Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So here is the crux of the problem:

Kim Dokja is twenty-nine years old. Kim Dokja is not bad looking. In fact, he likes to call himself quite attractive in an odd way. And yet, despite all these qualities, Kim Dokja has never held the hand of anyone romantically, has never kissed anyone except for when he kissed some random girl on a dare in highschool, and has never been on a date.

It’s miserable. Pathetic, really, if Han Sooyoung is to be believed. Twenty-nine years old and he’s never once been in a long-lasting relationship, and if that’s not hopeless, then he doesn’t know what is.

But here’s the other thing. Kim Dokja, on the contrary, is not, in fact, the cause of his chronic single status. The real obstacle that’s blocking him from finding a nice man or woman and settling down isn’t himself, his cripplingly low self-esteem, nor anything related to him as a person. No, the real problem is this: Yoo Joonghyuk, his boss, and also the vice-chairman of Yoo Industries.

Kim Dokja is a secretary. A very good one, might he add. He’s able to compile data and process them to find trends and possible outcomes of marketing strategies without a hitch, able to organize and schedule meetings and dinners without them ever colliding, able to take notes faster than the speed of light during meetings. And yet, with all these outstanding qualities that make him the ideal working partner, his boss has never once stopped to appreciate him, give him the slightest complement, or even just give him one single day off.

Dokja has been working nonstop for the past nine years with not one single day of break, and if he doesn’t stop now, he’ll end up working until he’s withered old and die all alone of stress-induced heart failure.

And you see– it’s not Dokja’s problem nor fault in the slightest that his life has gotten into such bad shape. Yoo Joonghyuk is a compulsive workaholic, someone who can tear someone to pieces with his words alone if he finds a single mistake in their work, and he takes everything around him for granted without so much as even sparing a thought about how hard it must be for Dokja to keep up with all the work he heaps onto his desk like clockwork each morning without fail. So far, in the long, long, nine years he’s been Yoo Joonghyuk’s secretary, he has:

• fired five employees at once because they made a small error when calculating percentages in a presentation
• never asked for Dokja’s opinion for anything and assumed that he would be fine with anything he chose
• given Dokja far too much extra work on top of the regular work and yet blamed him when he is unable to complete it on time
• called Dokja to come drive him home at 3am in the morning right after doing god-knows-what in a hotel room with his rich people friends and several tall, ethereal, outrageously gorgeous models
• made Dokja stay overtime almost every day of the week, until they’re the only two left in the office
• tried and failed to buy McDonalds upon hearing that Dokja really liked their milkshakes

And okay, maybe the last one isn’t that bad, it’s actually kind of sweet in a i’m-too-rich-for-you kind of way, but the point still stands.

There’s more, but he can’t be bothered to list it all now. The gist is this– Yoo Joonghyuk is as terrible a person as he is an employer, and Dokja has been so unbelievably swamped with work while working for him that he’s never had any time for himself outside of work. He barely even sees his friends on the weekends, and even if he does find the time to go out with them, he’s always dashing off again to pick up Yoo Joonghyuk from whatever hotel party he was at. Sometimes– well, actually, scratch that and change it to all the time– Dokja thinks he should be paid far more than what his current salary is, because for the service that he’s been providing up until now, he deserves needs it more than anyone else in the world.

This absolutely cannot continue. Dokja swears he’s felt literal gray hairs form just from hearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s loafers, scrubbed and buffed shiny to a fault, click-clacking menacingly on the office floor.

So, what does one do when they hate their job, their employer, and just their life in general?

The answer is simple. Quit, of course.

So, at three am on a Tuesday morning, lying in his bed bonelessly after finishing his work for the day, Kim Dokja comes to this conclusion. He’ll just quit his job. Simple, right?

Except, as it turns out, it’s not simple by a long shot.

Dokja decides to break the news on a Thursday night, two days after he decides to quit. As always, they’re in the car, heading back to the office building after a meeting with a smaller company they’ll merge with in the future.

“Vice chairman Yoo?” he says, watching Yoo Joonghyuk nod slightly in his direction before going back to staring straight ahead like a statue. He’s always like this, he thinks, slightly rigid with his back as straight as a ruler like he’s not quite sure how to loosen up properly. If he had to describe him, he’d describe him as a cold alien who doesn’t quite know how to communicate properly.

“Vice chairman Yoo,” he repeats again, and god does his heart lighten when it occurs to him that after a month, he won’t ever have to have that name pass his lips ever again. “I must inform you that I’ll be resigning as your secretary after a month.”

A beat passes.

“What?” Yoo Joonghyuk snaps his head to the side so harshly Dokja’s getting second-hand whiplash just from seeing it. His eyes are widened– surprised, he imagines, and his normally stone-cold face is alive for once, lax with shock as he continues to look at Dokja as if he’s some kind of new, undiscovered sea slug. “You’re quitting?”

“Yes,” Dokja smiles placidly, but on the inside he’s screaming. This bastard, after treating him like crap all these years, suddenly wants to act upset when he actually quits his job? “I’m quitting, Vice Chairman Yoo.”

Oh, fuck. That felt cathartic as hell. Dokja squashes the urge to say it over and over again, chanting the word resignation like a nursery rhyme, because then he would look unhinged, and he is many things but definitely not willing to look mentally unwell in front of his employer.

The pure, undiluted surprise that is slowly spreading across Yoo Joonghyuk’s face, adjusting his features little by little; mouth hanging slightly open, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, he’s everything Dokja had pictured him to look.

Dokja’s dreamed of resigning for ages, and the face that Yoo Joonghyuk is pulling right now is so priceless it makes him want to pull out his phone and take a picture of it. Bet you didn’t expect this, he thinks— the voice in his head sounds a little vicious— you damn sunfish bastard.

The normally unflappable Yoo Joonghyuk shocked because of one measly employee quitting? How funny.

“All of a sudden? Why?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, a vein in his forehead twitching in a fascinating way that reminds him of a caterpillar.

“For personal reasons,” Dokja says, plastering a fake customer service smile onto his face.

