The 80/20 Rule // knj [COMPLETED]

07 • At Least Eighty-Five

🎭 Namjoon 🎭

"Hoseok, you are a cheeky bastard," I chuckle, appalled at the absurd suit my assistant has purchased for this evening.

While the suit itself is of top quality material and cut, the color throws me for a loop. Hoseok knows how I feel about attention grabbing colors and this definitely fits the bill to a tee.

The suit is fucking purple. Grape, plum, bright ass purple. At just over six foot tall, if I were to show up to my reunion wearing this, everyone would think I was that giant singing dinosaur.

I refuse to wear this. I don't even want to go to this stupid reunion, but I never got around to canceling my reservation. Hoseok conveniently kept me buried under paperwork and useless meetings making it impossible to have a moment to send an email to the class president stating my assistant incorrectly RSVP'd.

I never just skip out on anything. At least I haven't bailed on anything in the better part of the last twenty years, and I don't intend to start now.

Dark navy Louis Vuitton slacks and my favorite Louis Vuitton black sweater will do just fine. My clothing alone most likely costs more than most of my old classmates make in a month, and I grab my new Tag Heuer watch for a little wrist bling if I decide to push up my sleeves.

I'll be damned if I show up looking like Barney.

Hoseok was right about one thing however. I have gained a bit around the waist. My slacks don't hold my waist as comfortably as they used to just a few months prior; I blame my sudden addiction to late night dinners at Fleur.

I wonder what Natheda will be wearing. Just the thought of her still brings a smile to my face that I hide even in private since I know any happy memories associated with her also harbor pain in their shadows.

She was the one that got away without a doubt. Whether my fault or her own or a combination of the two, Natheda and I saw each other at our best and brought out the worst in our personalities in the short amount of time we were together.

Was it so short? She once said I aged her ten years and at the time it had only been six months.

My cellphone rings from across the room on my nightstand. I answer the video call without hesitation ready to curse out my assistant.

"I knew you would be too chickenshit to wear the suit," he says as his greeting.

"It's common sense, Hoseok. I hate bright colors and you know this. Why would you buy me a suit in such a loud color?"

"It brings out your skin tone, and it is your size. Let me guess; you're wearing those navy LV pants that are a size or two too small with the black sweater I can see? You'll wish you had worn the suit halfway through your night when those slacks have made indentions in your pudge."

Knitting my brows, I look down to my stomach. I'll admit there is a noticeable difference in my gut if one were to compare photos of me a year ago and now, but I am still average weight with just the right amount of muscle.

"My slacks are fine. Why are you calling anyway?"

Hoseok shuffles the phone closer to his face. I sneer at the up close angle of his nostrils.

"Your car is waiting downstairs. They called me instead of you on accident."

I don't know why he's whispering. "Why are you talking like that?"

"Because we are partners, Namjoon. In business. That we run.. partnerly."

I slap my hand over my face. "What in the hell, Hoseok?"