Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! SMACK!

Inho’s hand comes crashing down onto the alarm clock, silencing its relentless beeping. He lies in bed for a moment longer, reluctant to start the day, before letting out a big stretch and rubbing his groggy eyes. Finally, he sits up, slips on his slippers, and makes his way to the bathroom to begin his morning routine—shower, brush teeth, eat breakfast, get dressed, check himself in the mirror, and head out the door.

But today is different.

As he makes his way to the bathroom, a memory pushes its way into his still-tired mind, jolting him awake instantly—the new department manager who recently started at his job. He had heard about the new hire, but weeks have passed, and he has never seen the mysterious newcomer who has the whole office buzzing.

That was until yesterday.

As the elevator dings and Inho steps onto the 15th floor for a last-minute meeting he is filling in for, he flips through his papers one more time—SPLASH!

“Ahh, shit,” he mutters under his breath as a wave of hot coffee suddenly burns its way down his chest.

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” a panicked voice exclaims.

Furious, he looks up from his scalded chest, ready to tell this careless prick to watch where he’s going—until he sees the man standing in front of him.

And just like that, he freezes.

“Hey, are you okay?” the stranger asks with concern. “Your shirt is soaked—do you have another?”

More questions follow, but he is still stuck, staring at this man. Beautiful. Yeah, that’s the only word that can describe him.

Then, a hand lands on Inho’s shoulder, snapping him out of his daze. He glances down at it, then back up at the man before finally managing to speak.

“I… uh, it’s fine. Things happen. I gotta go.”

With lightning speed, he walks away from the scene of the crime—shirt still soaked, chest still stinging, but he doesn’t care. He sits through the meeting looking like a complete mess, his thoughts consumed by the stranger’s burning, concerned gaze that had locked onto his.

Who is he? Is this the guy everyone has been talking about?

If so, he can understand why.

Even so, he might not know who he is now, but one thing is certain—he is determined to find out.

Inho pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh at the memory, a wave of embarrassment washing over him—one unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He’s the CFO, for goodness’ sake, and he lets an employee see him like that.

Shaking it off, he heads to the shower and starts his morning routine as usual. This time, however, he adds a few extra steps. He makes sure to wear his best suit and tie, styles his hair to perfection, sprays himself with his most expensive cologne, and carefully fastens his cufflinks and watch. After eating a bigger breakfast than usual, he grabs his things and heads out the door.

His drive to work should have been his first warning of bad luck—traffic is horrendous, and despite leaving early, he is now running 20 minutes late. By the time he finally arrives at the office, a sudden downpour has begun, soaking both him and all the effort he had put into his appearance. His perfectly styled hair? Ruined. His suit? Damp and clinging to him unpleasantly.

Shaking himself off as best he can, he walks into the elevator and makes his way up to the 16th floor. The moment he steps off, chaos greets him. Employees bombard him with questions, papers are practically shoved in his face, and the morning’s frustrations reach a boiling point.
He stops in his tracks, rolls his eyes, and takes a deep breath before scanning the eager faces crowding around him.

“Space, please!” he exclaims, flicking water from his hair as he quickly surveys the scene. Then his eyes land on a familiar face.

“Dae-ho!”

In an instant, Dae-ho is by his side. “Yes, sir?”

“Gather whatever they’re all trying to give me and have it on my desk in fifteen minutes. If anyone has urgent business, I won’t be seeing them for the next hour. After that, you can bring me whatever needs my attention.”

With that, he pushes past the crowd and makes his way to the bathroom to dry himself off.

The morning continues to go downhill. The coffee Dae-ho brought him is wrong, most of the paperwork on his desk is filled with financial problems he has no desire to deal with, and the meeting he attends turns out to be a complete disaster—thanks to a nervous new intern leading the presentation.

But before he knows it, lunchtime arrives, and his mood instantly lifts.

Slipping on his suit jacket, he makes his way to the elevator and presses the button for the 15th floor.
As he steps into the sales department, he immediately notices the difference from yesterday—today, the entire floor is in chaos. People are rushing around, no one seems to be at their desks, and for a brief moment, he feels overwhelmed by the frenzy.

Shaking it off, he scans the room, searching for the beautiful stranger he saw yesterday. But to his disappointment, there is no sign of him. His eyes sweep over the office floor again and again—still nothing.

Is he not here today? Maybe he’s stuck in a meeting? Or did Inho already miss him, and he’s left for lunch?
Frustration simmers beneath the surface, adding to the irritation of an already terrible morning. Letting out a sigh, he turns on his heel and makes his way to the cafeteria.

After grabbing a sandwich, he is ready to head back to his floor when a loud, carefree laugh echoes through the room. His head instinctively snaps in the direction of the sound—only for him to freeze at the sight before him.

It’s him.

The beautiful stranger from the 15th floor.

His heartbeat quickens, and for a moment, he is determined to walk over. But just as he takes a step forward, his eyes land on the person sitting across from him—the one responsible for making his beautiful stranger laugh like that.

Immediately, his stomach twists. His hands clenched into fists, the sandwich in his grip now squished beyond saving.

It’s a face he knows all too well.

Marketing Manager Cho Sangwoo.

And just like that, the irritation from earlier morphs into something far worse.

Chapter Text

Inho rolled his eyes in frustration and turned to walk away, his steps brisk as he tried to push down the irritation bubbling inside him. He had barely made it a few feet before a voice called out—

“Hey!”

A hand landed on his shoulder, unfamiliar yet oddly familiar at the same time, sending a shock through his system.

“It’s you! From yesterday!”

Inho stiffened before turning his head, meeting the eyes of the very person he had been searching for.

“Oh. Hello. It’s me,” he replied, forcing himself to stay composed. “What can I help you with?”

His gaze flickered briefly to the table where the man had been sitting, only to find Sangwoo already glaring at him, his sharp eyes filled with hostility. Like I’m the one doing something wrong, Inho thought bitterly. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“Uh, I didn’t really get the chance to apologize properly since everything happened so fast and you rushed out of there,” the man said. “I’d like to make it up to you if you have the time.” He extended a hand. “I’m Seong Gi-hun, department manager of Sales. You’re Hwang In-ho, correct? Our CFO?”

Inho blinked, his mind blanking for a moment as the name repeated itself in his head. Seong Gi-hun.

Then, before he even realized what was happening, laughter bubbled out of him—loud and unrestrained.

“Seong Gi-hun,” he repeated between chuckles, shaking his head. Another accidental laugh escaped, and he mentally cursed himself, commanding his brain to stop laughing, stop laughing, stop laughing. But instead, his mouth kept running.

“So your name basically means ‘Last name, last name.’”

At that, the laughter poured out of him uncontrollably, making him want to sink into the floor from embarrassment. He was just about to bolt when he noticed Gi-hun laughing along with him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, why don’t you?” Gi-hun said, trying—and failing—to stifle his own laughter as he composed himself.
Inho let his own fit of laughter subside before clearing his throat and extending a hand. “Nice to meet you. You were correct—I’m Hwang In-ho, your CFO, in charge of all things finance.” He smirked. “So please be gentle with your company card.”

“Yeah, be careful with it, Gi-hun hyung.”

At the sound of the new voice, Inho’s head snapped up, his amusement instantly fading as his sharp eyes locked onto the figure who had suddenly appeared behind Gi-hun.

An arm flung around Gi-hun’s shoulders, pulling him in casually, and Inho clenched his jaw as he took in the all-too-familiar smirk.

“Hey there, Inho,” Sangwoo drawled, his voice smooth and cutting like a butter knife, even as he feigned friendliness. His gaze flicked downward. “What happened to your sandwich? Looks a little sad to me.”

Inho tightened his grip on the squished mess in his hand before schooling his expression into a pleasant, practiced smile.

“Oh, this?” He held up the sandwich with deliberate slowness. “I wasn’t that hungry. I figured I’d just throw it into the trash.” He paused, letting his smile sharpen as he met Sangwoo’s gaze. “It’s just where some things belong.”

His voice remained light, almost innocent, but his eyes told an entirely different story.

Sangwoo’s smirk didn’t waver, but Inho could see the slight twitch in his jaw.

And just like that, the air between them grew tense.

“Gihun, let’s go back to our food before it gets cold. Why are you even over here talking to Inho anyway?”

Sangwoo looked directly at Gi-hun as he spoke, while Inho’s gaze was on Sangwoo who was still all over Gihun. But when he finally turned to see who Gi-hun was looking at, their eyes met.

“Sangwoo, I’ll be back in a minute,” Gi-hun said firmly. “I owe Inho for an accident that happened yesterday.”

Inho glanced back at Sangwoo, who was now glaring at him, his expression tight with irritation. If looks could kill, Inho was certain he wouldn’t have made it out of the cafeteria alive.

“Who cares what you owe him? Nobody likes him anyway—he’s an asshole,” Sangwoo muttered, pretending to whisper in Gi-hun’s ear, though his voice was deliberately loud enough for Inho to hear.

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Inho deadpanned, his expression unimpressed.

Sangwoo only smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

From the corner of his eye, Inho saw Gi-hun turn sharply toward Sangwoo, his expression stern.

“Sangwoo! That’s unprofessional! Go back to the table, please.”

Inho watched as Sangwoo’s shoulders visibly sank, his entire demeanor shifting to that of a scolded puppy.

“…I’m sorry, hyung,” Sangwoo mumbled before reluctantly walking back to his seat, leaving Inho and Gi-hun alone once more.

Gi-hun let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about him. He’s been my best friend since we were kids, and he probably just forgets to be professional when we’re at work together.”

Inho let out a small chuckle as Gi-hun attempted to excuse Sangwoo’s behavior, but he shook his head.

“No, that’s just how he is,” Inho said plainly. “We’ve worked together for quite some time, and he’s always been like that. I’m used to it… to a degree.”

His gaze flickered back to Sangwoo, who was still watching them from his seat, his expression unreadable.

Gi-hun cleared his throat, bringing Inho’s attention back to him. “So anyway, please let me make it up to you—for bumping into you, ruining your shirt, and probably injuring you, too. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, and I’ve been running my mind in circles trying to figure out how to find you. But I didn’t know what floor you worked on, and I only just found out your name through Sangwoo—”
Inho held up a hand, stopping him mid-ramble.

“Breathe! Please!” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Goodness, it’s okay, as I said yesterday. But… I wouldn’t mind going out for some drinks. Tonight?”

Gi-hun blinked, caught off guard for a moment.

“We can get to know each other better,” Inho continued, offering a small smile. “And you can buy me a drink if it makes you feel any better.”

Gi-hun’s lips curved into a smile of his own as he nodded.

“That sounds like a great idea. There’s a bar across the street—I can meet you on the first floor around 7:30. That should be when my last meeting finishes up.”

Inho nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you then, Gi-hun.”

He extended his hand, and the moment Gi-hun took it, a sudden jolt ran through his body—unlike anything he had ever felt before. His breath caught slightly as he glanced down at their hands, then back up to Gi-hun’s face. A faint pink tint dusted Gi-hun’s cheeks, and Inho smirked to himself, satisfied that he hadn’t imagined it.

When their hands finally separated, Inho turned on his heel, his steps noticeably lighter than when he had first entered the cafeteria. Just as he was about to round the corner to leave, he stole one last glance at Gi-hun, now seated back at his table, engaged in what appeared to be a small argument with Sangwoo.

Shaking his head, Inho continued toward his office. As he sat down at his desk, anticipation for the evening settled in his chest—until a loud grumble interrupted his thoughts. He sighed, turning his gaze to the crumpled sandwich he had forgotten to throw away, still sitting at the edge of his desk.

Reluctantly, he picked it up, unwrapped it, and took a bite, chewing without enthusiasm.

He couldn’t wait for the day to be over and for the evening to begin.

Chapter Text

As the day dragged on, so did Inho’s thoughts.

What kind of person was Gihun? He seemed like a genuine, caring man, yet he claimed his best friend was someone like Sangwoo. Inho scoffed at the thought.

Sangwoo, that bastard. He was always blowing the company card on unnecessary expenses, acting like money didn’t matter.

Then his mind wandered back to the memory of Gihun’s loud, carefree laugh—the one Sangwoo had managed to pull from him so easily.

I want to make him laugh like that.

Before he could get too lost in thought—

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Inho snapped back to the present, sitting up straighter and smoothing out his shirt.

“Come in,” he called out, quickly plastering on a fake smile.

That smile disappeared the moment he saw who walked in.

“Stay away from Gihun!”

The voice came before the door even fully shut, and Inho immediately stood as Sangwoo stormed into the room, the door clicking closed behind him.

“And who’s going to stop me if I don’t?” Inho replied, his fake smile now replaced with irritation.

“Inho, he’s too good of a person for you to play around with,” Sangwoo snapped, his voice rough with anger. “Just stay away. He’s not some toy you can drag around for your amusement.”

Inho clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes. “I don’t plan to toy with him… at least not yet, anyway. I’m curious about him th—”

Sangwoo’s fists tightened, and he stepped forward, looming over Inho.

“Well, cut the curiosity,” he growled. “Pretend you never met him. And don’t even think about meeting him for drinks tonight.” He raised a finger and pressed it firmly into Inho’s chest.

Inho’s gaze flicked down at the finger, then back up to Sangwoo’s face.

Something in him snapped.

GRAB!

Inho seized Sangwoo’s wrist, twisting it off him before stepping forward himself, forcing Sangwoo to take a step back.

“First of all, get your hands off me,” Inho said coldly, throwing Sangwoo’s now-reddened hand aside. He took another step forward, and Sangwoo instinctively stepped back.

“Second,” Inho continued, voice low and sharp, “I don’t take orders from you, Cho Sangwoo. Don’t forget your place here. I have higher authority, and I could have you fired in an instant if you try to interfere again.”

Another step forward—another step back.

Sangwoo’s back hit the office door.

“And third,” Inho said, his voice dropping even lower, “don’t tell me who I should stay away from.” His finger jabbed into Sangwoo’s chest, pressing firmly. “You see, I tend to enjoy beautiful things. Once my eye catches on something, it’s hard for me to look away. So be a good boy, keep wasting company money, and I won’t even bat an eye at it anymore.”

Sangwoo swallowed hard, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might break his own teeth.

Inho, satisfied, smiled freely—he had won this round.

Glancing at his watch, he read the time: 7:15 PM.

Looking back up, his smile still wide, he finally took a step back and opened the door for Sangwoo.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Inho gestured toward the open doorway, his voice mockingly polite, “leave.”

His expression turned blank, the amusement fading from his face.

“I have to get ready for my date.”

Sangwoo glared at Inho for a second longer before exhaling sharply in frustration.

“This isn’t over, Inho,” he muttered before stomping out of the office.

Inho sighed, slamming the door shut behind him before pinching the bridge of his nose. The tension from their exchange still lingered, but he had no energy left to dwell on it. With a shake of his head, he walked over to his desk and shut his laptop, shoving it into his bag along with a stack of papers he hadn’t gotten around to reviewing.

Grabbing his suit jacket, he threw it on and made his way to the mirror hanging on the wall. He adjusted his tie, smoothing down his hair as he assessed his reflection. Presentable. Not his best, but good enough after the day he’d had.

Reaching into his pocket, he popped a mint into his mouth, slung his bag over his shoulder, and by 7:20, he was leaving a bit early, striding past the cubicles with a pep in his step as he headed toward the elevator.

Just before leaving the floor, he stopped at the reception desk.

“Dae-ho? You’re still here?”

Dae-ho, who had been distracted watching a video on his laptop, immediately looked up. His eyes widened as he slammed the laptop shut and shot to his feet.

“Yes, sir!” he said loudly.

Inho let out a small laugh, and Dae-ho’s expression shifted to confusion—like he had never seen Inho laugh before.

“Dae-ho, it’s almost 7:30. Wrap it up early and head out for the night,” Inho ordered, a stupid grin still plastered on his face as he turned to leave.

As he walked away, he could just barely hear a bewildered “Sir?” behind him.

Inho was well aware of his reputation—a hard-ass, difficult to work under, blunt to a fault. People didn’t like him. They thought he was rude, demanding, and impossible to please. But that wasn’t his problem.

If people couldn’t keep up with his expectations, that was on them.

And maybe he was stingy with money—handling the finances of a massive corporation had that effect on a person. He simply didn’t understand why people insisted on spending so much on useless things.

Inho rolled his eyes as the elevator hummed softly, descending for only a brief moment before coming to an abrupt halt—much sooner than he expected.

Frowning, he glanced up at the glowing red numbers. 15.

He swallowed hard.

The doors slid open, and though he kept his gaze lowered, he immediately noticed a foot stepping forward. Slowly, his eyes trailed upward, and his heartbeat quickened when he saw who it was.

Gihun.

The man was staring down at his phone, completely oblivious.

Inho smirked, tilting his head. “Didn’t you learn your lesson yesterday about what being distracted while entering an elevator can do?” he teased.

Gihun’s eyes snapped up, his face tinged with pink.

“Oh! Uhh…” He quickly shoved his phone into his pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He let out a soft, nervous laugh, and Inho couldn’t help but grin, shaking his head.

“Mhm, yeah, you’re right. I didn’t see anything,” Inho said with a laugh, deciding to go along with the joke.

He pressed the button for the first floor.

“You’re heading down early,” he noted, glancing at Gi-hun. “I thought you were in a meeting until 7:30?”

Gihun turned to him with a big smile—cute, Inho thought to himself.

“Yeah, we got out early. The meeting went smoothly without a hitch, and we’re even on track to hit our end-of-quarter deals. Just ironing out a few last-minute kinks,” Gihun explained.

“That explains me,” Gihun said, tilting his head slightly. “But what about you? Why are you heading down early? That eager for a drink?”

Inho froze for a moment before deciding to go along with the excuse Gihun had conveniently made for him.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Had a very long… and quite annoying day, to be honest.” His jaw clenched as an image of Sangwoo flashed through his mind.

Well, lucky for you—”

DING!

The elevator doors slid open.

“We’ve made it to the first floor! Let’s go get you a drink,” Gihun said enthusiastically, stepping out first.

Inho watched as he confidently led the way through the lobby and out into the night air, and for the first time that day, the tension in his chest eased just a little.