A long silence.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s face smoothes over again as quick as anything, like he’s switching between two masks, shock melting into his usual face of neutrality, eyes unimpressed. His lips purse slightly as he looks out the window, seemingly fascinated by the passing traffic, and absently, nothing more than a passing thought, Kim Dokja thinks, he’s not that bad looking after all.

“Fine.” is all he says, and Dokja nearly sags with relief. He manages to catch his face and fasten his fake smile securely again, but he’s limp with elation. Thank God. Jesus. The Holy Spirit and just about every religions figure out there.

Fucking finally.

Kim Dokja is twenty-nine years old, has just quit his longest standing job, and he’s going to finally live the way he wants to.

( That means getting a boyfriend, of course, because being single at his age is just a tad bit more embarrassing than he would ever admit out loud. )

It’s been a long time since Joonghyuk’s seen that surprised look on Lee Jihye’s face that he almost wants to stop time and take a photo of it. Her lax jaw, her widened eyes are a sight most have never seen, and he almost wishes it were for any reason other than the one that’s coming out of her mouth right now.

“Secretary Kim is quitting?” her voice is loud, incredulity dripping off every word, almost as palpable as her shock. She’s been completely blindsided. Joonghyuk knows, because that’s how he feels as well.

Joonghyuk gives a terse nod.

“Master, I think you’ve really fucked this one up…” Jihye trails off, dipping her head in thought. “I used to think secretary Kim was the only employee who could work for you six days a week and not quit within the month, but not anymore. He must’ve had some superhuman will to stand you for this long.”

“What do you mean by that.” Joonghyuk bites out. He’s not that bad. In fact, girls all over the country would fall to their knees for a chance to work with him and see his face at work every day.

Slowly, Jihye raises her head to look him dead in the eye. “Which part? The one about him being able to work for you and not quit or the one about you fucking up?”

“Both.” Joonghyuk turns the full force of his vaguely homicidal glare that never fails to tame his unruly subordinates but always fails to tame Jihye for some god forsaken reason onto her. Sometimes, Joohyuk looks at Jihye and thinks that God truly has forsaken him, so this is no different.

“Well,” Jihye pulls a chocolate bar out of nowhere– her depthless pockets, perhaps?-- and starts unwrapping it candidly. Her feet swing from where she’s perched on his desk. “You treat him horribly, for one. In fact, you treat all of your employees horribly. Haven’t you ever noticed how the rates of employee resignation are abnormally high in the company?”

“No,” Joonghyuk answers truthfully, because she’s wrong. The resignation rate isn’t high– it’s the firing rate that’s high, because admittedly, Joonghyuk does have a short fuse on his temper and a low tolerance for incompetent people. But, in his defence, no incompetent person should be working in a company as good as Yoo Industries.

“See?” Jihye shakes the chocolate at him in faux outrage. “You don’t even know that! Another one goes on the list of why you’re the worst boss ever.”

“Is that an actual thing the employees say?”

“Yes,” Jihye answers unflinchingly.

Okay, well. That’s a little insulting, but he doesn’t really care as long as they do their job well–

Is what he’s telling himself, but his chest clenches a fraction when he thinks of Kim Dokja again. Does he think of Joonghyuk as such a horrible employer, too? Is that why he decided to resign?

Joonghyuk lets out a long-suffering sigh. Lee Jihye breaks off a piece of chocolate, bites into it, seeming to take pity on his grievous circumstances. “Master, listen to me. Your best hope right now is to show secretary Kim that you value him and that you don’t want him to leave. You could start by giving him some benefits because, frankly, your employee benefits right now are really shit.”

That sounds an awful like…

“So you’re telling me to bribe him,” Joonghyuk says flatly.

Jihye gasps, an affronted sound, hand flying to her chest. She looks a lot more suited to being a Broadway production than as an intern. “How could you say that? I would never! I’m simply… suggesting you show one of the more appealing sides of working for you, because clearly, unlike the others, he’s not swayed by your face alone.”

Joonghyuk stares at her.

“Look,” Jihye relents, her gaze softening. “At this point, it’s the only thing I can think of that might work. You’re almost beyond saving, Master. So if you want to keep secretary Kim by your side, then just trust me and do what I say.”

And with those words, Lee Jihye pats his shoulder consolingly as if to comfort him, gives him a piece of chocolate, and hops off his desk.

“Good luck!” is the last thing she chirps, eerily cheerful, before she exits his office, leaving him sitting in his chair wishing he’d never taken her on as an intern.

“You actually went and quit your job?” Sooyoung’s jaw drops.

“Yup.” Dokja punctuates the word with a poke into the surface of the table, enjoying how Sooyoung’s face goes lax with surprise. She’s so hard to catch off guard that it’s become a habit to cherish whenever he gets to see her shocked face. “In a month, I’ll officially be an unemployed bum.”

Sooyoung blinks slowly. “You know I didn’t really mean it when I said you were pathetic for being such a workaholic you couldn’t even go on a single date, right? You didn’t have to quit just because of that.”

“Bold of you to assume I quit because of you,” Dokja wrinkles his nose at her, when in fact, her words were a major factor contributing in his resignation. But of course, she doesn’t need to inflate her own ego even more. “But you were right. Kind of, anyway. I really do need to start dating at this age.”

Sooyoung suddenly sits up straight, eyes blazing like a literal comic character. He can see the flames spew out of her eyes if he focuses, and her knee bumps harshly into the table. Dokja watches helplessly as the water cups slosh around miserably once again. “So why are you quitting? Did that sunfish bastard start picking on you again? One of these days, I’m going to tear his fucking di–”

Dokja clamps a hand across her mouth. He can feel the irritated glances from other customers burning into his back, and he’s not a fan of public humiliation. There are also, very inconveniently, children at the table right next to theirs, and he doesn’t need Han Sooyoung teaching them how to castrate a man nor fill their young, easily influenced little brains with vivid imagery of what she’d like to do to Yoo Joonghyuk.

