Idol | sunsun

1

The first thing Sunoo sees when he reaches his desk are Yang Jungwon's crossed arms, just like he'd expected.

His boss is sitting at the edge of the desk, hitting the floor impatiently with his shiny black shoes, glaring at Sunoo with the fury of ten gods. His white dress shirt strains against his ridiculously muscular biceps.

"Good morning, hyung," he mutters, not bothering to take off his sunglasses. He takes a sip of his coffee and awkwardly sets it down next to Jungwon. "The weather is lovely today, isn't it?"

"Cut the bullshit, Sunoo," Jungwon says. Sunoo sighs. Here it goes. "Take off your glasses and look at me."

"Can we not do this right now? I have a headache."

Jungwon's frown deepens, but his lips twitch. As angry as he must be, Sunoo knows he can't stay mad at him, especially not lately. As a journalist, like Sunoo himself, Yang Jungwon's strength is in his words, the way he sews his sentences together with the expertise of a royal tailor. He's not a physical person. His worry translates into void angry yelling; his love into side hugs and dimpled smiles that are gone too soon.

"Sunoo," he says in a lower tone. "You can't brush this off and go on with your life. I know I keep saying there's no need for you to run your articles through me anymore, but this is just..."

"I did what you asked me to do," Sunoo replies through gritted teeth. It's too early for this, for fuck's sake. "Write an article about love. It'll help you heal!" he mimics Jungwon's voice from last week. It's been stuck in his head ever since.

Jungwon stares at him for a long second before letting out a deep exhale. He moves away from the desk. "Arguing with you is impossible." He points his index at Sunoo, adding, "if you get sued, don't call me. That's on you."

Sunoo chuckles, shaking his head. "He won't sue me, don't worry."

Jungwon arches his brows. "If you say so."

Once his friend is out of sight, Sunoo finally sits on his desk and hits his forehead against the wood with a grunt. One cup of coffee won't be enough to get through this day.

Back when he was still a student, he'd kept track of the times his professors insisted that a good piece needed impact. Good journalism, they'd said, is born from the braveness of a writer's heart. Out of the flame pushing them to break the walls nobody has dared to break before. Shocking, groundbreaking, astonishing. Nobody would care about grammar if they were reading an article that blew their minds away.

Sunoo has always thought it was bullshit. His colleagues had all been dying to become war journalists, dismantle crime organizations and make it into the front page. Sunoo didn't want to save the world; he just wanted to write. He wanted people to remember him for his words, not the events he covered. But now that he's done what he's done, he's not entirely sure that was true.

With a sigh, he straightens his back and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to take out his phone. It'd stayed turned off ever since he posted the article, but he needs to access the recordings from his last interview. Unfortunately, the world has never stopped for him. This time is no different.

His coworkers know at this point that it's best not to bother him when he's working, but today they don't even wave at him. Sana, who usually nags Sunoo until he gives in and closes his laptop to get breakfast with her, simply walks by and squeezes his shoulder. Sunoo doesn't know if he should be glad for the space or mad at the thought of being pitied.

He manages to get through two entire hours of uninterrupted productivity until his phone rings. He pulls at his earphones to take them off with a scowl and takes the call, unbothered to check who's behind the line.