Chapter Text

As the cool winter air filled Inho’s lungs, he let out a deep sigh, the weight of the day finally beginning to wash away.

Click. Click. Click.

“Shit.”

Inho glanced over to see Gihun fumbling with a lighter, trying to light a cigarette. His frown deepened.

“Smoking is bad for you, you know,” he said, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

Finally, the lighter caught, and Inho watched as Gihun took a long drag, exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the night.

“Yeah, well, so are a lot of other things,” Gihun murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. “But I can never seem to stay away… and they always find me when I try.”

Something about the way he said it made Inho pause. His expression was lighthearted, but his words held weight.

Before Inho could dwell on it, Gihun suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Come on, the night isn’t getting any younger—and neither are we.”

Before he could react, he was being pulled across the street.

And he let it happen.

Because despite every instinct telling him otherwise, he wasn’t annoyed like he’d normally be if this was anyone else.

Rather he was intrigued.

__________________________________________

A few hours in, with personal stories exchanged—where they grew up, favorite hobbies—and two bottles of soju emptied, Inho found himself deep in laughter with Gihun. The third bottle sat nearly finished between them, forgotten for the moment as Inho wiped tears from his eyes.

He lazily swirled his drink in his hand, chuckling as he continued, “Yeah, so then Junho, my younger brother, goes, ‘Hyung, don’t stress too much. You’ll do fine. Just relax.’ And me, being a young, cocky idiot, I say, ‘You’re right! I got this! I’m gonna be unstoppable.’”

Across from him, Gihun squinted, skeptical. “I feel like you were very stoppable.”

“Oh, was I ever!.” Inho groaned, shaking his head. “Because Junho, being the absolute menace he is, suggests we have just one drink to ‘calm my nerves.’”

Gihun gasped dramatically, throwing a hand over his mouth. “Oh, you poor bastard.”

“Gihun… I don’t remember how many ‘just one drinks’ we had. But I do remember waking up fully clothed in the bathtub with Junho shaking me awake, screaming, ‘HYUNG, YOUR INTERVIEW IS IN 20 MINUTES.’”

Gihun slammed his hand against the table drunkenly yelling “NO!”

“YES!” Inho yelled back and covered his face in shame. “I was still half-drunk, hungover as hell, and I had exactly fifteen minutes to get my life together.”

“Did you make it?!” Gihun asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Oh, I made it.” Inho let out a long, suffering sigh. “But barely. I threw on my suit, ran out the door, and sprinted all the way to the building. I looked like a disaster.

My tie was crooked, my shirt was barely tucked in, and I had the worst headache of my life. But I told myself, ‘Okay. Just act normal. Fake it for thirty minutes, and you’re golden.’”

Gihun was shaking with laughter. “Please tell me you pulled it off.”

Inho sighed, downing the rest of his drink. “Oh, absolutely not, because the moment I sat down in front of the interview panel, do you know what happened?”

Gihun leaned forward, hanging on to every word. “What?!”

“I sneezed.”

Gihun blinked. “That’s it?”

“NO, GIHUN. NOT JUST A NORMAL SNEEZE.” Inho slammed his glass down. “I sneezed so violently that I headbutted the goddamn table. HARD. Papers went flying.
My interviewer gasped. One guy actually screamed.”

Gihun was gone. He was banging the table, wheezing with laughter.

“I tried to recover, I really did. But the force of the impact sent me reeling, and before I knew it, my chair tipped over. I went down. Just like that. Bam. Right on my ass. And do you know what the worst part was?”

Gihun could barely breathe by now clutching his sides. “WHAT?!”

“I popped back up like a lunatic and said, ‘Haha, uh… I’m very passionate about this job.’”

Gihun fell off his own chair the laughter taking over.

Inho smirked as he watched him collapse onto the floor, clutching his stomach, completely losing it.

“And that, Gihun, is why I will never forgive Junho. Because that little bastard?” Inho slammed his hand on the table for emphasis. “He was WAITING OUTSIDE. He saw me stumble out, looking like I had just been hit by a truck, and you know what he said? You know what he said, Gihun?!”

Gihun, tears in his eyes, shook his head.

“He patted my shoulder and said, ‘Well, at least they’ll never forget you.’”

Inho tried to keep his composure, but Gihun’s laughter was contagious, and before he knew it, he was laughing along, his grip tightening on the bottle as he poured them another round. He tossed his shot back quickly, feeling the familiar warmth bloom in his chest.

Across from him, Gihun wiped at the lingering tears in his eyes before lifting his own glass and knocking it back.

Inho watched him. 

Watched the way Gihun’s head tilted, exposing the smooth column of his throat. The way the soju slid effortlessly down the center, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. The way the muscles flexed beneath his skin.

Heat curled low in Inho’s stomach.

His fingers twitched around his glass as an uninvited thought slipped in—how he wanted to press his lips against that pulsing vein, trace his tongue along the warmth of Gihun’s skin.

Then, Gihun’s voice cut through the haze.

“If you stare any harder, you might actually drink me instead.”

Inho blinked, his tipsy gaze snapping up to meet Gihun’s. The man was watching him now, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though the slight flush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the alcohol.

For a second, Inho considered playing it off—some lazy joke, a scoff, anything to redirect—but the glow in Gihun’s eyes, the way his smirk lingered, made him hesitate.

Instead, he grinned right back.

“Maybe I was just wondering how smooth that soju goes down such a lovely throat” he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a shade lower than before.

Gihun’s brows lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected the reply. Then, he laughed, the sound easy, unbothered.

“Could’ve just asked,” he said, voice just as playful.

Inho watched as Gihun poured them both another shot, sliding one toward him. Their fingers brushed—just for a second, just long enough for Inho to notice and he shifted in his seat.

He wasn’t used to people challenging him like this, and what made it worse was the nagging question at the back of his mind: was Gihun actually flirting, or was he just drunk?

Clearing his throat, he forced himself back into the moment and knocked the shot back. He was just about to fire off a reply when the waiter arrived, setting their food down and cutting through the tension.

Inho exhaled, leaning back slightly. The moment slipped through his fingers like the condensation on a shot glass.

Right. Food.He thought to himself.

He had nearly forgotten they even ordered. How long had it been? Did it even matter?

For the first time in a long while, Inho felt light. Unburdened. And he was reeling in it.

He leaned back, lazily tilting his head as he poured another drink. The alcohol had finally caught up with him.

“So, Gihun,” he mused, his voice easy, “what made you want to work for this company?”

Gihun’s flushed face and half-lidded eyes met his, and Inho’s heart skipped, just once.

“Oh, I have to thank Sangwoo for that,” Gihun admitted, his voice light with tipsiness. “He’s the one who told me about the open position and helped me get in. I really can’t thank him enough.”

The mood shifted in an instant.

Sangwoo. Again.

Even when he wasn’t here, he was still interfering.

Inho clenched his teeth behind a practiced, polite smile.

“Ahh, I see. Yes, I’ll have to give him a big thank you myself.”

His fingers tightened slightly around his glass before he forced himself to relax.

“From what you were telling me earlier, it sounds like things are going great in your department. Keep up the good work.” He raised his glass, offering a cheers.

Gihun smiled, his glass tapping lightly against Inho’s. “I’ll do my best—and try not to let you down.”

Inho hesitated for a beat, watching him. A slow, devilish grin crept onto his lips as a single thought took hold.

I know you won’t.

Inho brought his glass to his lips, taking a deliberate sip, letting the warmth of the soju settle deep in his chest. The heat curled low in his stomach again, steadying him, or maybe making him bolder.

Across the table, Gihun shifted in his seat. Something about the way he moved—like he was restless, like something sat heavy in his throat—caught Inho’s attention.

Then, suddenly, Gihun blurted out, “I’m gonna step out for a moment to get some fresh air.”

Before Inho could react, Gihun was already pushing himself to his feet, a little unsteady, the flush on his face more noticeable now.

Inho looked up, brows raising slightly. “You okay?”

“I’ll be right back in.” Gihun said quickly.

Before Inho could say another word, he watched Gihun stumble his way through the crowded bar and disappear out the door.
Inho sat there alone, staring at the space Gihun had occupied. The minutes stretched, each one making his patience wear thinner. Finally, unable to sit still any longer, he stood, swaying slightly as he made his way toward the exit.

Outside, the night air bit at his skin, sharp and sobering. He looked left—no sign of Gihun. Looked right—still nothing. His pulse quickened.

Was Gihun okay? Where had he gone? Had he—been abandoned by him?

No. No, after tonight he’s come to realize Gihun wouldn’t do that. He’s not that kind of person.

Shaking the thought away, he looked left again and spotted an alleyway. Taking a chance, he stumbled toward it, and when he rounded the corner, he exhaled in relief.

There Ghun was, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips, staring at his phone.

Relief quickly soured into irritation.

Hadn’t he already told him smoking was bad? And yet here he was,puffing away without a care for his health.

Something burned in Inho’s chest—anger, frustration, perhaps annoyance? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Gihun had said he needed fresh air, and this wasn’t it.

He strode forward with purpose, stopping just in front of Gihun. The other man blinked at him through hooded eyes, smoke curling in the cold air between them.

“Smoking is bad for you, you know,” Inho murmured.

Before Gihun could react, Inho leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to Gihun’s as his teeth clamped around the cigarette.

He heard Gihun’s breath hitch, saw the way his body stilled, and for a fleeting moment, Inho thought he might burn himself—but he was drunk, a little reckless, and he didn’t care.

When he finally pulled back, the cigarette now between his lips, he grasped the unlit end and, to what looked like Gihun’s surprise, it was still burning. With a slow, deliberate motion, he turned it around and took a deep drag, his gaze locked onto Gihun’s the entire time.

The moment lingered, thick with something unspoken.

Chapter Text

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

As Gi-hun slammed back his drink, the warmth of the soju spreading through his chest, he could feel Inho watching him—intensely, unwaveringly.

He swallowed hard.

BA-BUMP.

His heartbeat quickened, thrumming loud in his ears. But with alcohol fueling his confidence, his mouth moved faster than his thoughts.

“If you stare any harder, you might actually drink me instead.”

He watched as Inho hesitated, clearly not expecting to be called out.

A smirk curled onto Gi-hun’s lips and he could feel the heat rush to his cheeks.

For someone Sangwoo had described as an asshole, he just couldn’t see it.

Throughout the night, Inho was proving to be anything but.

Gi-hun caught it—a flicker of something in Inho’s eyes, something unreadable.

A strange feeling stirred in his gut as a slow grin curled onto Inho’s lips.

“Maybe I was just wondering how smooth that soju goes down such a lovely throat.”

Gi-hun was frozen now.

It was barely a second—just a slight hitch in his breath, a flicker of widened eyes—but he knew Inho had caught it. He hadn’t expected that.

For a moment, embarrassment crept in, heat crawling up his neck.

Was… was Inho flirting with him?

He was usually awful at these things, but before he could overthink it, his mouth moved faster than his brain.

“Could’ve just asked.”

What?! What the hell was that?!

He thought to himself as panic flared in his chest, but he masked it well—grabbing their half-empty bottle of soju and pouring them both another shot, letting instinct take over.

He slid one across the table—And just like that frozen again. His breath caught.

BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP. BA-BUMP.

Inho’s fingers brushed against his. A simple touch. Fleeting. Barely anything.

And yet, it sent a shiver down Gi-hun’s spine. He swallowed hard. What was this feeling?

He had thought he was imagining things earlier when they shook hands in the cafeteria—when his body had locked up for just a second too long.

But now?

The thought crept in before he could stop it.

Could this be someone he’d want to spend every day and night wi- EXCUSE ME?!

His own subconscious screamed at him before he could finish his initial thought.

You barely know this guy. Sangwoo warned you about him.

Cold. Cruel. Controlling.

So why did his heart keep racing every time Inho looked at him?

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I’ll do my best—and try not to let you down,” Gi-hun said enthusiastically, tapping his glass against Inho’s before knocking back his drink.

Again, he felt Inho’s gaze on him—deep, unwavering.

By now, the alcohol had surely made its way through his system, because when he lowered his glass and his eyes landed on Inho’s perfect mouth, a sudden heat coiled in his stomach.

Shit.

He shifted in his chair, trying—and failing—to keep his composure as a dangerous thought slipped in.

I need this man to consume me.

Panic surged in his chest.

“I’m gonna step out for a moment to get some fresh air,” he blurted, pushing himself up on unsteady legs.

“You okay?”

Inho’s voice reached him, smooth and calm, but Gi-hun didn’t dare look at him—he knew that if he met his eyes, if he even glanced in his direction, he might just jump across the table right here and now.

So instead, he kept his gaze forward, muttered a quick, “I’ll be right back in,” and bolted for the door.

The cold, crisp air hit Gi-hun’s face as he stepped outside, and he let out a much-needed breath of relief.

“Pull yourself together,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “You aren’t some love-struck teenager—you’re a grown man. You aren’t even sure he’s flir—but it did seem like it, right!?”

He groaned softly, shaking his head as the thought spiraled in his mind.

“What, the man in there with you?”

The unfamiliar voice cut through the night, and Gi-hun whipped his head around, startled.

A younger man was standing nearby, casually leaning against the wall. Gi-hun blinked, doing a quick once-over. Wait—was he… wearing the same outfit?

Before he could fully process that, the stranger grinned and spoke again.

“Oh, he’s definitely flirting with you. I’ve never seen the boss this loose—not since… well, we don’t talk about that.”

Gi-hun squinted, his drunken brain trying to keep up. “And who might you be?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred.

“Oh, me?” The man’s grin widened. “I’m Dae-ho, the boss’s right-hand man. He’d be lost without me. I take all his calls, tell people he’s ‘not in,’ bring him his morning coffee, and keep him updated on all the building drama.”

Gi-hun blinked again as Dae-ho rambled on, practically beaming with pride.

“And how do you know he’s actually flirting with me?” Gi-hun asked, stumbling a bit as he took a step closer.

Dae-ho snorted. “Because he let me leave early.”

Gi-hun frowned. “Okay… and?”

“In the four years I’ve worked for him, he’s never let me leave early. Not once. Let alone told me to leave early.”

Dae-ho leaned in slightly, eyes wide like he was sharing a secret. “You should’ve seen him, man. Pep in his step, smile on his face, practically skipping out of the office tonight. I was wondering what had him in such a good mood… and then I followed him here and saw him with…well with you.”

Gi-hun stared at Dae-ho, his tipsy brain working overtime to process what he’d just heard.

Pep in his step? Smiling? Why was that unusal?

He nearly laughed. He hadn’t known Inho long, but even after just a day, this version of him felt like the only one that existed.

Everyone else spoke about Inho like he was some cold, ruthless asshole, but Gi-hun just couldn’t see it.

Who was this other Inho that everyone seemed to know?

The thought lingered for only a second before something else took its place—

The way Inho had looked at him tonight.

The way his dark, unreadable eyes had lingered—

Gi-hun shook his head, hard. He was getting ahead of himself.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Dae-ho or himself.

Dae-ho grinned. “Very. But I’m also right.”

Gi-hun huffed out a laugh, rubbing his face before glancing toward the bar’s entrance.

He should go back inside.

But suddenly, the thought of facing Inho again, of feeling that heavy gaze on him, made his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t prepared to deal with so instead he pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

Dae-ho seemed to catch the hesitation because he took a step closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Look, whatever you think about him—trust me, you’re seeing a different side of him. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Gi-hun scoffed, crossing his arms. “That so? Seems to be what everyone is insinuating”

“Swear on my bar tab.” Dae-ho said, raising his hand against his chest.

Gi-hun laughed and shook his head. “Thanks.” That was all he managed to say before the bar door swung open, and a woman’s head popped out.

“Dae-ho! There you are! Get your ass back in here—we’re about to see how many shots Nam-gyu can take before he passes out and we have to call Thanos to come get him!”

Dae-ho glanced toward the door. “Coming now, Se-mi!” he called back before turning to Gi-hun.

“Have a good night, sir. Don’t stress yourself out.” He gave a quick bow before disappearing inside.

Gi-hun let out a deep sigh, tilting his head back to stare at the night sky. The cold air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed as he flicked open his cigarette case, pulling one out.

His fingers fumbled with the lighter, the flame refusing to catch. Great. Just his luck.

Glancing around, he spotted an alleyway—a place to disappear into, away from the bitter wind. He stepped inside, cupping his hands around the lighter as he tried again. This time, it sparked to life, the small flame casting a flickering glow against his fingers.

Finally.

He lit the cigarette between his lips and took a deep inhale, letting the nicotine settle in his lungs, easing something restless inside him. The weight on his chest felt a little lighter, his mind a little quieter.

Or maybe not.

Because his thoughts still raced.

Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe Dae-ho was wrong. Maybe—

Ahh, screw it.

With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out his phone. The internet existed for a reason.

Squinting at the bright screen, he drunkenly typed into the search bar:

‘How tell if your news co-wokrer is flirting wit youu.’

A list of results popped up, and just as he was about to click the first link—

A voice cut through the crisp winter air.

Deep. Smooth. annoyed.

Maybe even a little… amused? Lustful?

“Smoking is bad for you, you know.”

Gi-hun froze.

The cigarette between his lips was forgotten the moment Inho moved in—closer, closer—until his presence consumed him.

His scent. His warmth. His breath, just inches away.

Before Gi-hun could react, Inho was already leaning in teeth clamping down on the cigarette still between his lips.

His body froze.

His mind struggled to process what was happening, but his heart had already made up its mind—pounding wildly in his chest, deafening in his ears.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

His eyes stayed locked on Inho as he pulled back, the cigarette now resting between his own lips.

How wasn’t he getting burned?

A stray thought drifted through the haze in Gi-hun’s mind.

Impressive.

But focus was impossible when all he could see were Inho’s dark eyes, locked onto his.

Gi-hun swallowed hard, watching as Inho flipped it around and took a slow drag of the cigarette that had been between his lips just moments ago.

“I—”

He started to speak but hesitated, a sudden heat rising in his stomach, slipping lower.

“Yeah, well… so are a lot of other things,” he muttered playing along and repeating his words from earlier, voice unsteady. “But I can never seem to stay away… an—”

His words were cut off. By the force of drunken lips crashing into his.

A tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting of soju and smoke, rough and demanding. While strong hands gripped his hips, pulling him closer.

Gi-hun barely had time to process what was happening before he was melting into it.

His breath hitched, mind scrambling to keep up.

The kiss was hungry, reckless, fueled by alcohol and something far more dangerous.

Inho’s grip on his hips tightened, pulling him flush against him, the heat between them searing despite the winter air. Gi-hun felt himself dizzying, sinking, every nerve in his body thrumming as Inho’s tongue moved against his, slow and deliberate now.

Shit.

He should stop this. Should say something. Should pull away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his fingers grasped at the front of Inho’s coat, anchoring himself, as if letting go meant falling into something he couldn’t escape.

A low hum vibrated in Inho’s chest, sending a shiver down Gi-hun’s spine.

God.

What the hell was happening to him?

Before he could even begin to question it, Inho pulled away, leaving behind a lingering heat, a ghost of his touch still burning against Gi-hun’s lips.

A thin string of saliva connected them for a second longer before breaking.

“And they always find you when you try.” Inho whispered.

Gi-hun let out a breathy, light laugh, his head still spinning as Inho finished his own sentence.

“Yes, exactly.”

Chapter Text

Inho jolted awake, the relentless pounding in his skull making him wince. His whole body ached, his mouth was unbearably dry, and his stomach churned like it was preparing for a rebellion.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut against the mid-morning sunlight that sliced through his blinds, stabbing straight into his brain.

Fuck.

Everything felt wrong. His head, his body, his—

He inhaled sharply, the smell of coffee and something burning invading his nostrils.

What?

His eyes flew open. The room swayed as he sat up, and nausea twisted in his gut. He swallowed hard, pressing his palms into the mattress to steady himself.

Why the hell was he smelling coffee? And why was there a burning smell?

His sluggish brain struggled to piece things together. Someone was in his—

No.

A sudden sharp sting on his tongue made him flinch.

“Ow… what the—”

He ran his fingers over the sore spot. A Burn?

Confusion deepening. His mind grasped at fragments of memory.

Then it hit him. Drinking. Laughing. Annoyance. Kissing.

And then… Nothing.

Shit.

His stomach turned, and for a moment, he thought he might actually be sick.

What the hell had he done?

A deep breath did little to help. He sat there, head in his hands, trying to force his foggy brain to cooperate. But the steady throb behind his eyes made thinking unbearable.

The burning smell was still there and only getting worse.

With great effort, he pushed himself to his feet, regretting it immediately as dizziness nearly knocked him back down. He gritted his teeth, stumbling toward the bathroom. Cold water. He needed cold water.

The moment it hit his face, he sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the sink as he forced himself to focus.

Think, Inho. Think.

Slapping his cheeks lightly, he dared a glance in the mirror. He looked like hell. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and the heavy bags under them told him he probably hadn’t slept much.

He exhaled shakily and shut his eyes for a moment, inhaling through his nose.

What the hell happened last night?

And more importantly… Who was waiting for him in the kitchen?

"Ahh… dammit."

Inho groaned, pressing a hand to his pounding head as a hazy memory forced its way through the fog in his brain.

The backseat of a cab.

His body leaning into Gi-hun’s, his nose dragging up and down along the curve of Gi-hun’s neck. He could almost feel it again—the warmth of his skin, the way Gi-hun’s breath had hitched, how his fingers had twitched and a soft whimper escaping his lips.

Inho had smirked, his hand creeping higher, squeezing Gi-hun’s thigh as he murmured, "What a lovely sound to come out of such a pretty mouth."

Gi-hun had curled in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mmm, keep this up and we won’t make it back to your place."

Inho could remember the deep breath he had taken, the way his fingers had dug tighter into Gi-huns leg, heat curling deep in his stomach.

And then— Nothing again.

The memory cut off like a severed reel of film, leaving him with only fragments.

"Shit, shit, shit! No! Memory, don’t fail me now!"

He sat there, fingers digging into his temples, willing the rest to return. But the harder he reached for it, the more it slipped through his grasp.

A knock on his bedroom door came in loud and snapped him out of his trance.

His breath caught, right he wasn’t alone.

The man from his memory was just outside his door, and he knew it.

"Inho, are you awake yet?"

Inho flinched at the sound of Gi-hun’s voice, rough and groggy from sleep.

Inho let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand down his face as he left the bathroom. His head still throbbed, but he couldn’t put off facing the situation any longer.

As he stepped into his room, something caught his attention. It was… clean?

His brows furrowed. The place looked exactly as it always did—no scattered clothes, no misplaced furniture, nothing to suggest that another person had spent the night. Even his bed looked untouched, aside from where he had slept.

Odd.

Pushing the thought aside, he reached for the door. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for who was waiting on the other side.

With a swift pull, he swung it open.

And there he was. The culprit. The man currently haunting his every thought.

Someone put me down now. Inhos internal thoughts sighed.

Gi-hun stood there, hair still a mess, sleep lingering in his eyes. He was holding out a cup of coffee and a sad, burnt piece of toast, looking almost… proud of himself.

Inho almost laughed, well that explained the burning smell from earlier.

How could one human manage to look this ridiculously adorable first thing in the morning while he had a raging headache that would normally have people keeping their distance?

Then, his gaze drifted lower.

White t-shirt. Okay, lower…freeze!

ARE THOSE MY SWEATPANTS!? Inhos thoughts were racing.

"How are you feeling?"

Gi-hun’s voice broke through the silence.

"You look like shit."

Inho shot him a deadpan stare before yanking the mug from his hands.

"You don’t look any better," he lied, taking a sip of the coffee Gi-hun had made.

The moment it hit his tongue, he regretted it.

Disgusting.

What the hell had Gi-hun done to it? But instead of spitting it out, Inho forced himself to swallow.

"Oh, is someone bitter in the morning?" Gi-hun teased, grinning.

Inho just watched him, trying to figure out how he could be this calm.

Maybe… nothing had happened.

But the cab ride home told him a different story.

Taking a deep breath, Inho decided to just ask.

"So, Gi-hun, uhm… what—" He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

A quiet chuckle came from Gi-hun.

"Nothing happened," he said. "Well… not nothing, just nothing past the living room."

Inho’s eyes snapped up. "What? What do you mean?"

Gi-hun turned toward the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder.

"I mean exactly that. We got here, I asked where the bathroom was, you showed me, and by the time I came back out, you were passed out on your bed. It was actually kind of funny."

Inho wished the ground would swallow him whole.

Honestly, he would have preferred if Gi-hun had said they slept together and it was terrible.

But no. Of course, it was worse.

"You were very confident on the way back here," Gi-hun continued, laughing. "Talking such a big game. I was expecting not to be able to walk for a week."

Inho wanted to die. But then… something shifted.

Embarrassment twisted into something darker.

Lust.

Who the hell was Gi-hun talking to like that?

He took a deep breath.

Why was he playing nice with Gi-hun?

If this were anyone else, they’d already be on their knees, begging him to go easy on them.

His gaze darkened as he leaned in slightly, voice low and smooth.

“I’d watch that lovely mouth of yours, Gi-hun."

Inho brought a hand up to Gi-hun’s neck, his fingers curling around it in a light squeeze. His thumb brushed slowly across Gi-hun’s bottom lip, lingering there for just a second too long.

“There’s still time,” he murmured. “And you’re still in my house.”

Chapter Text

Gi-hun’s breath hitched and the burnt toast in his hand fell to the ground.

Inho felt the subtle movement beneath his palm, the way Gi-hun’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his pulse quickening under his fingers.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

Interesting.

A slow grin tugged at Inho’s lips. He dragged his thumb along Gi-hun’s bottom lip once more, watching the way his breath stuttered.

"Ah," he murmured, voice low and smooth. "Suddenly quiet? And now you’ve made a mess…tsk…tsk."

Gi-hun blinked, his expression caught somewhere between uncertainty and something else entirely. He let out a short, breathy laugh—too light to be genuine.

"I—" His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. "You’re hungover. I’ll clean this up, maybe you should—"

Inho tilted his head slightly, fingers tightening just enough to remind him who was in control here.

"I think I’d rather you leave it for now.?" His voice was softer now, almost amused.

Gi-hun’s breath shuddered.

Inho noticed he was enjoying this, maybe just as much as him.

The tension between them stretched thin, electric, thrumming with the weight of everything unsaid.

Inho exhaled slowly, leaning in just enough to let Gi-hun feel the heat of his breath against his skin as he whispered.

“Now, you mentioned something about expecting to not be able to walk for a week? Did I hear that correctly?”

Gi-hun’s breath hitched, his body tensing under Inho’s hold. His lips parted slightly, but no words came, only the sound of an unsteady exhale.

Inho watched him closely, taking in the way his chest rose and fell, the hesitation flickering behind his eyes. He was waiting—either for permission or for a push.

Inho could work with either.

His thumb traced slow circles along Gi-hun’s jaw, fingers still resting at his throat, feeling the steady pulse beneath his skin.

"Well?" Inho murmured, tilting his head slightly. "Cat got your tongue?"

Inho plastered a devilish grin on his face.

"Or maybe," he continued, voice dropping lower, "you just like being told what to do."

Gi-hun’s whole body twitched, his lashes fluttering as he pressed his thighs together.

That was all the confirmation Inho needed.

With a slow, deliberate tug, he guided Gi-hun into his room by the neck, and back a step until the backs of his legs met the bed.

He didn’t push—he didn’t have to. Gi-hun fell perfectly onto his bed as he should have hours ago.

Still, Inho waited. He wanted to hear it. Wanted to watch Gi-hun give in.

Inho walked around to the side of his bed, setting the sorry excuse for a coffee down without a second thought. His eyes flicked back to Gi-hun, who still hadn't said a word.

"Still not talking?" Inho mused, tilting his head. "Not like you need to. Your body does a very good job of telling me what you want."

Gi-hun swallowed, his lips parting slightly, but he remained silent.

Inho smirked.

"However," he continued, his tone turning almost mockingly sweet, "since this could be our first time, I would appreciate it if you complied like a good boy and told me it’s alright."

He hadn’t meant to say it like that.

Normally, he wouldn’t care—he’d take what he wanted, get it over with, and send them on their way. Yet with Gi-hun, he found himself waiting.

For permission.

What the hell was this man doing to him?

Shaking off the thought, he climbed onto the bed, moving slowly, deliberately. His body hovered over Gi-hun’s as he settled above his body.

His knee pressed between Gi-hun’s legs, just enough to feel the way his body reacted.

The sharp inhale, the slight arch of his hips, the way his fingers curled into the sheets like he was trying to ground himself.

Inho smirked.

"See?" he murmured, letting his weight settle just a little more, enough to make Gi-hun shudder beneath him. "Your body’s much more honest than your mouth."

Gi-hun’s breath came uneven, his lidded eyes full of lust, but still, he didn’t say anything.

Inho clicked his tongue, dragging his fingers along Gi-hun’s jaw before tilting his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Come on," he coaxed, voice low, teasing. "Just one little word."

Gi-hun swallowed hard, his lips parting, but still, hesitation lingered in his eyes.

Inho’s smirk faded just slightly.

He didn’t want to take it from him. Not with Gi-hun.

The realization hit him like a slow burn in his chest, but he didn’t fight it. Instead, he leaned in close, his lips brushing just against the shell of Gi-hun’s ear as he inhaled.

“Please…” Gi-hun finally whispered.

Inho’s lips curled into a devilish smile as he leaned in further, dragging his tongue slowly down the column of Gi-hun’s neck.

He felt the way Gi-hun shivered beneath him, the quiet hitch of his breath only fueling the satisfaction settling deep in Inho’s chest.

"Good boy," he murmured against his skin, his voice smooth and teasing.

With practiced ease, Inho grabbed the hem of Gi-hun’s T-shirt and pulled it off in one swift motion, revealing flawless skin—his breath hitched.

His fingers trailed lower, deliberate and slow, savoring the way Gi-hun reacted to every touch. The tension between them coiled tighter, anticipation thick in the air, waiting to snap.

And when Inho pressed closer, letting his knee shift just enough to draw another stuttered breath from Gi-hun, he smirked.

"Let’s see if you can keep being good for me."

Inho smirked against Gi-hun’s skin, his tongue trailing lower, tasting the warmth of his flushed skin.

He felt the way Gi-hun’s breath hitched, his body arching ever so slightly, seeking more despite the uncertainty flickering behind his heavy-lidded eyes.

Good.

Inho let his hands slide lower, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down Gi-hun’s collarbone, his tongue teasing along the sensitive dip of his sternum.

And then—

Laughter.

A sharp, breathless laugh.

Inho froze.

His brows furrowed as Gi-hun squirmed beneath him, giggling—not moaning, not gasping, but full-on, chest-shaking laughter.

Inho pulled back, blinking down at him. “What the hell is so funny?”

Gi-hun clapped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head, but his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

His attempt to keep it together only made it worse. When his eyes met Inho’s utterly baffled expression, he lost it completely.

“Oh my God,” Gi-hun gasped between laughs, turning his face into the pillow.

"I—I’m sorry, it’s just—" Another giggle slipped out, and he smacked Inho’s chest weakly. “Your tongue—it really tickled!”

Inho stared.

Tickled?

He narrowed his eyes. “Tickled?”

Gi-hun nodded frantically, still laughing. "Yeah—I wasn’t expecting it, and now I can’t stop."

For a second, Inho just sat there, processing.

Then, to his own complete disbelief, a low chuckle rumbled in his throat.

And then—he was laughing too. Not a smirk. Not a scoff. Actual, full-bodied laughter.

He buried his face in the crook of Gi-hun’s neck, shaking his head, his shoulders vibrating with amusement.

Gi-hun yelped.

"Inho—no, stop, I swear—!"

Inho grinned against his skin, deliberately nuzzling in, pressing exaggerated, teasing kisses to the sensitive spot he found beneath his ear.

Gi-hun shrieked, kicking at the sheets, his laughter turning breathless as he tried—and failed—to push Inho away.

“Inho—” he gasped between fits of laughter, half-squirming, half-clinging to him. "I c-can’t—"

“Can’t what?” Inho teased, tightening his grip just enough to keep him still. "Take what you started?"

Gi-hun’s laughter finally began to fade, his breath still uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath Inho’s.

The playful haze in the air shifted, the warmth of amusement giving way to something else.

Inho pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him.

Gi-hun’s lips were still parted, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming out in small, uneven gasps.

His fingers had stopped trying to push Inho away—instead, they lingered, curled loosely against his shoulders.

Something in Inho’s chest tightened.

He hadn’t planned for this.

Hadn’t expected the way his own pulse stuttered, how the lighthearted teasing had suddenly turned into something heavier, something deeper.

For the first time, it was Inho who hesitated. Normally he was dominant and commanding.

What was Gi-hun doing to him.

He leaned in, pressing a slower, softer kiss to Gi-hun’s throat. This time, there was no teasing, no smirk. Just a lingering warmth, a quiet demand.

Gi-hun let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling tighter.

Inho smirked against Gi-hun’s skin.

Maybe he could do this. Be this way with someone for once. Kind, caring, easygoing.

But deep down, he knew what he truly enjoyed.

His smirk faded slightly as he exhaled, eyes narrowing.

"If anything becomes too much, let me know," he murmured against Gi-hun’s neck.

"I will," Gi-hun managed to say—before Inho’s lips crashed into his.

His tongue pushed past Gi-hun’s parted lips, claiming him without hesitation.

As he deepened the kiss, his hands trailed lower, slipping over warm, bare skin until his fingers found exactly what he was looking for.

Gi-hun squirmed beneath him, and Inho let out a breathy, low laugh.

"Sensitive, aren’t you?" he murmured, his lips curving against Gi-hun’s.

He kissed lower, moving down Gi-hun’s throat—bite.

Over his collarbone—bite.

Along his shoulders—bite.

Every time his teeth met skin, Gi-hun let out a quiet whimper, his body twitching beneath him.

Beautiful.

Inho shuddered, thrilled by every sound, every reaction. He continued his path downward, nipping just above Gi-hun’s hip—bite.

And then, he stopped.

Right where he wanted to be.

With slow, deliberate movements, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his own sweatpants—the ones Gi-hun was still wearing—

"I'll ask you how you got into these later." he stopped for a moment then dragged them down, inch by inch, until they slipped off completely.

Gi-hun’s cock sprang free, hard, flushed, and leaking.

Inho chuckled, pleased.

"I knew you were excited," he teased, tapping a single finger against the flushed tip. Gi-hun squirmed, hips jerking slightly at the contact.

"Now, now…" Inho tsked, placing a firm hand on Gi-hun’s thigh.

"Listen to me closely."

His voice dropped, low and commanding.

"Be a good boy and stay still for me."

Gi-hun looked down at Inho through hooded eyes and nodded.

Inho let out a low, satisfied laugh before taking Gi-hun into his mouth, swallowing him down with ease.

The weight of him, the warmth, the faint saltiness of precum coating his tongue—it was intoxicating.

Above him, Gi-hun groaned, his breath hitching as he threw an arm over his face, his body arching slightly in response.

Inho smirked around him, enjoying the way Gi-hun reacted to every movement. He bobbed his head, taking him as deep as he could, feeling the subtle tremors of pleasure roll through him.

His own cock throbbed uncomfortably against the confines of his pants, aching to be freed, but for now, he was more interested in unraveling Gi-hun first.

With a slick pop, he pulled off, licking his lips as he repositioned them, guiding Gi-hun’s legs over his shoulders.

"Open your mouth," he instructed, his voice low, firm.

Gi-hun obeyed without hesitation, his lips parting easily.

Good.

Without warning, Inho slid his fingers inside, pressing them firmly against Gi-hun’s tongue, letting them rest there for a moment.

He could feel the wet heat, the slight movement as Gi-hun hollowed his cheeks, coating them with slick warmth.

A slow smirk curled on Inho’s lips.

"You listen well," he murmured, pulling his fingers back, watching as a thin string of saliva connected them for a moment before breaking. "Perhaps I can keep you."

Gi-hun shuddered, his breath uneven.