“The whole reason I stuck with the job was because I needed the high salary to pay off my debt, so now that I’ve paid it off, there’s no reason for me to stay anymore,” Dokja explains, slowly letting go of Han Sooyoung after feeling her attempts to bite his palm. “Plus, he’s just a horrible workaholic to work under. If there was a zombie apocalypse while I was at work, I’d feed that man to the zombies first.”

Sooyoung slowly relaxes back into her chair. “I still don’t like him.”

“I would be disappointed if you did still like him after all that trash talking I’ve done.”

Sooyoung shrugs. “But what are your plans after quitting? Are you going to find another job?”

Ah. Here’s the million dollar question.

“I’m not sure,” he hedges, and watches Sooyoung’s brows a fraction of an inch. “Staying as a secretary is a viable option considering my age and qualifications, but it’s just too much work for me. I barely have time to do anything for myself.”

And then:

Before Sooyoung can offer an answer, a ringtone blasts through the restaurant, a cringy song he’d once been obsessed with a few years ago. It features a rapper by the name of ‘Black Flame Dragon’, which, in his humble opinion, is a weird fucking name. It’s very early 2010s Harry Potter fanfiction-esque, and it brings back too many suppressed memories he would rather stay gone.

Han Sooyoung scowls at him. “It’s him, isn’t it? Don’t answer it.”

For once, Dokja agrees with her, but…

“I don’t have a choice,” he mouths, before picking up and putting it to his ear, turning away from Sooyoung. In his peripheral vision, he sees her roll her eyes, breath a deep sigh.

“Kim Dokja.” is the first thing he hears, in Yoo Joonghyuk’s saltrock rasp, serious as always. “You know where I am. Pick me up.”

Dokja’s spine stiffens with annoyance. The worst thing is, he does know where he is. Like every weekend, he’s probably gone to his usual hotel again, to party with his fellow rich people whose clothes probably cost more than his salary of the past nine years added up.

Well, he says party. In reality, Yoo Joonghyuk’s probably just sitting there with a straight face on the couch, while his rich people friends drink wine, inhale cocaine, and feel up models. He never enjoys those so-called ‘parties’, but he attends anyway. Dokja doesn’t understand and never will, but he’s already given up on trying to understand Yoo Joonghyuk a long time ago.

But. Still.

A surge of irrational irritation courses through him. It’s Sunday. What right does this bastard have to call him to wait on him at every beck and call?

“Vice chairman Yoo, I’m actually in the middle of an appointment right now,” Dokja explains. Miraculously, his voice comes out calm. “Just for once, would you be willing to ask Secretary Yang to pick you up? I can send her your address, or if you’d prefer, I can send a driver–”

Yoo Joonghyuk cuts him clean off. “How can I trust those drivers?”

Dokja has never wanted to sock Joonghyuk in the gut as much as he wants to right now. Sooyoung, sensitive to his change in mood, immediately picks up on it, mouthing ‘is he asking you to pick him up?’ at him. When he nods, she groans, flipping the phone off.

Dokja stifles a smile. “Sir, maybe you could call Lee Seolhwa and spend just one night together–”

“Come here immediately,” interrupts Yoo Joonghyuk, for the second time in the duration of a 30 second phone call, and Dokja sees red for a grand total of two seconds before the dial tone echoes and he slams the phone down onto the table.

“Couldn’t he have spent the night with that Lee Seolhwa model he’s so fond of instead of making you pick him up again? On a Sunday?” Sooyoung’s pitch rises higher and higher with each question. Dokja feels like ripping his hair out. “I’m pretty sure this is illegal.”

“Don’t have a choice,” Dokja sighs, throwing the phone into his bag. “One more month then I’m free.”

Sooyoung gives him a vaguely sympathetic look. “One more month.”

Dokja slides into the car feeling like he might be on the verge of committing several hit and runs with Yoo Jonghyuk’s fancy new car. He is not in his best state to be driving, but Joonghyuk doesn’t know that, of course.

“Vice chairman Yoo,” he greets, then starts the engine without looking at him.

“Secretary Kim,” he responds in kind, then they lapse into silence.

And for the record, it’s not awkward. It’s simply quiet, with only the slight sounds of their breathing in the air. That is, until Yoo Joonghyuk clears his throat and starts polluting the environment with that annoying voice of his.

“I don’t give second chances,” he says very flatly. But his eyes are laser-focused– Dokja is acutely aware of his stare, on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look at him in the eye because A) Dokja is driving and he does not want to get into a car crash and be mangled by ten tons of metal and B) if he actually looks Yoo Joonghyuk in the eye, he might be insane and start hit and running people.

“No, you don’t,” Dokja agrees, wondering where the conversation is going.

“But I’ll give you one more chance as gratitude for all you’ve done for me so far,” Joonghyuk continues.

“Wha–”

“I’ll promote you to an executive.”

“Vice chai–”

“I’ll arrange an assistant or driver if the work is too much. I’m willing to buy you a house if that’s what you want. Did you pay off your debt already? If not, I’ll sort it out for you. Then… you won’t have to resign.” he trails off, and Dokja can’t restrain himself anymore. He looks at Joonghyuk, but then he’s cut off (again!).

“No, I just–”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes seem alive for once, at odds to how flat and uninterested he usually is. He’s proud, Dokja realises, of the conditions he’s spouting. Please. An executive position? A fucking house?

Granted, the benefits don’t sound bad, by any means. In fact, it’s nice to know Yoo Joonghyuk values him so much he’d be willing to buy a house. Quite commendable, really, given the insane housing prices in Seoul. But the thing is: it’s far too late for this kind of treatment, and no matter how warm this makes him feel inside, he won’t accept it. God, if Yoo Joonghyuk truly valued him that much, he should’ve given those benefits to him much earlier on and not as some sort of last minute bribe to keep him in the company.

“I bet,” Joonghyuk says, and his voice grows louder in the silence of the car. It sounds a bit preposterous. “That you would never get these benefits from any other company.”

Dokja feels his eye twitch.

