s already picking up pretty much everything.”
“Jungwoo,” Doyoung says softly, his lips barely moving, the name seeming no more than a whisper to him, yet Mark tilts his head at him.
“You know Jungwoo?” the other asks.
Doyoung shakes his head slowly, “No more than from the email Taeil sent yesterday.”
“He’s nice,” Yuta says, the other finally returning from the bathroom. “I had to go down there to test something and he greeted me right away.”
“I heard he got transferred from the government building,” Johnny adds, “I wonder why. It’s normally the other way around.”
“Do you think he got kicked out?” Mark asks with widened eyes. “Dude.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes, his hands sliding down to rub at his pants, wiping the cold condensation from his cup along his jeans. “You know that’s not how it works. If he were to get fired from there, he would be dead.”
“Doyoung is right,” Yuta replies, “You know Kwangya wouldn't let anyone that got fired be transferred, let alone live. Honestly,” he continues, “anyone stupid enough to betray them isn’t worthy of living anyways.”
The reality of it is hard to swallow, the thought of their government killing someone. It is reality though and although rare, it does happen. Doyoung has seen it, watched it on the news, Winwin reading it off the piece of paper he always holds in the monotone voice, as if it were no more important than the other words written. It was hard the first time that Doyoung saw a report on it, his heart twinged for no more than a second at the words on the screen that had faded in. The feeling slowly disappeared, knowing that what was done, had to be done. Their city is in need of everyone cooperating and there’s no room for error. They can’t risk error because if they do, they may never get to leave the city walls. If everyone isn’t on board, then their home cannot grow, their city can never hope to rebuild what was lost years ago.
“Maybe he just wanted something easier,” Johnny muses, “I can’t imagine it’s easy working there. Too much responsibility.”
“Yeah and we need all the help we can get, honestly,” Mark sighs, “It’s getting a lot busier these days.”
Doyoung doesn’t know how much longer they stay there talking. There’s a clock on the wall, his watch on his wrist, and the phone in his pocket but he doesn’t look at any of them, choosing to simply enjoy the conversations around him. The work talk turns into mundane topics like the weather or food recipes. Yuta talks about the new vacuum he got delivered, showing off pictures and gushing about the new features of it which has Mark more than excited. Johnny brings up the weather changing, how summer is on the horizon and how he’s anticipating the warmer months. It’s conversations like this that make Doyoung enjoy being out with his friends. They can talk about unimportant topics but the attention they give makes it feel important. Doyoung is a homebody but he relies on moments like this to break him out of his routine.
They all ride the subway back together, each one seated next to each other, the subway being nearly barren besides them. Doyoung laughs at little things, the alcohol running through his system finally settling in. Johnny has his arm wrapped around Yuta’s shoulder, the two of them walking together, keeping each other steady as they make their way down the streets of their apartment town. The cool air brings goosebumps to Doyoung’s arms, his body curling up whenever the wind blows and his teeth chattering until it stops. It seems like they walk forever. The quiet streets almost push and pull them in all different directions, the scenery all the same no matter how many corners that Doyoung passes. The neo green lights that illuminate their building, is what draws Doyoung home.
As the elevator doors open on the seventh floor, Doyoung doesn’t see an empty hallway like he normally does. The time is much later than when he typically goes home, the clock already past midnight. Instead of the emptiness, he sees a person fumbling with their key in front of one of the apartment doors. The person isn’t Jaehyun or Haechan, the other two that live on his floor. He would recognize them immediately. The person that’s in the hallway, the one whose head turns at the sound of the elevator dinging, is none other than Jungwoo. He’s easy to recognize, his bright blue hair clashing with the lime green lights in the hallway. Their eyes only meet for a moment before Jungwoo goes back to fiddling with the lock of the door. Jungwoo is still in his uniform, his dark blue blazer and lanyard swaying with every move he makes. Doyoung wonders if he has just gotten off work and the thought of being at the office until after midnight makes Doyoung’s brows push together slightly.
Doyoung walks slowly down the hallway, his eyes watching the other carefully, his movements getting more and more frantic. “Do you need help?” Doyoung asks as he slows down, pausing next to Jungwoo.
“No, I,” the other sighs, “I accidentally broke my key and so I just have to hold it together.” Jungwoo nods his head, his gaze connecting with Doyoung’s, “I’ll be okay.”
Before Jungwoo finishes his words, the key slips out of his hands. It bounces off the doorknob, the pieces separating, staying true to Jungwoo’s words of it being broken. Jungwoo lets out a quiet whine as he leans down to pick up the key, his hands carefully slotting the two pieces together before he attempts to slide it in the lock again.
“Why don’t you just ask for a replacement? They’ll have it ready in a few minutes for you.” Doyoung says, “I think it’ll save you some trouble,” he adds with a laugh.
“I guess you’re right,” Jungwoo sighs in defeat. “I should have just done it earlier when it happened.”