Inho chuckled before lowering his head again, resuming his work with practiced ease.

His mouth engulfed Gi-hun’s cock once more, a slow tease of tongue and heat, while his now slick fingers trailed lower.

With careful precision, he pressed the first inside.

Tight.

He could feel the way Gi-hun’s body reacted instantly, his hips lifting off the bed, a soft, choked moan breaking past his lips.

Inho pulled back just enough to glance up at him, his expression sharp, teasing.

"Don’t make me take back what I just said," he warned. "Stay still."

He felt Gi-hun’s body tense, a desperate attempt to obey, but Inho didn’t give him time to recover before adding another finger.

He moved them, slow and purposeful, working deeper, curling just right, until—

There.

Gi-hun let out a gasp, his body trembling beneath him.

Inho smirked.

"That’s it," he murmured, pressing his fingers in again, slow, deliberate. "That’s the reaction I wanted."

Inho curled his fingers again, slow and precise, watching the way Gi-hun’s body reacted beneath him—the way his breath caught, the way his thighs tensed, the way his lips parted in a broken gasp.

"What a good boy you are." Inho murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Gi-hun was doing so well for him, trying his best to stay still despite the way his body trembled beneath Inho’s touch.

But Inho wanted more.

He pressed deeper, letting Gi-hun feel everything. Every curl of his fingers, every slow drag against that spot that made his breath hitch just right.

Gi-hun whimpered, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Look at you," Inho murmured, his smirk widening. "So obedient. So eager."

His free hand trailed up Gi-hun’s stomach, fingers grazing over heated skin, feeling the way his muscles fluttered under his touch.

"You’re taking me so well so far," Inho praised, his voice smooth, teasing. "But I wonder…"

He slowed his movements suddenly, and removed his fingers, just to hear the noise Gi-hun made in protest.

A breathy whine.

Inho chuckled. "Ah, so impatient," he mused, pressing a lingering kiss against the inside of Gi-hun’s thigh. "You want more, don’t you?"

Gi-hun’s head tipped back against the pillow, his breath uneven, but he nodded.

"Use your words," Inho reminded him.

Gi-hun swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he rasped. "Please."

Inho’s chest tightened at the sound, something dark and satisfied curling deep inside him.

Without another word, Inho shoved down his pants, kicking them aside as his cock sprang free from its restraints.

His breath came fast, his pulse hammering as he reached for the nightstand, yanking the drawer open.

Fingers closing around the familiar bottle, he flicked it open with a practiced ease, pouring a generous amount of lube into his palm.

One stroke. Then another. Warm slickness coated his length, his grip tightening as anticipation coiled low in his stomach.

His gaze locked onto Gi-hun, sprawled beneath him, skin flushed, breath uneven.

Need overtook thought.

Inho grabbed him roughly, flipping him onto his stomach. A startled gasp escaped Gi-hun’s lips, muffled as Inho pressed his head into the mattress.

A shiver ran through Inho as he pressed the tip of his cock against Gi-hun’s entrance, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath him.

His grip tightened on Gi-hun’s hip, fingers digging in as he fought the urge to push in all at once.

He wanted to savor this—the slow stretch, the way Gi-hun’s body tensed, then softened beneath him.

Gi-hun shifted, his breath hitching. “Inho…” His voice was barely above a whisper, edged with anticipation.

The sound sent a sharp pulse of need through Inho.

He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself, then began to press forward, inch by inch, his cock sinking into that tight heat.

His jaw clenched at the sensation, a groan slipping from his lips as Gi-hun shuddered beneath him.

“Relax,” Inho murmured, his free hand smoothing over Gi-hun’s back, feeling the ripple of muscle beneath heated skin. He wasn’t sure if he was saying it for Gi-hun or for himself.

A muffled whimper came in response, and Inho felt the last of his restraint fray. His fingers curled tighter around Gi-hun’s hip as he pushed in deeper, their bodies finally slotting together in a way that sent pleasure sparking through his veins.

He gave them both a moment to adjust, his chest rising and falling against Gi-hun’s back.

Then, unable to hold back any longer, he drew back slightly before thrusting in again, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Each roll of his hips dragged a soft noise from Gi-hun’s lips, each sound unraveling something inside Inho.

He dipped his head closer, his breath warm against Gi-hun’s ear. “You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

And then, surrendering to the need coursing through him, Inho’s grip on Gi-hun’s hip tightened as he thrust in again, harder this time, drawing a choked moan from the man beneath him.

A rush of satisfaction curled in his chest—he loved hearing Gi-hun fall apart like this, loved knowing he was the one pulling those sounds from him.

“That’s it,” Inho growled, his voice low and commanding as he snapped his hips forward again, the sharp slap of skin on skin filling the room.

He spread Gi-hun’s legs wider, angling himself deeper, feeling the way his cock was swallowed by that tight, scorching heat.

Gi-hun shuddered, fingers clutching at the sheets, his breath ragged. “Inho—please I…”

“Shh, I know.” Inho interrupted, his free hand sliding up Gi-hun’s back before fisting into his hair.

He tugged, just enough to make Gi-hun arch under him, baring more of his flushed skin.

The sight sent a fresh wave of hunger surging through him. “Just feel me a bit longer and hold out for me.”

With his other hand, he reached around and slid down Gi-hun’s stomach, fingers teasing along the sensitive skin until he reached his cock—already hard, twitching, leaking against the sheets.

A pleased hum rumbled in Inho’s chest as he wrapped his fingers around it, his grip firm but teasing.

Gi-hun choked on a moan, his hips jerking forward into Inho’s fist only to be pulled back onto his cock in the next thrust.

Caught between both sensations, his body writhed, completely at Inho’s mercy.

"Such a mess," Inho murmured, tightening his grip, his thumb sweeping over the sensitive tip before stroking down again. "So needy for me."

Gi-hun whimpered, his fingers clutching the sheets, his body tensing as pleasure coiled tight inside him.

Inho could feel it—the way he was trembling on the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body clenching around Inho’s cock with every thrust.

"Okay, come for me," Inho ordered, voice rough with dominance and desire.

His strokes turned relentless, his thrusts harder, deeper, driving Gi-hun to the breaking point. "Come while I'm inside you."

Gi-hun cried out, his whole body seizing as pleasure crashed over him.

His cock pulsed in Inho’s hand, hot and slick as he spilled over his fingers.

His walls clenched around Inho, pulling him deeper, tighter, sending pleasure tearing through him like wildfire.

Inho groaned, his control slipping as the sensation overwhelmed him.

With one final, bruising thrust, he buried himself deep, pleasure ripping through him as he came, his grip on Gi-hun tightening as he spilled inside him.

For a moment, all that filled the room was the sound of their ragged breathing, bodies tangled together in the heat of the moment.

Inho wrapped his arms around Gi-hun’s stomach, feeling the way it rose and fell beneath his touch, and collapsed on top of him.

"Yeah, I'll definitely be keeping you." he murmured, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to the back of Gi-hun’s neck. "Come now, lets clean you up."

Chapter Text

Inho lingered for a moment, admiring his work.

Gi-hun lay sprawled across the sheets, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his body still trembling in the aftermath.

Ruined. Completely wrecked. His.

A slow smirk tugged at Inho’s lips as he ran a possessive hand down Gi-hun’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with the tips of his fingers.

His skin was warm, damp, marked in places where Inho had gripped him too tightly.

The sight of it sent a spark of satisfaction curling low in his stomach.

He wasn’t usually the type to linger after sex, but something about Gi-hun like this—pliant, breathless, utterly spent—made it impossible to pull away just yet.

Still, he needed to clean them up.

With a quiet sigh, Inho carefully slipped out of Gi-hun then out of bed, stretching as he rolled his shoulders.

His body still hummed with the aftershocks of release, the deep satisfaction settling into his bones.

He glanced down at Gi-hun, who barely stirred, his lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks.

"Tsk, what a beautiful site." Inho clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Look at you."

Gi-hun peeked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, dazed. "What…?"

"Ruined," Inho murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "And all because of me."

He watched as Gi-hun swallowed hard, unable to deny the way that single statement sent another shiver through him.

Inho smirked at his reaction, leaning down and stroking his head, "Don’t move," he ordered. "I’ll be back."

He strode toward the bathroom, flipping on the light and letting the water run warm before grabbing a towel.

As he soaked it, he caught his own reflection in the mirror—hair tousled, lips swollen, the faintest hint of color still dusting his cheekbones.

Fucking hell. He looked as wrecked as Gi-hun.

With a quiet exhale, he wrung out the towel and returned to the bedroom.

Gi-hun hadn’t moved. He lay boneless, limbs tangled in the sheets, his breath steady but uneven, as if he were still coming down from the high Inho had dragged him to.

The sight sent a possessive thrill through Inho’s chest.

Climbing back onto the bed, Inho nudged Gi-hun’s legs apart with his knee, pressing the warm towel between his thighs.

Gi-hun let out a soft noise, barely conscious, but Inho ignored it, wiping him down with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Alright, flip over for me.” he said, grabbing Gi-huns waist and helping him.

Inho ran the warm towel over Gi-hun’s stomach, cleaning away the last traces of his release.

His movements were slow, deliberate, savoring the way Gi-hun twitched beneath his touch.

Even now, he was so responsive.

“Still sensitive,” Inho murmured, smirking as Gi-hun let out a soft, drowsy whimper.

His lashes fluttered, but he didn’t resist, letting Inho handle him.

Good. That’s how it should be.

Satisfied, Inho folded the towel wiped himself off quickly and tossed the towel onto the floor.

He let his gaze drift back to Gi-hun, still sprawled out against the sheets, his breathing slow and even.

A part of him wanted to drag him into the shower, press him against the tiles, and have him all over again.

But just as Inho reached out,

BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!

His phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand.

He ignored it.

Then it buzzed again.

BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!

And again.

BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!

With a sharp sigh, Inho grabbed the phone, glancing at the caller ID. Dae-ho.

What the hell does he want this early?

“What!” Inho answered gruffly, pressing the phone to his ear.

Dae-ho’s voice came through, frantic and exasperated. “Sir, where are you? You were supposed to be at the office thirty minutes ago!”

Inho blinked, frowning. “What?”

“Sir, I understand you were drunk last night but it’s Thursday. You have a meeting in eighteen minutes. With the board!”

For a moment, Inho just stared at the ceiling, processing that information.

Then his gaze flicked back to the clock.

10:12 AM.

“Shit!”

A groggy mumble came from beside him as Gi-hun shifted, blinking up at him through sleep-heavy eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Inho ignored him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner Dae-ho?” he snapped, rushing to his closet grabbing pants and a shirt.

“I did,” Dae-ho huffed. “Three times. You sent me to voicemail each time.”

Inho scowled, shoving a hand through his hair.

Right.

He vaguely remembered hearing his phone buzz earlier—but his hungover self sent it to voicemail each time like Dae-ho said.

“Tell them I’m on my way,” Inho muttered, ending the call before Dae-ho could respond.

Gi-hun, now half asleep, stretched lazily beneath the covers. “Oh, is someone running late?” he murmured, voice laced with amusement.

Inho shot him a look. “Shut up.”

Gi-hun grinned, propping himself up on one elbow. “Wow, you’re really late, aren’t you?”

Inho yanked on his shirt, buttoning it up with quick, frustrated movements. “If I hadn’t wasted time and been so preoccupied, I might’ve had a chance.”

He watched Gi-hun raise a brow and tilt his head. “Oh? Wasted time?”

Inho paused, Shit that came out wrong.

He leaned over, fingers catching Gi-hun’s chin, tilting his face up until their eyes met.

He made sure Gi-hun saw the sharp glint in his gaze, the unspoken warning lurking beneath it.

“Mmm.” He hummed low, a quiet, dangerous sound. “Don’t think too much.”

Then, just to throw him off, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Gi-hun’s forehead.

Gi-hun’s breath hitched. For a moment, something flickered behind his eyes—something unreadable, something more maybe.

But Inho didn’t dwell on it. He smirked, releasing him, brushing off whatever had just passed between them.

“Make yourself comfortable—as you already have,” he muttered, grabbing his suit jacket and shrugging it on.

He straightened his collar, then nodded toward the dresser. “Towels are in the bathroom, spare clothes are in there, and there’s food in the kitchen.”

He turned back to Gi-hun, lips twitching. “Just… try not to burn down my house while I’m gone.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, light but edged with something unspoken.”When I get back we can do something.”

With that, he turned for the door, and left the room making his way outside and inhaling the crisp morning air.

The sun was already high, casting sharp light over the quiet street.

He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against his keys—only to pause.

Where the hell is my car?

His gaze flicked toward the driveway. Empty.

For a second, irritation prickled at him before the memory slotted back into place.

Right. The bar.

He had taken a cab home last night.

"Shit."

Running a hand through his hair, he pulled out his phone and tapped Dae-ho’s contact.

The call barely rang twice before his assistant picked up, voice tight and already on edge.

“Sir, if you’re calling me right now, that means—”

“Come get me.” Inho cut in smoothly, already heading back inside and slamming the door behind him. “I left my car at the bar.”

A long, suffering but amused sigh came from the other end of the call. “Of course you did.”

“I’m at home,” Inho continued, ignoring his assistant’s tone. “Make it quick.”

Another pause, followed by the faint sound of typing. “The meeting starts in 10 minutes you realize that right?”

"Then I expect you're already heading for your car," Inho said, unimpressed. "Now hurry up."

Dae-ho groaned but didn’t argue. “Yes, I'll be outside in five.”

Inho hung up and strode back towards the bedroom.

Gi-hun lazily stretched before propping himself up on one elbow.

“That was quick.” Gi-hun murmured, his lips curling.

Inho shot him a dry look. “Shut up.”

Gi-hun hummed, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Forgot where you parked your car?”

He let out a laugh.“You know, if you keep calling your assistant for last-minute rides, he might start charging you extra.”

Inho scoffed. “Dae-ho wouldn’t dare.”

He squinted his eyes at Gi-hun. “Also watch that mouth. Didn’t I just teach you a lesson, or do I need to remind you already?”

Gi-hun smirked but didn’t argue, shifting onto his back, arms stretching over his head.

The sheet slipped lower, exposing more of his bare chest, and for a second,

Inho’s eyes lingered— but just for a second.

Then he turned away. He had shit to do.

BEEP!! BEEEEEEP!!

“My savior has arrived.” Inho whispered to himself letting out a sigh. “Okay for real this time, goodbye!”

Inho walked back out of the house and stepped outside to see a sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb.

The window rolled down, revealing Dae-ho’s amused expression.

Here we go.

Inho barely had time to open the door before his assistant spoke. “Let me guess," Dae-ho drawled.

"You got drunk, left your car at the bar, and ended up taking that pretty lad who was outside contemplating if you liked him home.”

Inho slid into the backseat, smoothing out his jacket then froze then a grin fell on his face.

Ahh so he was thinking of me last night before…

Inho whipped his head to face Dae-ho “You talk too much.”

Dae-ho snorted as he pulled away from the curb. “I don’t have to talk. The fact that you called me to pick you up this morning tells me everything I need to know”

Inho leaned back against the headrest, exhaling through his nose. Dae-ho knew. Of course he did.

The man was practically glued to his side half the time—he probably had a sixth sense for this kind of thing by now.

Still, Inho wasn’t about to entertain him. “Drive.”

Dae-ho chuckled, shaking his head. “So… Gi-hun from floor 15?”

Inho’s jaw ticked. That was answer enough.

Dae-ho let out a low whistle. “Thought so.”

“Dae-ho.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut. Up.”

Dae-ho grinned but, for once, obeyed.

Chapter Text

The rest of the drive was silent except for the soft hum of the city outside. By the time they pulled up to the office, it was 10:27 AM.

The black sedan rolled to a smooth stop in front of S.G. Financial Group’s headquarters, the sleek glass building reflecting the late morning sun. 10:27 AM.

Inho stepped out without hesitation, straightening his cuffs as he strode toward the entrance.

The lobby was as pristine as ever—polished floors, high ceilings, and staff members who definitely noticed his arrival but knew better than to react.

Dae-ho jogged after him, tablet in hand, struggling to keep up.

“You have exactly three minutes before the board meeting starts,” he said, barely concealing his exasperation. “And the CEO is not happy.”

Inho smirked. “Is she ever?”

“I’m serious, sir.” Dae-ho’s voice dropped as they stepped into the private elevator.

“You were supposed to present the quarterly earnings report at 10:00 sharp. They’ve been stalling for half an hour, and Hyun-ju is pissed.”

The steel doors slid shut, enclosing them in silence.

“Then I’ll arrive at the perfect time,” Inho said smoothly, checking his watch. 10:28 AM.

Dae-ho sighed. “You can’t just—”

The elevator chimed as they reached the executive floor. The moment the doors opened, the tension in the air was palpable.

The executive assistants barely spared Inho a glance, their expressions carefully neutral, but he could feel the shift.

They were waiting.

As he approached the boardroom, he caught a glimpse of Cho Hyun-ju through the glass walls—CEO of S.G. Financial Group. Sharp, poised, and utterly untouchable.

She sat at the far end of the long conference table, one manicured hand tapping rhythmically against the polished surface, the other flipping through a report.

Her posture was relaxed, but the air around her was anything but.

Her expression was neutral, but Inho knew better. The way her lips pressed together just slightly, the controlled rise and fall of her chest—she was annoyed.

But not furious. Not yet.

The other executives were already in their seats, some checking their watches, others flipping through documents, pretending not to be irritated.

Dae-ho gave Inho one last desperate look. “Sir, please, just act like you care.”

Inho waved him off and pushed open the boardroom doors, stepping inside without hesitation.

The low hum of voices immediately died.

Eleven pairs of eyes turned toward him, irritation thinly veiled beneath forced professionalism.

The atmosphere was thick, the kind of tension that only came from waiting on someone they couldn’t afford to reprimand outright.

At the far end of the long, polished conference table,

Cho Hyun-ju sat with effortless authority, her fingers resting lightly against the surface, a single manicured nail still tapping in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

She wasn’t looking at him yet—she was making him wait.

Inho’s lips barely twitched. Fair.