“Mr Yoo, please just understand. I won’t stay no matter what special benefits I receive. All I want to do is resign.”

It’s all he can do to keep himself from throwing the door open and running away.

“But why? Do you even have plans for after you quit?”

Why? It’s not like he’s never asked himself that question before, but somehow having Joonghyuk ask about it feels oddly nice. Like he’s finally showing care in some weird, odd way of his. It makes him feel the smallest bit warmer inside, because unlike what he likes to present himself as, Kim Dokja is the type of person to fall for nice words.

“Aw, are you worried about me?” he teases, suddenly feeling a bit more favorable towards Joonghyuk– and then any trace of that slight joking atmosphere is erased when Yoo Joonghyuk does nothing but pointedly stare at him, waiting for an answer.

Dokja heaves a small sigh. “I don’t have any thoughts on what I’ll do after resigning, no.”

Yoo Joonghyuk gives him a surprised look, cracking his icy facade. “Then are you simply leaving with no plan?”

“I just want to live my own life after I quit,” Dokja says, quietly, and it feels like a confession– though he’s not sure what it is that he’s confessing to. His hands tighten on the steering wheel by a fraction, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Not a secretary's or a workaholic’s life, but just a life that’s solely mine. I think it’s time I started settling down, too.”

Yoo Joonghyuk is quiet. Dokja peeks over at him out of the corner of his eye, but his gaze is still focused on him, except that now it’s more pensive– thoughtful, in a way, like he’s truly mulling Dokja’s words over, dissecting them for what he means. He quickly whips his eyes back to the road when Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes find his, like he’s been burnt, but he feels him staring all the same.

They stay silent for the rest of the car ride.

The night air is chilly against the exposed skin of his neck as he steps out of the car to open the door for Yoo Joonghyuk. They’ve arrived at his house, a hulking structure of glass and white metal. Very modern, he supposes, though it looks spotlessly impersonal and cold. more like a hospital than a home.

“Vice chairman Yoo,” he nods slightly as a bow as he opens the door. Yoo Joonghyuk steps out of the car, but pauses to swivel around and look at him.

Under the moonlight, he’s momentarily breathtaking. The silvery moonlight catches the ridge of his nose, the sharp cut of his jawline, the line of his brows– he looks sculpted from rock, a work of art by some Roman artist, and he wouldn’t be out of place in a museum. Suddenly, even if it’s just for a second, he understands why Yoo Joonghyuk has so many fangirls. Why he has people lining up outside of restaurants, tripping over themselves just to catch the barest glimpse of that godly face, and bizarrely, his heart skips a sudden beat.

Dokja can’t tear his eyes away quick enough when Joonghyuk looks back at him, holding his gaze to his own. Something hot prickles at his ears, a deep flush traveling from his neck upwards.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He says abruptly, and Dokja blinks.

“What?”

“Are you. Seeing. Anyone.”

Jeez, what a pushy bastard.

“No, I’m not,” he answers truthfully.

Yoo Joonghyuk seems to freeze for a moment, eyes searching for a desperate answer to some burning question he’s never voiced. Arrested, Dokja stays still, heart pounding all of a sudden, unable to look away, reeled in like a fish with bait.

Whatever he’s looking for, Yoo Joonghyuk seems to find it, because the corner of his lips quirk up ever slightly before he looks away again, to the side. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll let you have some time to think about things.”

Oh.

Oh. That’s the only considerate thing Yoo Joonghyuk has ever done for him. Ever.

Dokja can’t stop the smile that graces his face, real and brimming with unexpected joy– at odds the usual slick, sharp customer service smile he uses at work. “Do you mean it?”

Yoo Joonghyuk nods, but Dokja deflates again. “Oh, but tomorrow we have the interviews for my replacement–”

“Just drop by for it,” Yoo Joonghyuk says abruptly, then turns on his heel and walks away.

And. Well. At least he gets to sleep in, he guesses.

“Jihye, he said he wanted to live his own life. Does that mean the years he spent with me weren’t really his life?”

“Master…”

“He said that he wanted to settle down. He could do that while working here. Why is he so set on leaving? What a fool.”

“Master, then if he’s set on leaving, why are you so set on making him stay, then?”

“...”

Lee Jihye is of no use when it comes to serious matters like these.

Yoo Joonghyuk seeks out the best option he has– Lee Hyunsung, one of the few people he considers trustworthy, and also one of the friendliest people he’s ever met. Of course, he’s bound to get his heart stomped on if he wears it on his sleeve like that, but he’s marginally more approachable than Joonghyuk himself is, and he figures that might be of help when trying to convince a runaway secretary to stay.

“It doesn’t make any sense that he’d wanted to live his own life,” Joonghyuk says into a cup of tea. Lee Hyunsung sits opposite him, posture open and welcoming. His chest feels heavy, for no reason at all, and Kim Dokja’s defiant face sits fresh in the forefront of his mind.

“The standard working hours in a day is eight hours. That’s 18,000 hours for nine years. He worked eight hours a day without a single day off for nine years, so that comes up to 59,130. That many hours is more than what some married couples spend together. How could that mean nothing to that fool?”

Lee Hyunsung’s sympathetic voice reaches his ears. “Dokja-ssi said it was meaningless? That’s just too sad. But…”

Joonghyuk raises his face out of the cup of tea. “But?”

“Even if he’s great at his job and you’re attached to him, you seem to care too much. Do you… perhaps… like him?”

Joonghyuk stares at him.

Lee Hyunsung backtracks, putting his hands up. “I mean, I’ve never seen you let anyone else touch you except for him, and he even ties your ties and gets your food in the morning…”

Joonghyuk looks at him dourly. “Are you insane?”

“So you don’t see him that way.” Hyunsung stated, daring him to refute it.

“Secretary Kim is just…” he drifts off, thinking of that sharp-witted man with his quick tongue, that quicksilver smile, those deft hands, his waist small enough to be clasped fully with two hands. Kim Dokja, despite his flaws, is such a competent worker that he can’t bear to lose him, and he’s been at his side for what seems like an age. The thought of being without him is like a palpable loss, an ache in his heart. “... Secretary Kim. I don’t see him any other way.”

