Bonds: A Blogsary Short

i.

When Jin-ho first met Tony, he never really thought that he’d have to work with him from an early age. Anthony Howard was merely someone who worked for his father; he would always see him around his father’s office or around the actual office building, dressed smartly in a navy suit and a tie that looked close to grey. Tony would greet Jin-ho would a polite smile, though Jin-ho was never really sure if the eyes hiding behind Tony’s dark sunglasses were smiling too or not.

Then again, he didn’t really expect his father to die so soon, either.

The two already knew each other before the death of Tae-min, so things weren’t too awkward. Despite that, bonding over death was never really the best thing.

(But for them, it worked. Somehow.)

After the death of his father, Jin-ho worked at much later times, woke up earlier than he tended to. Sleep was suddenly less of a necessity to him than it already was; he found himself grieving through work and work alone.

His mother noticed but never spoke up, not wanting to intrude. She respected that if that was how he would grieve, then that would be how he’d grieve.

Tony noticed.

However, unlike Da-hyeon, Tony chose to take action. He’d knock on Jin-ho’s door with a mug of his favorite tea and a plate of something filling when it was late. A fresh mug of coffee would await every breakfast. Files would lay neatly on his desk when he’d arrive at his office.

Jin-ho didn’t quite know who it was at first, but after having dinner with his mother one night, she commented, “Tony is a good man.” And that was that.

One evening, Tony found himself knocking on the door as usual. “Jin-ho? I have something to eat,” he started, but the door opened and a hand pulled him in before Tony could protest. “Sir—”

“You’re going to eat too,” Jin-ho said. He sat himself back at his table and gestured to the chair in front, “Sit. Eat.”

Tony was honestly surprised. “I can’t, I’m on duty.”

A pause. “Part of your duty is following orders from me, correct?” Tony nodded and a small smile broke out on the Korean’s face. “Then stay here and eat too. That’s an order from me.”

Tony followed.

Somehow, the cake tasted better with company.

ii. 

He finds that he has to remind himself that Leroux and Mathieu are two completely different identities.

Leroux was cold; he never smiled and tended to wear a blank or angry look on his face, depending on the situation. Leroux had brown hair and dark eyes; Leroux was good with a gun and never failed to shoot. Leroux had Jin-ho’s safety on top and did terrifying things to ensure that the other man would safely make it out of wherever they were.

Mathieu, on another hand, was warm. Mathieu was human, felt human, and acted human; Jin-ho had a hard time comprehending that he was very much the same as the cold-blooded guard known was Leroux. It was hard to come to terms with how Mathieu, who beat him frequently at games and was lost between the French and English languages, was the same person who would shoot another in the head without any moment’s worth of hesitation.

The moments come separately.

They come when Leroux yanks at his arm to bring him out of a dangerous area, they come when Mathieu breaks him out of a panic attack. He sees the two separately and he wonders if bringing him into this mess was worth it.

They eat him up eventually and he decides to bring it up over a meal. They’re both in his office at home, Mathieu relaxing and playing with his DS while Jin-ho works on a report. Trivial things—one would think that they were behaving perfectly normal.

Eventually, Jin-ho clears his throat, asks: “You’re still okay, right?”

Mathieu’s surprised at the question but barely tears his eyes from the screen. “Me? I’m okay. Why?” Jin-ho listens as the male plays and eventually replies after a rough minute.

“Just wondering. With this whole Leroux thing.”

“Ah.” The redhead stops playing, saves his progress, tucks his console into the pocket of his bag. “You don’t really stop worrying about that, do you?”

Jin-ho gives a scowl. “Can’t blame me. I have a responsibility over everyone. But honestly,” he says, quieter that time and looking away from the laptop screen, “…are you still okay?”

Mathieu opens his mouth and then closes it. Jin-ho waits.

“I’m still here. I’m still okay.”

iii.

He and Jian had never really bonded on a personal level, no. Jian was a close contact referred to him by Tony; Jian, as far as he knew, did hits for extra cash despite working for one of Atlanta’s nicer bars.

Then again, he didn’t quite know all his employees on a personal level.

On the occasions that the two spoke, it was simply for the purpose of business. Jian would arrive at the office dressed nicely; the last thing he’d appear as to the rest of them would be of a hit man (and an arsonist on rarer occasions). Jian would ask what Jin-ho needed, Jin-ho would explain, and the two would create plans as they would. It would take roughly an hour.

Afterwards, they would arrange payment for the trouble and for the labor. Jian always arranged for it to be privately deposited in his account and Jin-ho never questioned it. Jian would leave, contact a few hours after the deed had been done. Money would transfer, digital traits erased. Repeat the process.

So he decided one day to have lunch with the man, but Jian declined politely.

Jin-ho understood but nevertheless kept asking—

And the declines would come every single time. It frustrated him; he told Tony and Mathieu about his frustrations on separate occasions; both of them had just advised him to leave Jian alone the more it went on.

But Jin-ho refused, as stubborn as he was. He kept asking during their meetings, brought up the prospect of getting to at least talk about something else. Jian turned him down gently, always responding that he had something else do to, that he had already made plans.

And it frustrated him until he eventually gave and stopped asking.

Time passed and eventually Jin-ho chose to go down the much cleaner path. After informing him that he would stop availing of his services, Jin-ho noticed something change in Jian’s expression. He wasn’t sure if Jian was disappointed, too, or if he had just imagined thing, but he soon shrugged it off and thought of something else—

(The fires then started one night and Jin-ho got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew, he knew, he knew.)