He adjusted his cufflinks as he strode to his seat next to her, taking his time, completely unrushed.

He didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t apologize.

He simply leaned back in his chair, resting an elbow against the armrest, fingers tapping lazily against his knee.

"Shall we begin?" he said smoothly.

For a moment, silence.

Then, finally, Hyun-ju lifted her gaze.

“Hwang Inho,” she murmured, her voice as sharp as the look she gave him. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

Something in the way she held his gaze made his mind flicker back—too quickly, too easily.

Gi-hun.

His half-lidded smirk, the lazy stretch of his body beneath tangled sheets, the warmth of his skin still lingering in Inho’s fingertips.

Inho exhaled slowly through his nose, reigning himself back in before the moment could stretch too long.

"Traffic," he said simply.

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of Hyun-ju’s mouth.

The others wouldn't notice it, but Inho knew her well enough to catch the flicker of amusement buried beneath her professionalism.

She hummed, arching a brow. “Is that so?”

Then, with a quiet sigh, she turned to the board members. "Lucky for all of us, we stalled long enough. You have the floor, Chief Financial Officer.”

Dae-ho, seated near the projector, gave a relieved exhale as he swiped at his tablet.

The screen illuminated, displaying the company's quarterly earnings report.

Inho barely glanced at the figures before starting, his voice smooth, authoritative.

"This quarter’s revenue increased by 14%, exceeding projections. However, operating costs rose slightly due to—”

A faint, phantom touch against his wrist.

Not real. Not there.

But his mind conjured the sensation anyway—Gi-hun's fingers, gripping at his arm to keep himself still.

His fingers twitched against the table.

Inho exhaled, shifting slightly in his seat, keeping his expression perfectly composed.

"—due to increased spending in logistics and international expansion. However, our finance team is reallocating budget resources to mitigate these cost fluctuations."

Hyun-ju's gaze was steady, assessing.

"You mean restructuring," she corrected smoothly. "There’s a difference."

A slow smirk tugged at Inho’s lips. "Yes. Restructuring.”

She nodded approvingly. "And how do you propose we maintain cost efficiency next quarter without compromising expansion?"

The moment she finished speaking, Inho felt it again.

Another distraction. This time, a memory—Gi-hun’s body, the way it had arched beneath him, desperate and demanding.

Fuck. Get it together Inho.

His jaw tightened.

"Simple," he said, his tone flawlessly steady, even as his mind wasn’t.

"We utilize government incentives for large-scale investment projects. If we redirect our spending into qualifying sectors, we can significantly offset rising operational costs without sacrificing long-term expansion."

A pause. Then—a shift.

The tension in the room eased as murmurs of agreement passed between the board members. Even Hyun-ju gave him a slightly approving look.

"Acceptable," she said, tilting her head slightly. "And the contingency plan?"

"We already have secondary cost-cutting measures in place," Inho answered smoothly, ignoring the way his pulse felt off-beat. "If the proposed incentives don’t yield the expected reductions, we pivot. There’s no risk to margin stability."

Hyun-ju studied him.

Then, she smiled. Small. Private. Barely there. But he caught it.

"Good," she murmured.

The discussion wrapped up quickly after that—logistics, projections, market shifts.

Inho answered every question flawlessly, precisely, as expected.

But beneath it, his mind still itched, pulled in two directions.

For the first time in a long time he felt he needed a cigarette.

When the meeting finally ended, Hyun-ju rose from her chair with quiet grace, gathering her papers with deliberate ease.

The other board members filtered out, their hushed voices fading as they left the room.

As Inho reached for his own papers, Hyun-ju stopped beside him.

"Inho," she said, just low enough for him to hear.

He glanced up.

She considered him for a beat, her expression unreadable—but not unknowing.

Then, with the faintest tilt of her head, she spoke.

"Don’t let distractions catch up to you."

His grip on the papers tightened slightly.

"I never do," he replied.

Hyun-ju huffed softly—a quiet, almost fond sound—but didn’t argue.

Instead, as she turned to leave, she added something else.

"Get home and get some rest, you look like shit."

Then, she was gone. The boardroom door clicked shut behind her.

Inho wasted no time heading toward the exit himself.

The moment he stepped out of the boardroom, he exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders to shake off the residual tension.

His thoughts were still split, fragments of Gi-hun’s voice, his body, the way he had gasped and clung to him threading through the cracks in his usually impenetrable focus.

He had kept it together through the meeting. Barely.

Now, he needed something to ground him.

His fingers twitched at his side, already knowing what he wanted before he even acknowledged it.

A cigarette. Shit.

He hadn’t smoked in a long time. Months. aside from the one he stole last night.

He didn’t need to. Didn’t crave it. Until now.

Inho’s pace was measured as he strode through the executive floor, gaze sharp and unreadable. No one would see the slight edge to his movements. No one would guess his mind wasn’t entirely present.

Except maybe Hyun-ju…and Dae-ho, who was already catching up to him, flipping through his tablet as he rattled off his next meetings.

“Sir, you have a call with the Singapore investors in twenty minutes, followed by—”

“I need a cigarette,” Inho cut in smoothly.

Dae-ho blinked and for a second, there was genuine surprise in his expression, before it quickly shifted into reluctant understanding. “You don’t smoke anymore.”

Inho arched a brow. “I do now.”

Dae-ho sighed, dragging a hand down his face before nodding toward a nearby desk.

“Nam-gyu smokes,” he muttered. “Try him.”

Without another word, Inho changed direction, weaving through the office floor with quiet efficiency.

The open workspace was buzzing—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the dull hum of employees who didn’t dare glance up as the CFO passed by.

Nam-gyu, a mid-level financial analyst, was hunched over his screen, deep in some spreadsheet hell.

He barely noticed Inho until he suddenly did—his entire body going rigid as the presence of his boss registered.

“Sir?” he stammered, sitting up straight.

Inho didn’t waste time. “Do you have a cigarette?”

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened. “Uh—yes, sir.” He hesitated before fumbling into his drawer, pulling out a slightly crumpled pack and offering it with both hands.

Inho took one, rolling it between his fingers before glancing back down. “Lighter.”

Nam-gyu scrambled again, handing it over as if his life depended on it.

“Thank you.” Inho pocketed both, then turned without another word, already heading for the stairwell.

Behind him, he faintly heard Dae-ho sigh. “Don’t let him see you sweat, Nam-gyu.”

The rooftop was empty, or so he thought.

The moment he stepped out into the open air, the door clicking shut behind him, his sharp eyes immediately caught movement.

Someone else was here.

Cho Sangwoo…Leaning against the railing, a cigarette already between his fingers, staring out at the city skyline like he owned it.

“Of course.” Inho sighed.

Chapter Text

Inho’s lips curled into something close to irritation, but not quite.

“Didn’t peg you for a rooftop type,” he mused, slipping the cigarette between his lips.

Sangwoo didn’t turn. But his shoulders tensed.

“I could say the same for you,” he replied, voice cool but laced with something else. Something almost annoyed.

Inho flicked the lighter open, inhaling slowly as the flame touched the end of the cigarette. The first drag in months while sober.

The taste was bitter, acrid, burning against his throat—but familiar, as his thoughts flickered to last night and the cigarette he had stolen from Gi-huns mouth.

For the first time that morning, the tension in his chest loosened, just slightly.

Sangwoo finally turned, his sharp gaze sweeping over him, calculating. And then—something shifted.

A flicker of understanding.

“You haven’t smoked in a while,” he observed.

Inho exhaled, watching the smoke drift into the air. “No.”

A beat of silence.

Then—Sangwoo scoffed, shaking his head as he took a slow drag of his own cigarette.

“That bad, huh?”

Inho hummed noncommittally, rolling his cigarette between his fingers.

“Don’t tell me this is about work,” Sangwoo mused, studying him. “You’re not the type to crack under pressure.”

Inho didn’t answer. Because it wasn’t about work.

And somehow, Sangwoo already knew that.

His expression darkened slightly. “It’s about Gi-hun.”

There it was.

Inho let out a slow breath of smoke, keeping his posture relaxed. “Careful, Sangwoo,” he murmured, his tone lazy, but edged. “You almost sound jealous.”

Sangwoo’s expression didn’t change. But the way he flicked the ashes from his cigarette—too sharp, too deliberate—said otherwise.

“It’s not jealousy,” he muttered. “It’s common sense.”

Inho smirked. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Sangwoo turned to face him fully now, shoulders squared, gaze colder than before.

“You think I don’t know you?” he said, voice quieter, but far more dangerous. “I know exactly what kind of man you are, Inho.”

Inho’s smirk didn’t fade. “Then you should also know I don’t care what you think.”

Sangwoo let out a short, humorless laugh, taking another slow drag before exhaling.

“I don’t trust you,” he said bluntly. “And I sure as hell don’t trust you with him.”

Inho finally turned to face him fully, his own gaze sharpening.

"And what exactly do you think I'm going to do to him?"

Sangwoo’s jaw tensed. “I don’t know. But I know it won’t be good.”

Another beat of silence. The tension between them was thick, layered with history and unspoken things neither of them had ever acknowledged outright.

Then, Sangwoo sighed, “You’ve already gotten into his head,” he muttered, glancing back at Inho. “I won’t let you get into his heart.”

Inho simply smirked.

Too late.

Sangwoo didn’t move. He just stood there, cigarette still smoldering between his fingers, shoulders too stiff, his whole body coiled like he was ready for a fight.

Inho took a slow drag of his cigarette, savoring the way the burn settled in his lungs, grounding him.

He hadn’t touched one in months, but somehow, this moment—this conversation—felt like the perfect time to pick the habit back up.

"You look tense," Inho murmured, exhaling a long stream of smoke. His voice was too easy, too smooth, the way it always was when he knew he was getting under someone’s skin. "Something on your mind?"

Sangwoo scoffed. "Don't act stupid."

That amused him.

"Why not? You seem to think Gi-hun is."

Sangwoo’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing, and there it was.

That reaction Inho had been waiting for.

A slow smirk pulled at his lips.

He was slightly annoyed because he already warned Sangwoo to back off but instead of telling him to fuck off he entertained the conversation.

"You don't like that, do you?" he mused, tilting his head. "You don't like thinking about the fact that no matter what you say to him, or no matter what you do—he’s interested in me."

Sangwoo's fingers twitched around his cigarette.

He was trying to stay calm. Trying to act like this conversation didn’t matter.

But it did, and Inho knew it.

"You think he's with you because he actually wants to be?" Sangwoo muttered, voice edged. "You're just in his head. That’s all it is."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Inho arched a brow, flicking ash from his cigarette. "That if I disappeared, he’d run straight to you?"

Sangwoo’s jaw tightened and he didn’t answer.

Which was answer enough for Inho.

He chuckled under his breath. "That’s cute."

Sangwoo exhaled sharply, closing the space between them just slightly—not in a way that was aggressive, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t walking away from this.

"You think this is a game," he muttered.

"It’s always a game," Inho corrected smoothly, watching him over the rim of his cigarette. "You just don’t like that you’re losing."

Sangwoo’s nostrils flared. "You don’t care about him."

Inho tilted his head slightly. "What makes you so sure?"

"You’re using him."

Inho hummed, dragging his cigarette along his bottom lip, smirking. "Is that what you think, or what you hope?"

Sangwoo’s fingers curled into a fist at his side.

"You want me to be the villain," Inho continued, voice low, thoughtful. "Because if I am—if I ruin him—then at least you get to be the one who says, 'I told you so.'"

He flicked his cigarette away, watching the ember sputter and die against the rooftop gravel. "But here’s the problem, Sangwoo."

He stepped forward, just a fraction, forcing Sangwoo to either hold his ground or step back.

He didn’t step back.

"And now think, every time he leaves," Inho murmured, voice a dangerous whisper, "he’ll seek me out and come back to me."

Sangwoo’s glare was ice cold.

"You don’t deserve him."

Inho smirked. "And you do?"

Silence stretched between them.

The wind shifted, kicking up the faint scent of cigarette smoke and city air.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked.

Sangwoo broke first.

Not by walking away. But by exhaling, shaking his head like he was trying to push something down.

"He deserves someone who actually cares," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Not someone who treats him like an investment. A game. A distraction."

Inho didn’t argue, didn’t even try to deny it. Because he didn’t need to.

Instead, he simply pulled another cigarette from the pack, lighting it without looking away.

"Gi-hun’s a grown man," he said finally, voice lazy, confident. "If he doesn’t want to be with me, he won’t be."

Sangwoo’s lips parted—like he wanted to snap back, wanted to deny that—but nothing came.

Because even he knew it was true, and that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

Because as much as Sangwoo didn’t trust Inho…

Gi-hun did.

Inho took a slow drag, letting the moment stretch, watching the frustration, the helpless anger simmer in Sangwoo’s expression.

Then, finally, he exhaled a stream of smoke and smirked.

"You’re worried about the wrong person," he murmured. "If you’re so concerned about him getting hurt…"

He met Sangwoo’s cold, burning stare head-on.

"Maybe you should ask him what he wants."

Sangwoo’s jaw clenched.

His cigarette was long forgotten, burning to nothing between his fingers as it burned the tips.

Sangwoo let his head fall and sighed before just walking away, shoulders stiff, head low, like he knew—deep down—that he had already lost.

And Inho? Inho simply watched him go, taking another slow, satisfied drag of his cigarette.

Because he had already won.

Chapter Text

The rooftop door clicked shut. Sangwoo was gone, but his words lingered, heavy in the cold air.

Inho took a slow drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs longer than necessary before exhaling.

The wind caught it, twisting it into nothing before it disappeared entirely. He watched it fade, his fingers tightening around the cigarette as he rolled it between them.

"Gi-hun trusts too easily."

His jaw clenched.

That wasn’t his problem.

Gi-hun wasn’t some naive fool, stumbling blindly into his orbit. He had walked in willingly, let himself be pulled into Inho’s gravity without hesitation.

He had leaned in close, smirked at him across a bar table, let himself be taken home, let himself be touched.

Let himself be ruined.

A slow inhale. The acrid taste of nicotine grounded him, but it didn’t silence the weight pressing against his ribs.

Sangwoo had spoken like this was inevitable—that if Gi-hun would break, Inho would be the one to break him.

But Gi-hun had already woken up in his home and hadn’t left. Hadn’t bolted the moment the alcohol wore off. Hadn’t avoided his gaze in the morning, hadn’t acted like the night before was some regrettable mistake.

No. Instead, he had lingered.

Had made himself at home, wearing Inho’s sweatpants like they already belonged to him.

Had brewed that god-awful coffee, burning toast like he did this all the time.

Had smirked at him in that lazy, teasing way, as if he wasn’t standing in Inho’s bedroom door frame, fucking ruining him.

His fingers twitched around the cigarette.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Trust was a currency, and Inho had never spent it. He collected it.

Used it.

Wielded it like a weapon.

People fell in line, orbiting him, vying for his approval until they outlived their usefulness.

That was how it had always worked.

And yet, Gi-hun trusted him.

The thought settled like a stone in his chest.

Inho didn’t like it.

Didn’t like the way Gi-hun had slipped past his defenses without even trying.

Didn’t like the way his body had already memorized the shape of him beneath him.

Didn’t like the way he could still taste him, even now.

He took another slow drag, exhaling sharply, watching the smoke dissipate into the crisp afternoon air.

Maybe it was the hangover. Maybe it was Sangwoo’s fucking voice still echoing in his head.

Maybe it was something else entirely.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was losing control.

Inho took one last drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs until it burned. Then, with a flick of his fingers, he sent the dying ember tumbling to the rooftop gravel, grinding it out beneath the heel of his shoe.

The cold still clung to his skin, the wind biting at the exposed sliver of his throat where his collar had loosened. But it wasn’t enough to clear his mind. Wasn’t enough to rid him of the lingering irritation curled tight in his chest.

Sangwoo had gotten under his skin. He hated that.

He adjusted his cuffs, exhaled once more into the freezing air, then turned and pushed open the rooftop door.

The executive floor hummed with quiet efficiency. The kind of silence that wasn’t really silence at all—fingers tapping against keyboards, hushed voices murmuring in glass-walled offices, the distant chime of the elevator arriving.

Inho barely glanced at it as he stepped inside, striding past the open workspace.

He could feel the subtle shifts in posture as he passed—people sitting up straighter, typing a little faster, their eyes flicking toward him without daring to linger.

Good.

They knew better than to waste his time.

He had barely made it halfway across the floor before Dae-ho materialized at his side, falling into step with practiced ease, tablet in hand.

“There you are,” his assistant muttered. “Took you long enough.”

Inho rolled his shoulders, brushing past him toward his office. “Didn’t realize I was on a timer.”

“You weren’t. But I know you, and you don’t just ‘take a break’ unless something’s gotten to you.”

Inho arched a brow. “And what makes you think something got to me?”

Dae-ho snorted. “Well I’m not sure Sir, maybe because you picked up smoking again and smell like regret.”

Inho scoffed, pushing open his office door. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dae-ho followed him in, not bothering to hide his smirk. “So, you did run into Sangwoo.”

Inho’s silence was answer enough.

Dae-ho sighed, tapping a few notes on his tablet as he leaned against the desk. “Should I ask what he said this time, or should I just assume it was his usual self-righteous bullshit?”

“He thinks I’m going to ruin Gi-hun.”

Dae-ho let out a low whistle. “That so?”

Inho didn’t respond. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair before sinking into it. His fingers tapped absently against the polished wood of his desk.

“Not an unfair assumption,” Dae-ho mused, watching him carefully. “I mean, that is what you do, right? Use people, then toss them aside when they get too comfortable?”

Inho’s gaze flicked up, sharp. “You sound awfully bold for someone on my payroll.”

Dae-ho didn’t flinch. He never did. “I’m just saying, he’s not entirely wrong to worry Sir.”

A muscle ticked in Inho’s jaw. He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want to ruin him.”

Dae-ho tilted his head, studying him. “But you will.”

Inho didn’t answer.

Because deep down, he wasn’t sure if that was true and that unsettled him more than anything Sangwoo had said.

Silence stretched between them, heavy but not tense.