“Then why do you want to make him stay this badly?”

A beat of silence.

Joonghyuk stands up, puts his teacup down, and leaves the room. Lee Hyunsung is just as useless as Lee Jihye when it comes to Kim Dokja and his resignation.

Chapter Text

When Yoo Joonghyuk comes into office later in the afternoon, he does so with such a face of bregrudgingness that it almost makes Dokja pity him. Keyword being– almost. He’s made up his mind to leave. No amount of pleading is going to make him reconsider.

Yoo Joonghyuk stops in front of his desk, staring down at him with a face so stoic it may as well be made of stone.

“About what you said yesterday,” he says, almost thoughtfully. “What do you mean by living your own life?”

Dokja casts a longing look at the mounting pile of paperwork on his desk. “It’s exactly what it means, sir. For the past nine years, I’ve worked so hard that I feel like there’s no divide between secretary Kim and Kim Dokja anymore, and I want to explore myself outside of my occupation and work responsibilities. That’s what I want.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s face goes through a fascinating mix of confusion, realisation, calculation then back to neutral within two seconds.

“Was I…” a furrowed dip appears between Joonghyuk’s brows, bringing them together. His voice is hesitant, trailing off in the middle like a question, as if he’s finally understood just how much of a workaholic boss he’s been for the nine years Dokja has been slaving away. “Too hard on you? Did you find it tough?”

“That’s an understatement. Do you know how annoying it was to be your secretary and take care of all those complaints about being fired unfairly from all those employees? You know, they were even kind of right because you just have unfairly high standards, but I was always the one to shoot them down because you couldn’t be bothered to take care of the consequences of your own deeds. And speaking of your unfairly high standards, do you know how much of an asshole you are?

Sure, you’re nice to competent people, but it’s still insanely frustrating to work under you because you forget that not everyone is a near superhuman like you and is willing to work for nine hours straight. And it’s even worse because you’re not purposefully a jerk, but only because you expect everyone else to be on the same level as you, and when they aren’t, you ignore them. Not everyone is a genius, you know!”

Is what he wants to say, but common sense wills him to keep his ugly, impulsive tongue tucked safely away where it can’t spew insults at Yoo Joonghyuk. So he hauls his customer service smile onto his face, fake and plastic, and shrugs.

“I can handle it, but the workload is a little too… much,” he says. “Sir, you shouldn’t expect everyone else in the office to be able to work as well as you do. You’re a one in a million genius, and putting pressure on your workers to keep up with you will only make them perform worse.”

And it’s true. Yoo Joonghyuk is indeed a genius, is indeed inhumanly good at paperwork and all sorts of subjects like he’s some sort of academic scholar robot ai, and has a terribly handsome face to boot. It’s clear that he’s either God’s favorite or saved the world in his past life. The only thing holding him back is his asshole-ish nature, which isn’t even purposeful, and his workaholic tendencies.

No, not even tendencies. Workaholic addiction.

Yoo Joonghyuk pauses. His hands grip the edge of Dokja’s table, gaze turning faraway like he’s thinking– actually considering Dokja’s words. “I see. I must’ve been hard on you all, then.”

Then, just as abruptly as he’d appeared, Yoo Joonghyuk spins on his heel and leaves.

Dokja feels a headache appear magically at his temples and wonders if he should’ve asked to leave a week later instead of a month.

An hour later, the fated interview for Dokja’s replacement is finally here, and a knot of dread slowly unspools in the pit of his stomach. It’s not that he doesn’t want a replacement, but Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t the best interviewer, and he might scare away any aspiring candidates with that resting bitch face he has.

The sound of interviewee heels click through the silent office as she makes her way to the couches– Dokja and Joonghyuk on one, the interviewee on the other, facing them for optimal comfort. Yoo Sangah, Dokja remembers, looking down at the file in his lap. A photo glares up at him– tawny brown hair, wide eyes like a fawn, mouth curved into a gentle smile.

She’s a beauty different from the models Yoo Joonghyuk sees on weekends. Yoo Sangah’s beauty isn’t the type that punches you in the face and screams out for attention; rather, her beauty is soft, subtle, lying in the soft curve of her smile, the slant of her straight eyebrows. The more you look at her, the more your breath hitches.

Yoo Sangah takes a seat gracefully, crossing her legs. She smoothes her white skirt before looking up at them both– Dokja’s pleasantly surprised when she greets them both, including him, smiling. He’s met a lot of uppity people who’d looked down on him for being a secretary, but she doesn’t seem to be arrogant nor entitled.

“Welcome,” Dokja says, and passes her file to Yoo Joonghyuk, who looks at it with barely concealed disdain. Dokja wants to sigh. Could he at least try to look interested?

Yoo Joonghyuk takes the file with the air of an old man who’s seen all that exists on earth and is sick of anything that comes his way. He flicks it open with a dismissive gesture, eyes raking down the length of Yoo Sangah’s frankly, quite impressive resume, before flipping it shut again and looking at Yoo Sangah properly for the first time since she’s entered the room.

Ah, finally. Progress. Doja’s tensed body loosens slightly.

Yoo Sangah’s gaze turns expectant.

“Yoo Sangah-ssi,” Joonghyuk begins, tapping his fingers on her file. “Who are you going to be when you become my secretary? Secretary Yoo, or just Yoo Sangah?”

In other words, he’s referencing Dokja’s earlier words. I feel like there’s no divide between secretary Kim and Kim Dokja anymore.

Dokja feels his left eye twitch.

Yoo Sangah smiles gently. “I would be secretary Yoo Sangah. Because if I were to work for you, those would both be my identities.”

Dokja shoots a dirty look at Joonghyuk. This poor, poor girl. She has no idea just how insane Yoo Joonghyuk can get about work, and by the time she realises Yoo Sangah doesn’t exist anymore and secretary Yoo is all that’s left, it’ll be too late.