There’s a silence that comes between them, one that should push Doyoung into his own apartment. Instead, he stands and watches as Jungwoo types away at his phone, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Do you want to come and wait in my apartment?” Doyoung offers and it seems to take Jungwoo by surprise, his lips pursing into a small pout as his head tilts at him. “It’ll be better than waiting out here.”
Doyoung expects Jungwoo to decline. There’s really no reason to accept it, they don’t know each other, the only connection they have is the building they work in. They technically haven’t even introduced themselves yet and Doyoung only knows Jungwoo’s name from the company-wide email that was sent.
“Sure,” Jungwoo says, “I’d like that.”
It doesn’t take long for them to move into Doyoung’s apartment, his home being right next to Jungwoo’s, the door only a few feet away. His key slides in easily and his eye is recognized in seconds, the chime of the door unlocking echoing through the hallway. The lights turn on one by one, Doyoung’s finger doing the work of flicking the switches on. The apartment becomes illuminated, the dark colored furniture coming to life from the bright lights above.
“Your apartment is nice,” Jungwoo says, his eyes scanning around the small space.
“It’s not much,” Doyoung laughs, “Just the essentials really.”
“Better than mine,” the other replies, “Half of my things are still in boxes.”
Doyoung pauses as he walks into the kitchen, his hand sliding along the counter, resting softly as he watches Jungwoo continue to look around his apartment with cautious yet curious intent. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Water?” Jungwoo says, his lips pursing out into a pout with the words the push past them.
Silence falls over them as Doyoung pours them each a glass, one being placed up on the bar counter and the other remaining in Doyoung’s hand. He drinks most of it in one go, his thirst seemingly increasing with every swallow. His glass is half empty when Jungwoo wanders over to grab his own glass, taking a small sip before he places it back down on the counter.
“You recently transferred here, right?” Doyoung asks to break the silence.
Jungwoo immediately turns his attention to Doyoung, his fingers slowly wrapping around the cup in front of him. “Yeah, the other day.”
“Do you like it so far?”
“Mhm,” Jungwoo nods, his eyes casting downwards as he lifts his glass up to his lips. “It’s nice.”
There’s a part of Doyoung that wants to ask Jungwoo about why he was transferred, the conversation from dinner being still fresh in his mind. It’s not important in any way, it won’t bring anything other than a rather useless fact that will be stored in Doyoung’s already crowded mind. It isn’t any of Doyoung’s business either, it doesn’t pertain to his life and it won’t benefit him by knowing. Still, the question lingers on his tongue, staying there, waiting to be asked as they stand together in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Jungwoo suddenly says, “I didn’t really introduce myself. I’m Jungwoo,” the taller one says with a smile.
“Doyoung,” Doyoung replies, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too,” Jungwoo says, “even though we kinda already met before this.”
“Nice to properly meet you,” Doyoung corrects and it makes Jungwoo laugh as he nods his head.
“Ah,” the taller one hums, his hand leaving the glass on the counter to tug his phone out of his pocket. “My key is done already,” he says happily, “I guess I should go wait outside.” Doyoung watches as Jungwoo lifts up his glass, quickly finishing off the nearly full cup of water that’s left before he sets it back down. “Thank you for letting me come in, even if it was only for a few minutes.”
“You’re welcome,” Doyoung responds, “It would have been rude of me to not offer.”
“Well,” Jungwoo begins, “I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday maybe?”
Doyoung’s lips curl into a smile, “I’ll be there,” he says.
It takes the same amount of time it took Jungwoo to enter as it does to leave. The other leans down as he reaches the door, carefully and precisely sliding his black shoes on. The lanyard around his neck swings, hitting against the fabric of his white button up underneath and even from where Doyoung is standing behind the counter in the kitchen, he can see the lime green color and Jungwoo’s name written on the bottom of it. It not only has his first name but his last name as well; Kim. Doyoung tilts his head, his own lips pursing out in interest because there isn’t another Kim that he knows, at least not in his friend circle.
“Thanks again,” Jungwoo says, his voice slightly breathy as his fingers reach up to fix his hair that has fallen out of place. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” Doyoung responds and their eyes stay locked for a longer period than they need to be. “Have a good night, Jungwoo.”
“You too, Doyoung.”
And then Doyoung is left to the silence of his own home.
Two cups are washed and placed on the drying rack, the extra cup being the first indication of someone else joining Doyoung in more than a month. It looks odd and Doyoung decides to hand dry one, placing it back into the cabinet with the other forgotten identical cups. Then his drying rack only has three cups left, the usual two wine glasses and tall clear glass that Doyoung uses for water. The light is then turned off in the kitchen, then in the living room, then the light by the front door, darkness quickly encompassing Doyoung’s apartment again. He walks blindly down the hallway until he gets to the bathroom, the bright light pouring out into the hallway the moment he turns it on. His shower lasts no longer than five minutes. Doyoung washes up in the same fashion as he always does. His teeth are brushed, his hair is dried, and then he wanders into his bedroom.
By one, Doyoung is curled up on his side asleep.