Dae-ho was watching him too closely, his usual easy smirk tempered with something sharper—curiosity, maybe. Amusement. Like he was watching an animal in a cage that had just realized the door was unlocked.

Inho exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. “And how are you so sure?”

Dae-ho blinked, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, sir. You’re seriously asking me that?”

“I am. Entertain me a bit, will you?” Inho lightly spoke, his face breaking just a bit.

Dae-ho let his tablet fall against his chest, arms crossing over it as he tilted his head. “Because I know you. Have you forgetten I've been by your side for Four Years.”

Inho hummed, tapping his fingers against his desk, eyes narrowing slightly. “Enlighten me, then.”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, as if he had been waiting for this moment. “Fine. Let’s break it down, shall we?” He straightened, holding up a finger. “One—you don’t get attached. Ever. People cycle in and out of your life like they’re on a goddamn revolving door, and you never stop them. You push them when they hesitate.”

Inho arched a brow, unimpressed. “That’s called efficiency.”

Dae-ho ignored him. “Two—you like control. You don’t just expect people to follow your lead, you expect them to anticipate it. And when they don’t, you lose interest.”

That made Inho pause. His fingers stilled against the desk, but he said nothing.

Dae-ho, clearly enjoying himself now, lifted another finger. “Three—you don’t do complications. You don’t do feelings, or relationships, or anything that requires effort outside of your own benefit. The moment something stops serving you, you cut it off.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp. “So tell me, Inho, where exactly do you see this going with Gi-hun?”

Inho stayed quiet for a moment, his jaw tightening, his gaze flickering toward the window.

Outside, the city stretched out before him, a carefully controlled chaos of glass and steel, cars winding through the streets like veins feeding into the heart of it all.

Dae-ho was right.

That was the problem.

Gi-hun should have been a distraction. A single night, a curiosity satisfied, a name he barely remembered in the morning.

But instead, he was still there—a lingering presence in his mind, a weight pressing against the edges of his carefully maintained world.

The worst part? Gi-hun wasn’t trying to stay.

He wasn’t chasing Inho, wasn’t clinging, wasn’t doing the things that usually made him lose interest. Instead, he had smiled at him over burnt toast and shitty coffee, teased him like they had time, like this wasn’t some inevitable countdown to destruction.

Like he actually liked him.

Inho clicked his tongue, finally looking back at Dae-ho. “That’s a lot of analysis for someone who fetches my coffee.”

Dae-ho smirked. “I fetch your correct coffee, which, by the way, is on your desk. Unlike whatever that poor excuse for caffeine was that you drank this morning.”

Inho glanced at the steaming cup by his papers. He picked it up, took a slow sip, and fuck, it was good. Smooth, rich, exactly how he liked it.

His shoulders loosened just slightly.

Dae-ho grinned. “Ah, there it is. Actual appreciation. Be still, my heart.”

Inho sighed, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Shut up, Dae-ho.”

Dae-ho chuckled, pushing off from the desk. “Whatever you say, boss. Just… try not to look too miserable while you’re overthinking this, yeah? It’s only noon.”

As he turned toward the door, Inho spoke, voice quieter than before.

“He called.”

Dae-ho paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Who, Gi-hun?”

Inho nodded once, tapping his phone where the missed call still sat on his screen.

Dae-ho studied him for a moment before smirking. “And you’re sitting here brooding over Sangwoo instead of calling him back? Damn, maybe you are doomed.”

Inho scowled, setting his coffee down with just a little too much force. “Get out.”

Dae-ho laughed, throwing up his hands as he made his way to the door. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you to your existential crisis.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Inho exhaled, rolling his neck before leaning back in his chair.

His eyes drifted back to his phone.

His thumb hovered over the call log.

Seong Gi-hun.

The name stared back at him, bright against the dark screen, a single missed call waiting—silent, unanswered.

Inho exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face before setting the phone face down on his desk. Locked away. Out of sight.

Not yet.

His fingers curled into a fist against the polished wood, tension coiling in his shoulders.

He had left Gi-hun awake in his bed, still tangled in his sheets, body marked from their morning together.

Had left him with barely a parting glance, a smirk to cover the way his gut twisted, a throwaway joke about burning down his kitchen to mask the fact that he had never walked away from something quite like this before.

And now Gi-hun was calling.

Inho inhaled sharply through his nose, willing himself to ignore the way something stirred beneath his ribs. He wasn’t the type to dwell. People came and went. He let them orbit as long as they pleased, but he never let them get too close.

Except Gi-hun had gotten too close before Inho had even realized it.

Too close last night, when he didn’t hesitate to follow him home.
Too close this morning, stretching out in Inho’s bed like he belonged there.
Too close now, waiting on the other end of that call, expecting an answer.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, but the weight in his chest didn’t ease. The office around him was silent, polished, orderly—the way it always was.

His world was built on precision, on control, on keeping everything and everyone exactly where he wanted them.

So why did it feel like something had shifted?

He pressed his fingertips against his temple, eyes narrowing at the ceiling.

It was just sex.

That’s what he should be telling himself. That’s what it was supposed to be. A brief distraction, a moment of indulgence, something to satisfy the itch before moving on.

Except Gi-hun hadn’t made it easy to move on.

He should have looked wrecked this morning—should have been hesitant, uncertain, maybe even regretful. But he hadn’t been. Instead, he had smirked at Inho like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he knew exactly what kind of hold he had.

And that was the problem.

Gi-hun wasn’t fumbling through this like the others had. He wasn’t grasping for more than Inho was willing to give. No, he had settled in. Had matched him, step for step, game for game.

Inho could still feel it—the way Gi-hun had leaned into him without hesitation, the way he had gasped his name, the way he had looked at him afterward. Unbothered. At ease. As if nothing had changed.

As if this wasn’t something that could ruin them both.

Inho let out a quiet laugh, humorless.

He should be annoyed. He should be brushing this off, pushing Gi-hun back to where he belonged—at a distance, at arm’s length, out of his fucking head.

But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure he could.

His gaze flickered to the phone again. No voicemail. No text.

A sharp click of his tongue.

Good.

If Gi-hun had left a message—if he had asked for something, if he had wanted something—Inho wasn’t sure what he would have done with it.

Or worse—what it would have done to him.

Chapter Text

The office was quieter in the late afternoon, the usual hum of employees thinning as people wrapped up their work for the day. Inho leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple with two fingers as his eyes flicked over the financial reports on his screen.

He wasn’t really reading them.

A quiet sigh left his lips as he glanced at the time. 7:42 PM. Later than he wanted to stay today, but he had no real desire to leave.

Because he knew what was waiting for him at home.

Or rather—who.

Seong Gi-hun.

For the past several hours, that name had been sitting in the back of his mind like an annoying pop-up ad he couldn’t close. He wasn’t nervous, per se, but the thought of stepping into his apartment and finding Gi-hun still there made something coil uncomfortably in his chest.

Not guilt, no. Just… something else.

He had told him they’d do something when he got back.

That was before work, before he remembered how easy it was to slip into the routine of avoiding things he didn’t want to deal with.

Another glance at the clock. 7:45 PM.

Tsk. He needed to go home at some point.

Rolling his shoulders, he shut his laptop with a quiet click, slipping it into his bag. As he grabbed his jacket, his phone vibrated on the desk. A message from Dae-ho.

Dae-ho [7:46 PM]: Are you still hiding from the world?
Dae-ho [7:47 PM]: Actually, don’t answer that. I already know the answer.
Dae-ho [7:47 PM]: You’re still in your office, aren’t you?

Inho huffed out a small, amused breath before typing back.

Inho [7:48 PM]: Go home, Dae-ho.

He didn’t wait for a response before slipping his phone into his pocket and making his way out of the building and to his car to head home.

The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside. Dim lighting, no sound of movement, no lingering scent of burnt toast from that morning.

Gone.

His gaze flicked to the kitchen counter, where a single folded note sat next to an empty coffee mug.

"I didn’t wait around. But thanks for the hospitality. - G"

Inho scoffed, shaking his head as he tossed the note onto the counter.

Of course.

Good.

That meant he didn’t have to deal with whatever awkward mess would have followed if Gi-hun had still been here. No lazy smirks, no teasing remarks, no lingering presence that made Inho feel like his personal space wasn’t just his own anymore.

It was a weight off his shoulders.

So why did it still feel off?

His fingers twitched at his side before he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned toward his bedroom. He needed sleep.

Tomorrow was Friday. The weekend would come and go. By Monday, this would be nothing more than a brief, forgettable indulgence.

That was the plan at least.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Avoiding someone should have been easy.

Especially someone who worked an entire floor beneath him.

And yet, Inho had bumped into Gi-hun no less than four times in the past week.

The first time had been at the elevator on Monday morning. Inho had been reviewing emails, barely paying attention as the doors slid open. Then—there he was.

Gi-hun, standing with his arms crossed, looking as relaxed as ever. His hair was slightly tousled, his tie a little loose—like he had just gotten out of a meeting and couldn’t be bothered to fix himself properly.

“Morning, CFO-nim.” Gi-hun had greeted him smoothly, stepping aside to make space in the elevator.

Inho had barely hesitated before stepping in.

It had been a short ride. Quiet.

At least, until Gi-hun cleared his throat.

“You know,” he mused, tilting his head toward Inho, “normally when people say they’ll do something, they follow through.”

Inho didn’t look up from his phone. “Normally.”

Gi-hun had huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Of course. You’re different.”

Not different. Just practical.

That was the first encounter.

The second had been in the cafeteria on Wednesday.

Inho had gone down for a quick coffee—bad decision.

Gi-hun had been sitting at a table near the entrance, chatting with some junior employees. He hadn’t even noticed Inho at first, but the second their eyes met, that same damn smirk crept onto his face.

Not mocking, not annoyed—just knowing.

Like he could see right through Inho.

Inho hated that.

He had turned on his heel and left without getting his coffee.

Encounter three? Thursday evening.

Inho had been leaving a meeting when he stepped into the hallway and almost collided directly into Gi-hun.

The taller man had blinked in surprise, then grinned. “Oh? Is this fate or are you just missing me?”

Inho had rolled his eyes and walked away.

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, Inho was beginning to feel unnerved.

Not because Gi-hun was actively seeking him out—no, that would have been easier to handle. But because each encounter felt like pure coincidence.

And yet, somehow, it still felt like Gi-hun was everywhere. Like something was pulling them together whether he wanted it or not.

Inho sat in his office, fingers steepled against his lips, staring at his laptop screen.

Numbers. Figures. Projections.

None of it was sticking.

His mind kept drifting, rewinding to the past week—every moment he had spent subtly dodging, subtly avoiding—and yet, Gi-hun still lingered.

Still found his way into Inho’s day.

A sharp knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts.

Dae-ho.

“You look like you need a drink.”

Inho exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “No.”

Dae-ho raised a brow. “No, as in ‘no,’ or no, as in ‘ask me again in ten minutes’?”

Inho shot him a glare. “No, as in no.”

Dae-ho hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “So you’re just going to sit here all weekend and brood, then?”

Inho didn’t respond.

“Right.” Dae-ho sighed, pushing off the doorway. “Well, don’t sit in your office all night.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Inho alone.

Alone.

For the first time all week, it actually felt like it.

His fingers twitched against the desk.

Maybe a drink wasn’t a bad idea.

But he already knew that if he went to the bar across the street, there was a chance he’d run into someone.

Someone he wasn’t sure he wanted to see again. Or rather—wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing again.

Inho sat at his desk, unmoving, fingers curled against his jaw as his gaze flicked absently over his laptop screen. His reports remained untouched, the numbers swimming together in meaningless clusters.

But a drink.

It wasn’t a bad idea.

But the thought of going to the bar across the street—the one where Gi-hun might be—made his stomach coil in a way he refused to examine.

It was ridiculous. Illogical.

They had spent one night together. Gi-hun had left. Just as he should have.

So why, after an entire week, did it still feel like he hadn’t?

Why did it feel like every accidental encounter, every brief exchange, was pulling him back into something he wasn’t supposed to want?

Inho let out a slow breath, pushing back from his desk. Enough.

Grabbing his coat, he flicked off his monitor and strode toward the elevator, jaw set. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore.

He just needed one drink.

The bar was comfortably dim, the glow of low-hanging lights casting flickering reflections against dark wood. It was the kind of place Inho liked—quiet enough to think, loud enough to disappear.

He took a seat at the far end of the bar, loosening his tie as the bartender placed a whiskey neat in front of him.

"Rough night?" the man asked.

Inho exhaled through his nose. "Something like that."

Lifting the glass, he took a slow sip, letting the burn of alcohol settle in his chest. It was grounding. Steady. A welcome distraction from the way his mind had been fraying at the edges all week.

Until a familiar voice shattered that fragile peace.

"Guess I’m not the only one who needed a drink."

His grip on the glass tightened.

Because of course. Of course just what he feared came to light.

He turned his head slightly, gaze catching on the figure sliding onto the stool beside him.

Seong Gi-hun.

Of all the bars in the city, of all the damn seats, why here?

Gi-hun, as always, looked unbothered. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie abandoned, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he signaled to the bartender.

Inho schooled his expression into something unreadable. "Coincidence, I assume?"

Gi-hun hummed. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Inho took another sip of his whiskey, willing himself to keep his composure. "You always talk in riddles, or is this just a side effect of the cheap beer you’re about to order?"

Gi-hun laughed, low and genuine. "Wow. That almost sounded like a joke, CFO-nim."

Inho sighed, setting his glass down. "Don’t call me that here."

"Fine. What should I call you, then?"

Inho turned toward him fully, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake.

Because Gi-hun was watching him again—too closely, too curiously. Like he was still trying to piece something together.

Like he could see right through him.

Inho ignored the way his pulse ticked faster and leaned back in his chair, deliberately slow.

"Tsk, whatever you want," he said smoothly with a hint of failed coldness.

Gi-hun's smirk widened, something glinting behind his eyes. "Dangerous offer. You sure you can handle that?"

Inho exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re avoiding me."

The words landed too easily, too direct.

Inho’s fingers stilled against his glass.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Gi-hun leaned in slightly, resting his elbow against the bar. "You do know I’ve noticed, right?"

Inho's grip tightened.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t react. But inside, something shifted.

Of course, Gi-hun had noticed. He wasn’t an idiot.

Still, Inho kept his expression impassive. "Not everything is about you."

"True." Gi-hun tilted his head, studying him. "But this is."

There it was.

A statement, not a question.

Inho should have denied it. Should have scoffed, rolled his eyes, let it slide off him like every other meaningless conversation.

But the problem was—Gi-hun wasn’t wrong.

He was avoiding him.

Because avoiding meant control. It meant keeping things exactly where they belonged—temporary, detached, simple.

But nothing about this felt simple anymore.

Gi-hun’s eyes flickered over him, searching. Then, as if deciding something, he exhaled and leaned back. "Fine. Don’t answer."

Inho’s shoulders tensed.

"I’m just curious, though." Gi-hun continued, swirling the beer in his hand. "Are you avoiding me because you regret it?"

Inho’s stomach tightened.

"Because if that’s the case," Gi-hun mused, tapping his fingers against his glass, "I should probably let you off the hook, huh?"

For a second, Inho swore the air in the bar felt heavier.

Like the words Gi-hun had just spoken had weight—had substance—settling between them like a thick fog.

I should probably let you off the hook, huh?

It was said lightly. Casually. Like it didn’t mean anything.

But Inho wasn’t stupid.

He heard the shift in Gi-hun’s tone. Saw the way his fingers curled just slightly tighter around his glass. Not enough to be obvious. But enough.

Gi-hun was giving him an out.

An easy one, too. No dramatics. No accusations. Just a simple choice laid out in front of him.

And yet—

It was like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down, wondering if the fall would hurt or if he would feel nothing at all.

Say no.

It wasn’t hard. Just two letters. A single syllable.

A small price to pay to keep something that had started to feel dangerously close to slipping away.

But Inho wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t the type to hold onto things that complicated his life.

And this?

This was already becoming a problem.

So instead, he let out a short breath, shook his head slightly, and gave the only answer that made sense.

"yeah."

It was almost too easy. A single word that held a thousand blades. Rolling off his tongue as a bitter tasting lie.

And for a second, he thought maybe—maybe—Gi-hun would push.

That he would see through the lie, see the way Inho’s fingers had gone just a little too still against his glass, the way his shoulders locked into place like he was bracing for impact.

But Gi-hun didn’t push.

He just—

Went quiet.

Not the usual, comfortable kind. Not the kind laced with amusement, with teasing, with that damn knowing smirk that Inho had come to expect.

No, this was different.

The warmth in Gi-hun’s expression dimmed, that ever-present glint of mischief dulling into something else.

Something unreadable. Something maybe slightly broken?

"Got it."

That was all he said.

Then, just like that, he turned away, bringing his drink to his lips in a slow, deliberate motion.

Conversation over.

Inho wasn’t sure what he had been expecting.

A sharp remark? A laugh? Maybe even a snide ‘Liar’ under Gi-hun’s breath?

But this—this silence—felt worse.

Like something had shut off.

Like a door had closed between them.

Inho took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn scrape down his throat, trying to ignore the sudden weight in his chest.

This was what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

It should have been a relief.

Instead, it felt like an instant mistake.

Chapter Text

They hadn’t spoken in over twenty minutes.

Gi-hun had stayed exactly where he was, but everything about him felt distant. Like he had checked out.

He wasn’t ignoring Inho—not exactly. He still acknowledged him in the way you acknowledge a stranger sitting at the same bar. A glance, a shift, a fleeting glance at his glass before looking away again.

But that was the problem.

For the first time since they met, Gi-hun treated him like a stranger.

And somehow, Inho hated it more than any teasing remark, more than any smug look, more than anything Gi-hun could have said.

He wasn’t sure why he stayed.

Maybe he was waiting for something.

Or maybe—maybe he just wasn’t used to being the one left in silence.

But eventually, Gi-hun stood, setting a few bills on the counter.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, CFO-nim," he said, voice polite. Indifferent.

Inho froze.

It was the first time in days Gi-hun had called him that without any sarcasm, without that familiar lilt of amusement.

Just flat. Empty. Like a goodbye.