Joonghyuk nods seriously before passing the file back to Dokja again. “Please ask her some questions, secretary Kim.”

Dokja flips through the file, giving Yoo Sangah a quick encouraging smile. Unfortunately, it probably comes off as a tortured grimace. “Sangah-ssi, can you tell me what virtues a secretary should have?”

Yoo Sangah gives a curt nod. “I’d care for my boss as best I could according to my abilities, offer my assistance in any way possible, and–”

Yoo Joonghyuk holds up a hand. Sangah falters, gaze bouncing between Dokja and Joonghyuk, screaming for help.

“What if you work for a boss that’s already as perfect as a human can be?”

Oh, this narcissistic bastard.

This time, it’s his right eye that twitches.

“Oh, well…” Sangah looks taken aback, confusion evident in her eyes, but she regains her composure. “That would be a good thing, because it means that his working ability is great. However, a person cannot be a hundred percent perfect, nor can he do everything on his own. So, I would still try my best to help him in topics that he may not be familiar with or require extra help in.”

Dokja marks another point off in his list. Yoo Sangah is quick to adapt, good at thinking on her feet, and most of all, seems patient. She’s virtually perfect.

“Are you confident that you will be able to meet his demands completely? What if he’s never satisfied?” Dokja asks, because Yoo Joonghyuk always has ridiculous standards, and if he can, he wants to warn Sangah before she falls too deep.

Next to him, he senses Yoo Joonghyuk whip his head around to look at him, as if he’s finally understood that this question is about him.

“That would be difficult,” Sangah agrees, finally beginning to look a bit uncertain. Dokja nods.

Yoo Joonghyuk fires off another question, starting to sound a bit heated. “Will you be responsible enough to not quit the job after nine years with settling down in mind?”

Oh.

Wow. Okay. Low blow.

Yoo Joonghyuk is an unmoving rock next to him, an immutable presence that’s staring right at the side of his neck, boring into him; he’s not even pretending to look at Yoo Sangah anymore. A vein throbs in his forehead. Dokja ignores him, turns his face away and sends a very strained smile at Yoo Sangah.

“Yes,” Sangah replies coolly. “I’ll work here until the day I retire.”

“What if you really work yourself to death?” Dokja interjects sharply. Yoo Joonghyuk stiffens, a laser-like glare directed at him.

“What? Is it that difficult to work here?” Sangah’s brown eyes widen, but then Joonghyuk cuts her off.

“The pay is the best in Korea. You can’t get this anywhere else.”

Dokja feels angry smoke billow out of his nostrils when he exhales, glaring at Yoo Joonghyuk out of the corner of his eye. That petty bastard doesn’t even look at him. “It pays, but Yoo Sangah wouldn’t exist. You would only be secretary Yoo until the day you die.”

“So do all those years of working not exist as part of your life? One can be both a secretary and themself at the same time.” Yoo Joonghyuk scoffs, and turns directly to look at him. Dokja, being the stubborn little shit that he is, employs his own tactics against him in retaliation, and ignores him.

A beat of silence. Seconds stretch into minutes, and the only sound is the clock ticking. Sangah shifts uneasily in her seat.

Then:

“You’re hired,” Yoo Joonghyuk announces loudly, and at the same time, Dokja drops his head into his hands. Yoo Sangah gives her quick thanks before being lead out of the office, and Dokja leaps off the couch to leave the office before the remaining string holding his fragile self control snaps and he throws something at Yoo Joonghyuk’s insufferable, annoying face that still manages to look composed even when Dokja turns to leave.

“Wait.”

Dokja, against his better will, pauses for a second.

“I’m sorry for giving you too much work these nine years,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, and it's bashful. Dokja spins around.

“What?” His voice sounds incredulous. He is incredulous. Yoo Joonghyuk has never apologised for anything, not even when he’s blatantly the one in the wrong, so why–

“Do I have to say it again?” Joonghyuk’s face spasms, his composure slipping for a second. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you less work if you stay.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but…

“Mr Yoo.” Dokja repeats, voice firm. “You still don’t understand. I’m going to leave no matter what you do. But it would be nice if you extended that same courtesy towards everyone else in the office and not just to me as a bribe to get me to stay, because they’ve been suffering for more than I have. You should treat your workers better before they all resign.”

Joonghyuk’s hands tighten in his lap. He opens his mouth like he wants to say more– to convince him to stay, to tell him not to go, but nothing but silence comes out, and he looks away again. Tension settles in his shoulders. The air feels heavy, stifling– it rests against both their solitary figures, weighing down on them both.

Dokja digs his fingernails into his palms.

“Understood, secretary Kim. You may go.”

“Jihye.”

“Yes, master!” Lee Jihye pops up from behind his desk, a drawer pulled open, a grape coloured sucker lodged in her mouth. The drawer is empty, save for a handful of round little pastilles with brown and gold wrappers, and when Joonghyuk peers closer, they look like—

“Are those chocolates?” he asks, because he’s fairly sure that up until yesterday, that drawer had been filled with reports and not innocuous little sweets.

Jihye nods brightly like she’s proud. “Yup. I put them in here to give you energy throughout the day since you always look like you’re on the verge of homicidal rage!”

Joonghyuk feels a vein in his forehead throb and his heart twinge slightly with fondness all at the same time. It’s an odd sensation. “Put those away. I don’t like sugar.”

A pout makes its way onto Jihye’s lips. “Killjoy,” she mumbles as she stuffs them back into her bottomless pockets, ready to be conjured again at a later time for consumption, as she always does.

“Enough of that. Jihye, am I that much of a bad person for expecting my workers to be able to keep up with me?”

Jihye looks at him, pulling a strange face he can’t quite understand. “Did secretary Kim tell you that?”

Joonghyuk sinks into his chair, realising he’s been standing there like a fool this entire time. “How do you know?”

“You only ever talk to me about secretary Kim. At this point, one would logically assume that you have a crush on him.”

Oh, hell. Not again. First Lee Hyunsung, now Jihye. A betrayal of the highest level.

