Chapter Text
Mark wasn’t a morning person. His colleagues knew it, the interns whispered about it, and even the coffee machine seemed to vibrate with fear whenever he approached. He wasn’t mean, just chronically unimpressed with mornings and everything associated with them. At twenty-seven, after five years of climbing the corporate ladder, mornings felt like a tax he paid for being good at his job.
He stepped out of the meeting room, skimming the folder in his hands with half-closed eyes. His mind was already planning deadlines, presentations, campaign assignments, everywhere except the hallway in front of him. So when the elevator dinged, he didn’t look up. He should have.
A strangled gasp cut through the quiet. “WATCH OUT-”
Too late. Warmth splashed across his dress shirt, collar, tie, everywhere. Mark hissed and jerked back, clutching the folder like a life preserver, praying the documents hadn’t suffered the same fate.
“Shit, sorry! Sorry! Oh my god, I am so so sorry!”
He looked up, ready to issue a cold, managerial level of bluntness that Monday mornings practically begged for, but froze. A familiar face stared back at him, wide-eyed and mortified, clutching a mostly empty cup of tea. Mark couldn’t place him yet, and frankly didn’t care. He was drenched in bergamot.
“Are you serious?” he said flatly.
“I didn’t see you- I was running for the elevator- I'm so sorry- I swear I didn’t mean- ”
“That part I figured out,” Mark cut in. “If you meant it, you would've aimed for the shoes. They were new.”
“Your shirt looked new too-”
“Not the point.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, silently begging the universe for mercy. Of all the ways to start a Monday, fate sent him a tea-wielding gremlin.
“Look,” he sighed. “It’s fine. Just watch where you’re going next time.”
The guy nodded vigorously, gaze glued to Mark’s shoes like they might combust. “I promise. I usually have better spatial awareness.”
Mark doubted that. “Do you work here? I don’t recognize you.”
“Uh, yes. First day,” he murmured, fingers fidgeting with his shirt hem. “I was supposed to meet HR in five minutes, but then I spilled my tea and then I ran and then I… hit you. With the tea.”
“Clearly.”
“I swear I’m not usually this chaotic.”
Mark didn’t buy that either, but he waved it off. “Fine. Just go to HR. Preferably without causing a tsunami this time.”
“Right. Yeah. Thank you…Mark.”
The elevator doors slid shut. Mark blinked. Mark? How did he—
And then it hit him like a delayed electric shock. Those eyes. That face. That voice.
“No fucking way.”
Ohm. Khaotung’s younger brother. The kid he’d seen at family dinners, the teen who wore thick glasses, the one who moved away for college. And apparently the new hire Khaotung somehow neglected to mention.
“Oh, Khaotung,” Mark muttered. “You absolute menace. You’re dead.”
Ohm tried to steady his hands as the HR rep gave him a stack of onboarding documents, but they betrayed him with tiny, humiliating tremors. His brain was still back in the lobby replaying the collision, the tea, the look on Mark’s face. As soon as the elevator doors closed, he’d pressed his forehead to the cool metal and whispered, “Mark,” like a confession.
Mark, his brother’s friend. Mark, who got him drunk for the first time. Mark, his teenage crush he never grew out of. And today, he spilled tea all over him. On his first day. While knowing he’d be in the same department under Mark’s supervision.
Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it.
Half an hour later, Mark sat at his desk in a clean shirt, grateful he kept spares for disasters exactly like this, for reasons he’d never questioned until now. Unfortunately, the bergamot scent clung to him, stubbornly, if not with determination, taunting him every time he inhaled. The office buzzed with Monday noise, but Mark could only replay what he’d already named the “corridor chaos catastrophe” or the CCC, if you will, because of course his brain liked things in threes.
He finally pulled out his phone.
Mark: Your brother works here?
Mark: He spilled tea on me.
Mark: KHAOTUNG ANSWER ME.
Silence. And then came the message.
Khaotung: …
Khaotung: lol
Mark scowled.
Mark: That’s it?
Khaotung: okay okay sorry
Khaotung: i forgot to tell u
Khaotung: thought he’d tell u himself
Mark: Why would he tell me?
Mark: I haven’t talked to him in years??
Khaotung: and whose fault is that
Khaotung: anyway be nice he’s nervous
Mark: He threw tea at me!
Khaotung: accident. don’t bully him
Khaotung: also he’s in your dept btw
Khaotung: new junior staff
Mark leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Of course he was. The universe had an affinity for drama, or an affinity for his torment. And now he had to supervise Ohm, who looked moments away from crying earlier.