And for some goddamn reason, it sent something sharp through Inho’s chest.

He should have let him walk away.

Should have let it end here.

But as Gi-hun turned to leave, Inho—without thinking, without understanding why—spoke.

"Gi-hun."

It wasn’t loud. Barely more than a breath.

But Gi-hun stopped. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything.

Just waited.

Inho swallowed. His fingers tightened around his glass, nails pressing into his palm.

He had nothing to say. Nothing that wouldn’t make this worse.

Nothing that wouldn’t unravel every inch of carefully constructed distance he had spent the last week trying to build.

So he stayed silent.

And after a long pause—too long, too heavy—Gi-hun let out a quiet exhale.

Then, without another word, he walked out.

Leaving Inho alone in the dim, flickering light.

For the first time all week, he really felt it.

The moment Gi-hun stepped away, the noise in the bar seemed to dull.

It wasn’t quiet. The background hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter still filled the air. But something about it felt far away. Like a barrier had gone up between Inho and the rest of the world.

His fingers curled tighter around his glass.

This is what you wanted.

The thought pressed against his skull like a dull headache, repeating itself like a mantra, willing itself to be true.

It was true.

It should be true.

And yet, the space beside him, the empty seat where Gi-hun had just been, felt too empty.

His whiskey was half-finished, but suddenly, he had no desire to drink anymore.

The city was quieter than usual when he stepped outside.

The air was cold, the kind that bit at his skin even through his coat, sharp enough to keep him awake. The streets were still busy, filled with people heading home from their nights out, but it all felt distant. Like he wasn’t really there—just moving through it.

He should have taken a cab.

Instead, he walked.

It was a long way home, and the cold gnawed at his fingers, but he welcomed it. He needed the time, the space, something to clear his head.

But it didn’t work.

Because the moment he stepped into his apartment, kicked off his shoes, and shrugged off his coat, it was there again.

That silence.

He had gotten used to the silence over the years—preferred it, even. It was why he lived alone. No distractions, no complications, no one waiting for him when he walked through the door.

But tonight, the silence wasn’t comforting.

It was loud.

Because tonight, he knew what was missing.

He tossed his keys onto the counter, exhaling sharply as he loosened his tie. His gaze flickered—briefly, instinctively—to the spot where Gi-hun’s note had been last week.

'I didn’t wait around.'

He had scoffed when he first read it, brushed it off as typical Gi-hun arrogance. But now, standing in his empty apartment, it wasn’t funny.

Because Gi-hun had waited. Not for long, but he had.

And Inho had pushed him away anyway.

Tsk. Why the hell was he still thinking about this?

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with water, forcing himself to focus on anything else.

The projects he had to review on Monday, the quarterly earnings report he had finalized this afternoon, the investments the company was considering—anything but the way Gi-hun’s face had looked right before he walked out of the bar.

He had seen that expression before.

Not from Gi-hun, but from others.

People who had gotten too close. People who had realized too late that Inho wasn’t something they could hold onto.

He had seen it before. He just hadn’t expected to care.

But after standing there for too long, gripping the glass, he placed it down and walked away.

He wasn’t tired.

But he went to bed anyway.

He woke up late.

Not because he had slept well—he hadn’t—but because he had nothing to wake up for.

His morning routine was the same. Coffee. News. Emails. The usual motions.

But everything felt off. Like he was watching himself from the outside, going through the steps with no real engagement.

By noon, he had checked his phone more times than he cared to admit.

Nothing.

Of course not.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did.

He thought about texting first. A simple message. Something casual. But every time he picked up his phone, he hesitated.

What was he even supposed to say?

"Forget last night?"
"Are we okay?"

No. It was too late for that.

So instead, he kept his hands busy. He worked. Went for a run. Did anything he could to stop thinking about it.

It didn’t help.

The weekend dragged.

He told himself it was fine. That this was normal. That things would settle, and this would pass, just like everything else.

But the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Not when he woke up.

Not when he went about his day.

Not when he sat in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, feeling the hours stretch endlessly ahead of him.

And by the time Sunday night rolled around, he found himself dreading Monday.

Not because of work.

But because of what came with it.

The office had always been a machine. Moving parts. People coming and going. A steady hum of conversation, the tapping of keyboards, the occasional shrill ring of a phone. It was the kind of noise that had long since faded into the background for Inho, something he could tune out without effort.

But today, it felt sharper.

More intrusive.

Like it was pressing in on him from all sides, filling the spaces where silence should have been.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he stepped out of the elevator and into the main floor of the finance department. He was early—something he made a habit of—but today, it wasn’t about discipline.

It was about control.

Control over his breathing, over his posture, over the way his fingers curled slightly against the strap of his briefcase.

Because the moment he walked in, he knew.

Knew that Gi-hun was already here.

It wasn’t hard to tell.

Even before his gaze flicked toward the conference room—before he caught the familiar sight of dark hair, broad shoulders, that too-easy posture that somehow made even business attire look casual—he could feel it.

A shift in the air.

Not tension, exactly.

Just—Absence.

The kind that had weight, that pressed down on him even though Gi-hun was standing no more than ten feet away.

They hadn’t spoken since Friday.

Hadn’t texted.

Hadn’t acknowledged each other.

And if Gi-hun had any thoughts about that, he wasn’t showing it.

Through the glass of the conference room, Inho could see him talking to a junior associate. Professional. Engaged. The picture of someone who had moved on, whose focus was exactly where it was supposed to be.

And maybe it should have been reassuring.

Instead, it felt like a punch to the ribs.

Because Gi-hun wasn’t looking at him.

Not even once.

Inho swallowed, forcing his feet to move, walking past the room without a glance.

If Gi-hun wanted distance, he would give it to him.

After all, he had been the one to create it.

Meetings came and went. Discussions about projections, about quarterly reports, about everything except the only thing he could actually focus on.

Gi-hun wasn’t in the morning strategy briefing.

That wasn’t unusual—his division handled separate things, and their work didn’t always overlap—but Inho still noticed.

And he hated that he noticed.

Hated it more when he checked his inbox and saw nothing.

No emails. No messages. Not that he had been expecting any.

But still.

By the time lunch rolled around, the weight in his chest had settled into something thick and uncomfortable, a slow-building ache he couldn’t quite shake.

It wasn’t guilt.

It wasn’t regret.

Not exactly.

It was something else. Something worse.

Then it finally happened. They finally crossed paths in the hallway.

It wasn’t dramatic.

No lingering stares. No hesitation. Just a moment in passing.

But it still hit like a truck.

Because as much as he had spent the day trying to prepare for it, trying to steel himself for the inevitability of sharing a space again—

He wasn’t ready.

Gi-hun reached him first.

And when their eyes met, it was like a chisel to the ribs.

Not because Gi-hun looked angry.

Not because he looked hurt.

But because he looked indifferent.

“CFO Hwang.”

Flat. Professional. Nothing more.

Inho felt something in his chest tighten.

But his expression didn’t change.

He had spent years perfecting that kind of control, the ability to keep himself locked behind a wall when necessary.

So he nodded, keeping his voice just as steady.

“Morning.”

Gi-hun dipped his head in a polite nod, then stepped past him.

Just like that. Like they were nothing more than colleagues. Like Friday night hadn’t happened. Like they never slept together.

Like they were strangers.

Inho stood there for half a second too long, pulse hammering against his ribs, chest extremely tight before he forced himself to move.

He was supposed to go home.

The day had been long, filled with back-to-back meetings, paperwork, the usual demands of his position. His body was exhausted, his mind worn thin, and yet—

He hesitated.

Sat at his desk long after the office had started to empty out, fingers resting lightly against the trackpad of his laptop, his gaze unfocused.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

But when his phone buzzed, his stomach twisted.

For half a second, he let himself believe—

But no.

It wasn’t Gi-hun.

Just a reminder about an upcoming executive briefing.

He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

This was pathetic.

He needed to get it together.

With a sharp breath, he shut his laptop, gathered his things, and stood.

The halls were quiet as he made his way toward the elevators, the usual after-hours hush settling over the floor.

And that was when he heard it.

A voice.

Low. Familiar.

Instinct had him slowing his steps, glancing toward one of the smaller meeting rooms down the hall.

Gi-hun was there.

Standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, face half-lit by the glow of the city outside.

He wasn’t smiling.

He wasn’t frowning either.

Just listening. Expression unreadable.

And for the first time all day, Inho let himself look.

Really look.

Because this was different from earlier.

The professional mask Gi-hun had been wearing—the one that had made it so easy for Inho to believe this was fine, that everything was fine—was cracked.

His posture was looser, his shoulders just a little heavier. And the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, the way his fingers tightened around his phone, the way he blinked a little too slow—

He was tired.

And Inho hated that he noticed.

Hated that, despite everything, despite the clean break he had tried to make, despite the way he had spent the last three days telling himself this was the right call—

He still felt it. That mistake.

The one that had settled in his chest and refused to leave.

The one that was only getting harder to ignore.

But what was he supposed to do now?

What was left to say?

Nothing.

So he forced himself to look away, to step into the elevator, to let the doors close between them.

Chapter Text

The first time Inho ignored him, Gi-hun had laughed.

It had been in the elevator—Monday morning, bright and early. Too early, honestly. His head still ached faintly from the weekend, and his body was sluggish, but when the doors slid open and Inho stepped in, some of that exhaustion melted away.

Because there he was. Crisp suit, hair neatly in place, posture perfectly composed as always. Looking every bit the cold, untouchable CFO that people whispered about in the office.

And yet—Gi-hun had seen him undone. Had felt the heat of his breath against his throat, had memorized the weight of him pressing into the mattress, had heard the way his name sounded dragged out between gasps.

The memory made something curl pleasantly in his stomach.

So he smiled. Stepped aside. Made room. “Morning, CFO-nim.”

Inho didn’t look at him.

Didn’t even flick his gaze over.

Just stared at his phone, expression unreadable, posture unbothered.

Gi-hun tilted his head, amusement bubbling in his chest. Oh? So that was how this was going to go? He had expected something—maybe a smirk, maybe a dry remark, maybe even an exasperated sigh if Inho was feeling particularly impatient.

But not this. Not nothing.

Still, it was fine. He could play along. Could let Inho have his little moment of indifference.

So he had shrugged, leaned against the elevator wall, and muttered, “You know, normally when people say they’ll do something, they follow through.”

Inho had barely lifted his eyes. “Normally.”

That was it.

No reaction.
No teasing.
No nothing.

And that was when Gi-hun felt it for the first time—that small, nagging feeling in the back of his mind. A flicker of unease buried beneath the surface.

Because this wasn’t just cold. This was distance.

But it was fine.

Inho was just being Inho. Stubborn. Controlled. Probably still wrapped up in whatever work had kept him busy all morning.

So Gi-hun shook it off. Didn’t let it bother him. Not yet.

By Wednesday, it wasn’t funny anymore.

The cafeteria had been a mistake.

Gi-hun wasn’t even hungry—just needed coffee, something to keep him awake through the afternoon slump—but the moment he spotted Inho, something in him perked up.

It had been automatic. Instinct. That same pull he had been feeling all week.

He wasn’t an idiot. He had noticed Inho avoiding him.

Had noticed how the man always seemed to be just out of reach—leaving meetings right before Gi-hun arrived, walking past his desk without even a glance, moving through the halls like Gi-hun wasn’t even there.

At first, he had found it amusing. Then frustrating.

Now?

Now it was starting to ache.

Still, when Inho had turned toward the cafeteria entrance, Gi-hun had smiled. Not smug, not cocky—just easy, warm, something unspoken behind it.

And for the briefest second, he thought—hoped—that Inho might stop.

Might roll his eyes. Might shake his head. Might do anything other than what he actually did.

Which was turn around and leave.

No hesitation. Just gone.

Gi-hun’s chest had gone tight in a way he wasn’t ready to deal with.

He hadn't even gotten his coffee, just left.

By Friday, he was exhausted.

Not from work. Not from stress. But from this.

From waiting. From wondering. From pretending like it didn’t matter when it was starting to eat at him.

He could deal with a lot of things—had spent years perfecting the art of brushing things off, of laughing in the face of rejection, of keeping people at arm’s length before they could do the same to him.

But this was different.

Because this wasn’t some fleeting crush, some passing interest.

This was Inho.

And for the first time in years, Gi-hun had let himself want someone.

Had let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t one-sided.

That maybe Inho had wanted him just as much.

That maybe that night hadn’t been just another transaction, just another passing moment for Inho to discard when it was over.

But by the time Friday night rolled around, Gi-hun wasn’t so sure anymore.

And then came the bar. The fucking bar.

It had been a stupid decision to go. He should have just gone home. Should have let it go. Should have ignored the small, pathetic hope that maybe, just maybe, he would find the answer he was looking for.

But then Inho had been there. Sitting at the far end of the bar, whiskey in hand, looking sharp and put together and completely unreadable.

And Gi-hun had done what he always did.

He smiled. Sat beside him. Made a joke. Waited for something. Anything.

And for a while, it had almost felt normal again. Almost felt like they were back to whatever undefined thing they had been before.

Until he asked.

Until he had pushed.

Until he finally said the words that had been burning a hole in the back of his throat all week.

"Are you avoiding me because you regret it?"

It had been meant as a joke. Mostly.

A little prod, a little nudge—something to get a reaction, something to pull them back to where they were supposed to be.

But then Inho had looked at him, and Gi-hun had felt the shift before he even heard the words.

"Yeah."

It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.

But fuck, it did.

Because he had expected a lot of things. He had expected denial. A scoff. A roll of the eyes. Some half-hearted attempt to brush it off, to avoid the topic entirely.

But not this. Not this direct, clean-cut rejection.

Not this confirmation that, yes, Inho really did regret it.

That maybe—maybe—Gi-hun had been the only one who had wanted this at all.

For the first time in a long time, he had nothing to say.

The smirk slipped from his face.

His fingers curled against his glass, grip tightening.

So that’s what it was.

Not hesitation. Not fear. Not some bullshit excuse Inho had convinced himself of to keep his walls intact.

Regret.

Gi-hun had misread everything.

Every sidelong glance in the office, every almost-encounter in the hallway, every damn time he had thought Inho was just avoiding him for some reason other than this.

He had thought—No.

It didn’t matter. Not anymore.

He let out a slow breath, willing his pulse to steady, willing the sting behind his ribs to dull into something manageable.

"Got it," he murmured, keeping his voice light. Indifferent.

He turned away before he could see Inho's reaction, before he could catch something in his eyes that might make him second-guess himself. If there was even anything to see.

This was what Inho wanted, right? Distance. A clean break.

Gi-hun had always been good at making people feel comfortable, at easing tension, at turning even the worst situations into something palatable. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have the energy to pretend.

He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t bitter.
He was just—Tired.

So he pushed back his stool, pulled out his wallet, and left a few bills on the counter.

"Enjoy the rest of your night, CFO-nim."

He knew the moment the words left his lips that they landed exactly the way he wanted them to. Cold. Impersonal. Like Inho was just another executive he passed in the hallway, another face in a boardroom.

Nothing more.

That should have been satisfying.

It wasn’t.

Gi-hun turned, taking slow, measured steps toward the door. He didn’t hurry. He didn’t falter.

But just as his fingers brushed the door handle, it happened.

"Gi-hun."

His name. Soft. Uncertain.

A flicker of warmth bloomed in his chest before he could stop it—before he could remind himself that this was already over.

He stopped.

Waited.

Maybe Inho would take it back. Maybe he’d say something, anything to fill the silence between them.

Maybe— but nothing came.

Just silence.

And that was worse than anything Inho could have said.

Gi-hun exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the handle for half a second before he forced himself to let go.

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t ask what Inho wanted to say. Didn’t push.

Because for all his teasing, for all his easy smiles and laid-back confidence, he knew when he wasn’t wanted.

He had spent the entire week waiting.

Waiting for Inho to look at him.

Waiting for Inho to acknowledge him.

Waiting for some damn sign that he hadn’t been completely wrong about whatever this was.

And maybe, in some fucked-up way, he had still been waiting even now.

But there was nothing left to wait for.

So he walked out.

And for the first time since meeting Hwang Inho—He didn’t look back, which was harder than he'd like to admit.

The moment he stepped out of the bar, the cold hit him like a slap. Sharp. Sober. Unforgiving. He took a slow breath, hands curling into fists inside his coat pockets. He told himself he was fine.

This wasn’t the first time someone had walked away. It wasn’t the first time someone had looked at him and decided he wasn’t worth it.

But somehow, this one hurt.

Not because he had fallen for Inho—no, that would be stupid. Dangerous.

But because for a second, just a second, he had let himself believe that maybe… maybe this was different.

That maybe Inho had been avoiding him for some complicated, tangled-up reason. That maybe he had been overthinking it, misreading the situation, letting his own insecurities get the best of him.

That maybe when Inho finally opened his mouth, he’d say something that wasn’t that.

That he didn’t regret it. That he didn’t want to push Gi-hun away.

But instead—‘Yeah.’

One word. Flat. Final.

Like it had all been a mistake. Like he was a mistake.

His throat burned. Maybe from the alcohol. Maybe from something else. He exhaled sharply, blinking up at the night sky, forcing down the tightness in his chest.

He wasn’t going to let this ruin him.

Not here. Not now.

So he did what he always did. He smiled. Pulled out his phone. Walked down the street like he had somewhere to be. Like he wasn’t completely gutted.

When he got home, the numbness had settled in, it was easier that way.

By Monday Morning the office was nothing but routine.

Numbers. Reports. Meetings. The same conversations, the same faces, the same forced, easy-going smile that no one questioned.

If anyone noticed anything was off, no one said a word.

Good.

Because if he let even one crack show, he wasn’t sure he could stop the rest from splitting open.

And then, just when he thought he had himself under control, he saw him.

He happened to look up and spot Hwang Inho.

He didn’t look.

Not really.

Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t let his gaze linger for even a second too long.

It wasn’t easy—not when his entire body felt hyper-aware of the man’s presence the moment he stepped onto the floor—but Gi-hun had always been good at pretending.

So he did what he did best.

He smiled. He cracked jokes with his team. He acted like everything was fine. Even when it wasn’t.