Joonghyuk opens his mouth to rebut, but Jihye cuts him off, holding up a hand. She’s fearless, because if anyone else in the office had done that, he would’ve fired them. On the spot.

Well, maybe not Kim Dokja. So nearly everyone. The point still stands.

“But you don’t like men,” Jihye says when she sees Joonghyuk’s annoyed face, and makes herself comfortable on the couch. “So I won’t entertain that thought. Unless I’m missing something…”

Jihye peers at Joonghyuk suspiciously, grape sucker dangling out of her mouth. She’s really addicted to those candies, claiming that a friend of hers had introduced them to her. Well, it’s better than vapes like young people do nowadays, and Joonghyuk feels his head hurt just from recalling the candy flavoured smoke drifting from the streets of the more questionable areas of Seoul. He would give Jihye a good scolding if she ever picked up a vape. Lung cancer is not trendy.

“I don’t not like men,” Joonghyuk says, feeling a strange need to correct her. “But I don’t not like women either. I don’t care about the gender as long as I like the person.”

“Okay, but that person isn’t secretary Kim, right?”

Joonghyuk swallows. His throat is suddenly dry. “…Right.”

Jihye gives him an odd look. “Yeah, so anyway. What was your question again?”

Lee Jihye is impudent. Reckless, and she treats him as if he’s not her employer that’s notorious for firing people, and somehow he finds that refreshing. Everyone else walks on eggshells around him— her boldness is a breath of fresh air in such a stifling environment, and as such, she’s the only one he can come to for reliable answers.

“I asked if I’m a bad boss for expecting my workers to be able to keep up with my work pace.”

A sigh. Jihye stuffs her candy into her mouth. “Look, bud. You’re a genius. So, it’s only normal that you’d work better than everyone else.”

Joonghyuk gives her a stare that says explain.

“It’s like this,” Jihye grabs a piece of spare paper that he’s pretty sure is a report and starts scribbling on it with a black biro he hadn’t even seen her pull out of her pocket. “Look. Let’s say that you’re an Olympic athlete.”

On the paper, she draws a laughably poor stickman running. His feet are disproportionately large compared to his head. “You’re able to run faster than the average human because you’re naturally talented and you put in hard work. However, you wouldn’t expect everyone else to be able to run as fast as you do because they’re not Olympian athletes like you are.”

A few strokes on the paper again, and it transforms into another stick figure next to the first one, with noticeably short legs, struggling to keep up. Jihye draws three dots on its face to represent sweat. “So, in the same way, if you’re now a genius, you wouldn’t expect most people to be able to work as quickly as you do. Understand?”

Joonghyuk lets his gaze rest on the stick figures– and all of a sudden, a face floats to the front of his mind again, flashing like a brand on the back of his eyelids. Kim Dokja. Those big eyes, that cheeky mouth. He can’t escape from the memory of him no matter how hard he tries.

He imagines another stick figure next to his own, keeping pace with no trouble at all, and he drags a hand down his tired face. “Secretary Kim keeps up just fine.”

“Secretary Kim isn’t most people.”

Out of all the things Jihye has said, this one is the most accurate one yet.

Joonghyuk stares at the picture again for another long moment. It’s crude, the stick figures horribly drawn and disjointed, but somehow, he feels like he finally understands, just a little bit. An Olympian and a normal person. A genius and an ordinary office worker. There’s a line between them that he hadn’t been aware of all along.

Kim Dokja’s stupid, impudent, defiant voice echoes in his head.

You should treat your workers better before they all resign.

Huh, he thinks. So this is what he meant.

“Jihye,” he says slowly, pushing the paper away. “I need your help.”

[email protected]

TO: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] and 15 others

There will be a worker retreat in the following week, starting from Monday the 13th to Friday the 17th. All workers will be going to Jejudo and staying at a beach resort. Food and drink is provided. Details will be linked below.

Yoo Joonghyuk at 10:55 AM

You’re sure this is going to work?

Jihye (the light of your miserable life) at 10:56 AM

master why are you doubting me

Yoo Joonghyuk at 10:58 AM

You are an intern. I am the vice chairman. Having an intern tell their employer what to do in order to have just one employee stay is not typical company activity.

Jihye (the light of your miserable life) at 11:00 AM

don’t be such a killjoy

also bring those swimming trunks i talked about they’re definitely going to work on dokja he is the biggest most adorable loser i have ever seen

Yoo Joonghyuk at 11:05 AM

Swimming trunks? Jihye, I am not going to wear swimming trunks. I wouldn’t wear those in front of my employees even at gunpoint and certainly am not going to wear them for Kim Dokja.

Yoo Joonghyuk at 11:08 AM

Jihye?

Yoo Joonghyuk at 11:13 AM

Jihye. I am not wearing the trunks.

Jihye (the light of your miserable life) at 11:20 AM

that’s what they all say

Yoo Joonghyuk at 11:21 AM

… What the hell is that supposed to mean.

Okay. This is a dream. He’s high. He’s drunk. Han Sooyoung slipped something into his coffee this morning, probably. He’s definitely on something because the words that are coming out of Sangah’s mouth are words that he has never heard anyone ever say in this office.

“The retreat,” Sangah is saying, eyes wide and earnest on her pale face. A slow blink, long lashes batting belatedly against ivory cream skin. “There was an email about it, I think, and we’re going to Jeju–”

Dokja all but collapses into his office chair, leaving Sangah standing next to his desk limbs akimbo like an awkward fawn. “Jejudo,” he says, stresses the word like it’s some unbelievable miraculous thing, puts his hand over his eyes. “Explain, please.”

Sangah hops onto the desk, seating herself neatly amongst the stacks of papers that she will, too, one day have to learn to navigate. But for now, she’s comfortable with swiping through her phone then holding it up like a beacon in his face, white lines of script stark across a black background. An email. A retreat. Jejudo. Dokja skims through it, and with each word that makes it past his processing gaze is another tally line on the already long list of what the fucks in his life.

A retreat?

