The Neighbor's Desire (21+) • VK

SEVEN

I'm never late.

Whether it's for mom's obsession with being punctual or my own need for routine, being on time is crucial to me.

I'm never, ever late.

Routine is important.

Maybe because I don't have to think while doing routine work, just move. The body does everything mechanically after doing the same thing over and over again; there's no thinking needed.

No crossing thoughts, no overthinking, no images.

Just moving.

Every day, I wake up extra early for anything that might intrude on my need to be on time. With sleep still heavy on my lids, routine helps me wash my face and make my bed without having to think about it. Preparing breakfast and having a shower is part of it, me wrapped in my off-white cotton towel, toasting my breads while the coffee cools down. When I finish eating, I walk upstairs to put on the ironed clothes I had chosen the night before.

Every day, it's the same routine.

I love routine.

It's become essential for me to have routine in my life. I don't allow anything to disrupt it.

One might wonder why I'm so fixated on routine even after being a corporate litigation lawyer. Well, as much as my work can be done from home, I do not like unplannedness. So, routine helps me through it. And to handle cases like Paul's—though the chances are thin considering my position focuses on legal research, reviewing case files, and occasionally client negotiations since I'm just an entry-level lawyer—I have to go to my law firm at least twice a week.

Unfortunately, Paul's case's been closed, and it's not one of those days.

Which explains why I'm standing in front of my father's overly enthusiastic assistant who's describing the sponsorship paperwork I give a damn about as much as my snoring father does.

Not to be understood wrong, I love animals.

But I know doing this every year is purely business for my dad. And to have his company's logo printed widely beside the camp's name, of course.

I wasn't even supposed to be here. But when mom ordered me to be useful for once, I couldn't just say no.

It's not like I have to work—just sit with people who'll pretend the pets' wellbeing is more important than anything. But that's the problem. I know how they can be—competing on who cares the most about the camp and who's the biggest animal lover.

Just thinking about it has my heart in my throat.

I do not want to sit with them.

"Sir?" The assistant calls out softly. "I was asking if you'll want me to show you around or just..."

"Thanks... but I'm okay on my own. I'm sure you've got plenty to handle." I mutter.

"Sure, sir." He nods, bowing slightly before turning to walk back to whatever he was doing before he suddenly decided to explain why this annual sponsorship is such an important PR move for the company.

I take long steps to walk out of the large makeshift pavilion set up for the hosts and sponsors under the bright, scorching sun and realize discarding my coat wasn't it. I roll the arms of my faint blue shirt till the elbows, gently folding them in neat, precise creases before I undo the first two buttons of the cloth.

People have already started to arrive with their pets, busy taking a look around or reading the guidelines. It's larger than I thought—the camp. Livelier. Visitors, volunteers, and doctors are scattered in the open area, almost looking like a well-thought-out scene from a movie.