Perfect.
Ohm clutched his notebook as he entered the marketing department, trying desperately to blend in even though his nerves radiated neon. He found his desk, sat down, took one deep breath, then nearly launched himself out of his chair when someone cleared their throat behind him.
“You made it without causing more casualties,” Mark said dryly. Ohm wished gravity would take him. Mark, crisp white replacement shirt and all, looked painfully put together. Ohm felt like the human embodiment of a spill.
“Hi,” he squeaked.
“Hi.” Mark’s eyebrow rose. Silence settled awkwardly.
“Ohm right?” Mark said. “Khaotung’s brother?”
Ohm nodded, cheeks heating. His gaze was still decisively aimed at the floor, afraid that the daggers Mark was shooting earlier might end his employment sooner than imagined.
Mark exhaled. “Well. Welcome to the company.” He handed Ohm a folder. “These are your first assignments. If you have questions, ask, preferably before sprinting with scalding liquids.”
If he didn’t know, he’d say it was impossible but somehow he flushed a deeper red, still not gutsy enough to look up at Mark “I’m really sorry again. I wasn’t trying to hit you, I just, panicked.”
“I noticed,” Mark said. “Your flight response was impressive.”
I want to die, Ohm thought.
“You’ll be shadowing me for the first few weeks,” Mark continued, already glancing at his clipboard. “That okay?”
Shadowing. Mark. Every day. Ohm’s heart performed gymnastics.
“Y-yeah. Totally okay. That’s fine.”
“Good. Conference room in twenty minutes. Don’t get lost.”
Ohm let his forehead drop onto the desk.
He was doomed.
Ohm sat across from Mark, pretending to take notes while mostly fighting the fight or flight in him, well, mostly flight, screaming at him to leave the room as soon as possible. Mark explained the campaign structure with the ease of someone who lived inside spreadsheets. Ohm tried to focus but the combination of Mark’s calm authority and sharp profile made his brain feel like melting wax.
“I’m giving you small segments first,” Mark said. “Don’t do everything at once.”
“I’ll do my best,” Ohm murmured.
“Just don’t overthink it.”
Ohm, a man engineered by nature specifically to overthink, nodded anyway. His handwriting wobbled. Mark noticed.
“You okay?”
Ohm jolted. “Yes! Just processing.”
“I haven’t even gotten to the complicated parts.”
Ohm shut up instantly. Mark sighed. “Relax. I’m not going to yell at you.”
That wasn’t the issue. The issue was the crush he’d buried years ago, apparently blooming back to life like a weed. A weed that had never left apparently.
Mark remained unreadable, stern, and entirely unaware that Ohm was spiraling internally.
--
As Ohm sat in the company cafeteria, his phone buzzed. Khaotung’s face appeared immediately. Contemplating whether or not to press the green button, his still shaky fingers decided for him.
“So. You threw tea at Mark.” A voice echoed from the device.
“Oh my god, it was an accident.” Ohm uttered, face already falling into one of his hands. Anything to save at least one drop of his sanity.
“I know,” Khaotung grinned, “but iconic.”
“Khaooo~”
“He messaged me. Three times.”
Ohm shot upright. “WHAT DID HE SAY?”
“That you spilled tea on him, asked if you were okay, then yelled at me.”
Ohm groaned. “I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die. You’re just going to be extremely embarrassed for a while.”
“That’s worse.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Khaotung said. “He’s just… Mark. His moods are ‘tired’ and ‘slightly irritated.’”
Unfortunately accurate.
“Give it time. He’ll warm up to you.”
Ohm highly doubted it.
Mark stayed late reviewing schedules, the office dimming around him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, but his mind kept drifting back to the disaster that was the morning. He’d managed new hires before, many in fact, yet today felt… different.
He kept seeing Ohm’s panicked face. Hearing his apologies. And remembering, unfortunately, the genuine little smile Ohm made while taking notes. Warm. Soft. Distractingly sincere.
Mark scowled. No. Absolutely not. He had known Ohm since he was a kid. He’d changed the boy’s bike chain once. He had no business noticing him like that.
He shut off his computer, muttering, “This is not happening.”
But as the elevator doors closed, the image of Ohm’s smile flickered again in his mind. Something twisted in his chest, unfamiliar, unwanted, and far more terrifying than spilled tea and a stained shirt.