He blinks slowly. There’s the slightest glaze in his eyes. “This is a scam,” he tells Sangah, matter-of-fact, and takes her phone gently from her hands to tap at the sender’s email address. “There’s no way. It’s probably a fake phishing email or something. Look, if we just look at the sender, there’s no way it’s really Vice Chairman Yoo–”

Except that it is. And that’s what’s staring him in the face right now: Yoo Joonghyuk’s email address reserved only for company business, smack-dab in the sender section.

A pause. A tilt of Sangah’s caramel coloured head. A lock of her hair has fallen over her face; absently, she flicks it out of her face.

“I think I need to go see Vice Chairman Yoo,” he says very slowly, and stands up from the desk. This is a scam, he thinks– except that it doesn’t feel like it. He’s being dumb on purpose. He can also feel Sangah’s confused stare on the back of his head as he makes his way to Yoo Joonghyuk’s office; that, too, is awkward.

He lets himself in. Yoo Joonghyuk, as always, is at his desk, hunched over some papers, his brows drawn together so fiercely that it’s hard to think of him without a perpetual frown: always vaguely threatening and angry. His head snaps up the moment Dokja opens the door, peers around the edge like he’s nervous even after all this time– and for a second– his eyes gleam. They shine with some sort of hope that even he can’t understand. Then they dim, and it’s gone altogether.

“A retreat,” Dokja bursts, the words leaping eagerly from his throat without permission. “Seriously? Who are you and what have you done with Yoo Joonghyuk?”

A slight tense to his already tense brows. “You don’t like it?”

“What? It’s not– it’s not about if I like it or not, it’s about why you didn’t tell me about this because I’m your secretary and I need to know things like these, and what’s the point of having one if you don’t tell them things–”

He blinks, and suddenly Yoo Joonghyuk is out of his chair, in front of him. The curve of his lips, the straight line of his nose.

“Kim Dokja. Calm down.”

The words are harsh. Somehow, his voice is not nearly as grating as it normally is.

Dokja takes a deep breath. Refills himself with oxygen while his brain whizzes ten million miles an hour. Glares.

“No, seriously. Who the hell are you? A retreat… I’ve never heard you talk about anything like that in all the years I’ve worked with you.”

A briefly nonplussed look sparks across Yoo Joonghyuk’s face. “Is it that surprising?”

A deadpan look. Dokja stares, stares, stares. “Of course it is. Yoo Joo– Mr. Yoo, I’ve been here for nine years and you’ve never even considered the idea of one. What changed?”

“Nothing. Just–” An uncharacteristic moment of weakness suddenly steals over his marble cut face. His eyes soften; they look uncertain, degrees of something undetermined away from regret. “You told me to treat my employees better. And I finally understood that I haven’t been the best employer.”

For a moment, he’s skeptical. He can see that Yoo Joonghyuk knows it too.

“Who told you that? Lee Jihye?”

His shoulders twitch, tense. There’s the slightest hunch in them that makes him wonder if he’s not as confident as he always seems to be. “Yes.”

He’s caught between a smile and a sob. Of course it was Jihye. Of all the people that have tried to knock some sense into Yoo Joonghyuk’s hard head over the years, it’s the unpaid, coffee-serving intern that finally succeeds.

“Well,” he sighs, “At least you finally see it. Never too late, I guess. I’ll thank Jihye. Maybe I’ll buy her more suckers.”

“But do you like it?” Yoo Joonghyuk persists, and Dokja tilts his head.

“Why is that important?”

“Because–” Yoo Joonghyuk cuts off suddenly, jaw flexing, but regains his balance so smoothly that it’s hard to tell that he’d even stuttered. “It’s for you.”

“For me?” Dokja echoes, astonished. He forgets to breathe, stupidly enough, even if it’s just for a second.

“For the employees,” He clarifies. There’s a vivid spot of colour high on the arch of his cheekbones, a splash of red on pale skin. “Like you. I need to know what my employees think.” Uncharacteristically awkward, he almost looks away; his gaze flickers.

“Oh,” Dokja says then. “Well, I do. I do like it. It’s fun.”

There’s a brief moment of silence.

Yoo Joonghyuk’s face suddenly shuts off again. That softness in his eyes has been flushed out. The faint redness is gone, vanished under pale skin again; he backs a step away from Dokja, turns away fully, doesn’t look at him as he walks back to the desk.

“That’s good,” he mutters, half under his breath than anything else. He still doesn’t look at Dokja. “You’ll be attending, then?”

“Yes,” he says. “Is that all, Vice Chairman Yoo?”

Yoo Joonghyuk seems to stiffen. “Why do you keep calling me that? It’s awkward.”

“What, Vice Chairman Yoo? You told me to call you that. Several years ago.”

“It’s too awkward,” Yoo Joonghyuk suddenly says decisively, as if he’s just come to a realization and he’s implementing his thoughts right away. He looks straight at Dokja then– and he hesitates, eyes flicking from Dokja and his paperwork. “You can use my name.”

“Your name?” He feels himself blanch. “I can’t do that, Mr Yoo.”

“You can. You did it when you came into the room earlier.”

Mortifyingly so, he feels his ears go a horrible red. “I didn’t mean it– I mean, I was caught off guard, so–”

Cutting him off, Yoo Joonghyuk interjects. Sets down his pen to devote his sole attention on him, his eyes, his gaze, locked on his face like he’s the only thing in the world. “You can do it, Kim Dokja. I don’t mind.”

The eye contact is a bit… much. He’s too intense, Dokja thinks, that he makes even looking out the window feel like a respite, a breath of fresh air. And it must be hot out, from the sunlight that’s streaming in from the open glass, and because it’s June, the temperature is high. It’s sunny out, he thinks– the warmth from the open window practically radiating from outside reaching all the way into the office. That’s why his neck and ears flush with unexpected heat when he replies: “Okay, Joonghyuk,” to him– and not because of anything else. He can’t get rid of the blush even when he walks out of the office to Sangah still sitting on his desk with a questioning look.

It’s the heat. It must be summer already.