And when he finally had to look at Inho—when their paths crossed in the hallway, when there was no way around it—he forced himself to keep his expression light. Unbothered.

“CFO Hwang,” he greeted smoothly, voice perfectly even.

Nothing in his tone wavered.

And when Inho responded—”Morning”, just as flat, just as professional—Gi-hun nodded and kept walking.

It was supposed to feel like a win.

Like proof that he could handle this.

But the moment he turned the corner, his chest felt tight.

Not because of what Inho had said. But because of what he hadn’t.

He hadn’t smirked. Hadn’t made some snide remark. Hadn’t been Inho.

Because this? This wasn’t just distance. This was erasure and that was what made it worse.

By the end of the day, the exhaustion had set in.

Keeping up the act was tiring.

He hadn’t slept much over the weekend—not really. He had gone through the motions, had even forced himself out for drinks on Saturday night just to do something, anything to get his mind off it.

But it hadn’t worked.

And now, as he sat in the conference room, listening to a junior analyst walk through a report he barely cared about, his mind felt like it was miles away.

When the meeting ended, he lingered for a second longer than he meant to, rubbing his temples as he exhaled slowly.

Then, his phone buzzed.

Sangwoo.

He stood up making his way over to one of the tall floor to ceiling windows staring out into the buzzing city below and answered his phone.

“Hey,” Gi-hun muttered as he leaned against the window, watching the city lights flicker outside.

“You sound like shit.”

Gi-hun let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Nice to hear from you too, man.”

A pause.

Then—softer this time—Sangwoo sighed.

“What happened?”

Gi-hun’s grip tightened around his phone.

He hadn’t planned on telling Sangwoo anything. Hadn’t planned on admitting how bad this week had been.

But the thing about Sangwoo was that he didn’t ask unless he already knew.

And right now, Gi-hun was too damn tired to pretend otherwise. “…It’s nothing,” he muttered. “Just… had a rough week.”

A beat. Then, “Inho.”

It wasn’t a question.

Gi-hun let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re really good at this, you know that?”

“I’ve known you our whole lives, dumbass. Of course I know.”

There was no mockery in Sangwoo’s tone.

Just understanding.

Just the kind of steady, grounding presence that Gi-hun hadn’t realized he needed until now.

He swallowed. Then—before he could stop himself—he admitted, “He told me it was a regret.”

Sangwoo went silent.

For a second, Gi-hun almost regretted saying it.

Then, Sangwoo sighed.

Not in pity. Not in surprise. Just frustration.

“That asshole.”

Gi-hun let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah...”

“What do you need?”

The question caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Gi-hun I’m asking you, what do you need?” Sangwoo asked again, lighter this time.

Gi-hun blinked. Because he hadn’t really thought about it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly.

Sangwoo hummed on the other end.

Then—after a pause—his voice softened.

“You want me to come over tonight?”

For a second, Gi-hun almost said no. Almost told him he was fine. Almost put the mask back on.

But then, his chest ached, and for once, just once, he let himself be honest.

“Yes please.”

“Alright,” Sangwoo said simply. “I’ll meet you at your place soon.”

And just like that, the call ended.

Gi-hun exhaled slowly, lowering his phone as he stared at the city lights stretching endlessly in front of him.

His mind was still too full. His heart still ached in ways he didn’t want to think about.

But for the first time since Friday, he didn’t feel alone.

He turned away from the window, running a hand through his hair before stepping toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle, movement at the far end of the hall caught his eye.

Inho.

He watched—watched as Inho shifted his weight, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward his phone for just a moment before the elevator doors slid open.

For a second—just a second—Gi-hun thought maybe, just maybe, he’d look up.

That their eyes would meet. That there would be something.

But Inho didn’t look. Didn’t hesitate. He just stepped inside.

And then—he was gone.

Gi-hun let out a sharp breath, pressing his palm against the cool glass of the window beside him.

Why the fuck did it feel like he was the only one hurting?

—----------------------------------------------------------

Sangwoo showed up at his place with a six-pack of soju and a bag of takeout.

“You looked like you needed carbs,” was all he said as he stepped inside, kicking off his shoes.

Gi-hun huffed, rubbing the back of his neck as he followed him into the kitchen. “I look that bad, huh?”

Sangwoo shot him a look. “Like you got hit by a truck.”

Gi-hun scoffed, flopping onto the couch. “Great. Thanks.”

Sangwoo just set the food down, cracking open a bottle of soju before handing another to Gi-hun.

Then—quiet, not uncomfortable, not expectant.

Just…Sangwoo, being Sangwoo.

There wasn’t pressure to talk. No bullshit questions about how he was really feeling. Just the quiet sound of food containers opening, the soft clink of bottles, the weight of someone who had always been there.

It was enough to make Gi-hun’s throat feel tight.

“Hey.”

Gi-hun blinked, looking up.

Sangwoo’s gaze was steady.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said, voice quieter now, measured. “But if you’re gonna talk, don’t bullshit me.”

Gi-hun exhaled through his nose. That was the thing about Sangwoo. He never demanded things, never pushed for more than Gi-hun was willing to give.

But he also never let him hide. So—fine. He took a sip of soju, rolling the bottle between his palms before muttering, “Inho.”

Sangwoo’s jaw tensed. “Well, yes.”

Gi-hun huffed a dry laugh.

A pause. Then, softer—“What did he do?”

Gi-hun closed his eyes, leaning his head against the couch.

“It’s not what he did.”

Because that was the worst part, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that Inho had hurt him.

It was that Inho had let him believe—let him hope, for just a second, that maybe this thing between them had meant something.

And then—he had taken it back. “He said it was a regret...sleeping with me.”

Silence.

Gi-hun forced a chuckle. “Not in those exact words, but it’s what he meant.”

Another pause.

Then—a sharp, bitter scoff. “That fucking prick.”

Gi-hun’s eyes flickered open, and when he looked over, Sangwoo’s hands were clenched.

Tense. Like he wanted to hit something.

The corner of Gi-hun’s mouth lifted, just barely. “Damn. That mad on my behalf?”

Sangwoo’s gaze snapped to him.

And for a split second—just a second—there was something different there.

Something raw.

Something that made Gi-hun’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Then, just as quickly, Sangwoo looked away, rolling his shoulders.

“Someone has to be,” he muttered, taking a long drink of his soju.

Gi-hun let out a soft, tired laugh, shaking his head.

Sangwoo had always been like this. Quiet, steady, too fucking good at reading between the lines. For years, he had been the one constant Gi-hun had never questioned.

And yet, as he watched him now—watched the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers drummed against the beer can, the way he wouldn’t quite look at him—Something felt off.

Like there was something unspoken. Like Sangwoo was keeping something down, something he wasn’t saying.

And fuck, why had he never noticed it before?

Gi-hun’s chest tightened. Not in the way it had with Inho—not sharp, not cutting.

Just… heavy. A different kind of ache.

So he did what he always did.

Ignored it, pushed it down, and let the moment pass.

Because tonight—tonight—he didn’t have the energy to untangle it.

Instead, he sighed, tilting his head back.

“So,” Gi-hun muttered, voice lighter now, teasing, “you gonna stay over, or did you just drop by to make sure I don’t drink alone?”

Sangwoo huffed, shaking his head. “I didn’t bring that soju for you to mope over it.”

But then—quieter, “…Yeah. I’ll stay.”

Gi-hun didn’t say anything to that. Didn’t acknowledge the way his shoulders eased, the way the apartment felt a little less hollow. Instead, he just reached for the bottle, pouring them both another drink.

Because tonight—just for tonight—having someone there was enough.

And if Sangwoo’s gaze lingered on him a little too long when he wasn’t looking?

Well. Gi-hun didn’t notice. Or maybe—maybe he just chose not to.

The soju burned a little less the more he drank. Or maybe he was just getting used to it. Gi-hun let the silence settle, comfortable in the quiet weight of Sangwoo’s presence.

The TV was still playing some late-night program neither of them were watching, the sound low, blending into the hum of the city outside. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He should be in bed. He had work in the morning.

But the thought of being alone in his room, staring at the ceiling, letting his thoughts spiral—no, that wasn’t happening. At least out here, with Sangwoo, there was a buffer.

Across from him, Sangwoo stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other loosely curled around his glass.

He looked comfortable, as if staying over was nothing new, as if he had done this a hundred times before which he had.

“You still look like shit,” Sangwoo muttered, watching him over the rim of his glass.

Gi-hun snorted, shaking his head. “Thanks.”

Sangwoo just shrugged. “Not my fault you spent the whole day running on fumes.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “Like you don’t do the same.”

“Yeah, but I don’t let it show.”

Gi-hun huffed, not arguing. Instead, he took another sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest. But it didn’t burn away the weight that had been sitting there for days, heavy, unshakable.

Inho. Fucking Inho.

His name kept circling in his mind like a bad habit, something Gi-hun couldn’t shake no matter how much he pretended otherwise.

The avoidance, the distance, the way Inho had looked right at him in the hallway and treated him like nothing—like their night together hadn’t even mattered…And then the bar.

Gi-hun clenched his jaw. He had been willing to let it slide. The silence, the dodging, all of it—he had convinced himself Inho just needed time. That he was dealing with whatever his own issues were, that this wasn’t about regret.

And then Inho had opened his mouth.

‘Yeah.’

One word. One fucking word.

Regret. That’s what it had been. That’s what Inho wanted him to believe.

Gi-hun exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head.

“Okay,” Sangwoo said suddenly, sitting up. “That’s the fifth time you’ve made that face in the past ten minutes. Spill.”

Gi-hun arched a brow. “What face?”

“The one that says you’re thinking about something stupid but don’t wanna admit it.”

Gi-hun huffed, leaning back against the couch. “I’m not thinking about anything.”

Sangwoo gave him a look. Flat. Unamused.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing.”

Sangwoo didn’t answer right away. He just studied him, eyes sharp, searching. Then, as if reading his mind, he exhaled. “You’re still thinking about Inho?”

Gi-hun didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. The silence was answer enough.

Sangwoo clicked his tongue. “I knew it.”

Gi-hun scoffed, forcing a smirk. “What, you jealous?”

The joke landed flat.

Sangwoo’s expression didn’t change. Just the same steady gaze, the same unreadable look that had always made Gi-hun feel like he was missing something.

It was gone in an instant, a scoff leaving his lips as he leaned back, rolling his eyes. “Please. I’m just saying, I don’t know why you’re wasting energy on a guy who clearly doesn’t give a shit.”

Gi-hun tensed. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. And yet—hadn’t Inho already made his choice? Hadn’t he already made it perfectly fucking clear?

‘Yeah.’

Gi-hun swallowed around the tightness in his throat, forcing his shoulders to relax. He wasn’t doing this. Not tonight.

So instead, he just shook his head, forcing a chuckle. “You sound like my mom.”

Sangwoo snorted. “Then maybe you should listen.”

Gi-hun huffed, shaking his head. “Fuck off.”

But the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Sangwoo watched him for a beat longer before sighing and reaching for the bottle.

“Here.” Sangwoo poured them both another drink, pushing the glass toward him. “Drink. You’ll sleep better.”

Gi-hun eyed him, then the glass, then back again. He could still hear Inho’s voice in his head, the way it had sounded so damn final.

‘Yeah.’

Maybe he did need another drink. So he took it. And if Sangwoo’s fingers lingered just a second too long when he passed it to him—Gi-hun didn’t notice.

Gi-hun let his head fall back against the couch, exhaling slowly. His body felt heavy, his mind even heavier. He should have stopped drinking an hour ago. Should have gone to bed, should have done something—anything—other than sit here stewing over things he couldn’t change.

But at least he wasn’t alone.

Sangwoo stretched out beside him, posture loose but his gaze still sharp, watching Gi-hun like he was waiting for something.

A sigh, a confession—anything that would let him inside whatever storm was brewing in Gi-hun’s head.

But Gi-hun wasn’t in the mood for talking.

“Do you feel any better?” Sangwoo asked eventually, voice quieter now.

Gi-hun hummed, noncommittal. “I just feel tired.”

Sangwoo’s eyes flickered over him, unconvinced, but he didn’t press.

“Then go to bed,” he muttered, stretching his arms over his head. “You’re gonna be a nightmare at work if you show up like a sleep-deprived zombie.”

Gi-hun huffed out a dry chuckle. “Are you saying I’m not already?”

Sangwoo smirked, shaking his head. “No comment.”

There was a beat of silence before Gi-hun finally pushed himself up from the couch, swaying just a little before steadying himself.

“Are you sure you're good?” Sangwoo asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah, yeah.” Gi-hun waved him off, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just need sleep.”

Sangwoo hummed, watching him for a moment before nodding toward the couch. “I’ll crash here.”

Gi-hun nodded, already half out of the conversation, already halfway to his room. His body was screaming for rest, his mind desperate for something to shut it off.

He paused at the doorway, glancing back.

Sangwoo was still watching him, but there was something softer in his expression now—something Gi-hun couldn’t quite place.

It made his chest tighten, just a little.

“…Night,” Gi-hun muttered.

Sangwoo didn’t look away. “Night,” he echoed.

Gi-hun lingered for a second longer before finally turning away, stepping into his room and shutting the door behind him.

The quiet hit immediately.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, listening to the faint sounds of the city outside. The bed felt too far away. His thoughts felt too loud.

With a tired sigh, he dragged himself toward his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. His fingers brushed past neatly folded shirts, lingering for just a second too long before closing around something softer—thicker.

Gray sweatpants.

Not his.

He didn’t know why he had kept them. He had told himself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just a comfortable pair of pants, nothing more. But as he slipped them on, the fabric settling against his skin, the truth sat heavy in his chest.

He should have left them behind that morning. Should have folded them neatly on Inho’s bed and walked away without looking back. But he hadn’t. He had stuffed them into his bag without thinking, without questioning.

And now, here he was. Wearing them like they belonged to him.

Pathetic.

He let out a slow breath and crawled under the covers, sinking into the mattress as exhaustion pulled at him.

The alcohol helped—dulling the edges of everything, numbing his thoughts, his regrets, the weight of Inho’s voice still lingering in his head.

Yeah. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe, when he woke up, it wouldn’t feel like something had been carved out of him.

Maybe.

But as he drifted off, the last thing he saw behind his eyelids wasn’t the city, or the ceiling, or even Sangwoo’s unreadable expression.

It was Inho. Always Inho.

Chapter Text

The silence in his apartment was unbearable.

Hwang Inho had never been the kind of person who needed noise. He had built his life around control, precision, and efficiency. He kept people at arm’s length because that was easier. Silence was a tool—an absence of chaos, a way to keep the world exactly as he wanted it.

But today, it felt different.

The quiet in his apartment wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t controlled.

It was hollow.

It settled into his bones, stretched out in every corner of the room, filling the empty spaces where something—or someone—should have been.

He hadn’t slept well.

His body had felt too restless, too alert, too fucking aware of the fact that for the first time in longer than he wanted to admit, he had gone to bed without someone else’s presence lingering in his mind.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But he was lying.

Because Seong Gi-hun was still there.

Not in his bed. Not in his space. But in his fucking head.

It didn’t matter how many times he told himself otherwise. It was a mistake. He had done what needed to be done. He had drawn the line, cut it off before it could turn into something messy, something dangerous, something he couldn’t control.

So why did it feel like his ribs were caving in?

His phone was facedown on his nightstand. Untouched. He hadn’t checked it since last night.

Because if he did—if he let himself check—he knew he would be looking for something.

A call. A message. A sign.

But there was nothing.

Gi-hun wasn’t reaching out.

And Inho was too much of a coward to ask himself why that fucking hurt.

He exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, forcing himself to breathe through the weight pressing against his chest.

This was what he wanted. This was the right decision. So why did it feel like he had made a mistake?

A slow exhale. He pushed himself out of bed, shaking off the thought, telling himself it didn’t matter. That this was better.

Distance was better.

He made his way to the bathroom, turning the shower on hotter than necessary, standing under the scalding water long after it had stopped feeling like punishment. It wasn’t enough to clear his head.

Nothing was.

He left his apartment by late morning, stepping into the cool city air with no real destination in mind.

He wasn’t running, but he couldn’t stay inside. Not when every second in that empty space felt like it was pulling him under.

The streets were alive, the lazy hum of a Saturday in full swing. Families weaving between market stalls, groups of friends spilling out of brunch cafés, laughter bubbling from restaurant patios.

Life was moving forward.

And Inho should have been doing the same.

Except—he wasn’t.

He was stuck. Trapped in the slow, suffocating weight of his own choices, each step through the city feeling too calculated, too aware, too goddamn present when all he wanted was to shut off.

He didn’t know why he was even out here.

He wasn’t running, but his apartment had felt small, suffocating. He needed movement, something to do, something to focus on besides the fucking echo of his own thoughts.

He wasn’t thinking about Gi-hun.

He wasn’t.

But then, as if the universe existed just to mock him, he saw him.

Across the street.

And he wasn’t alone.

Inho stopped dead in his tracks, breath catching before he could control it.

There was Gi-hun—laughing.

With Sangwoo.

They were sitting at a street-side café, looking like they had all the time in the world.

Sangwoo was saying something, gesturing lazily with a smirk, and Gi-hun—fucking Gi-hun—tilted his head back and laughed, full-bodied, easy. The kind of laugh that curled at the edges, that stretched slow and warm like it actually meant something.

Something in Inho’s stomach twisted, sharp and unrelenting.

He shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t fucking care.

But his fingers clenched at his sides, nails pressing half-moons into his palms, his jaw locking so tight it ached.

Gi-hun had spent all week lingering. Had shown up in his space over and over again, pushing, waiting. Had looked at him like he was waiting for an answer.

And Inho had given him one.

Regret.

He had made his choice. He had drawn the line.

So why did it feel like he was the one being left behind?

His stomach churned, sharp and ugly.

Sangwoo leaned forward slightly, muttering something under his breath, and Gi-hun grinned.

A real grin. Warm. Unbothered. Like nothing had ever happened.

Like Inho hadn’t meant anything at all.

He turned on his heel before he could think. Before he could feel. Before his fucking chest caved in.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t stop until the image of them had burned itself into the back of his eyelids.

By the time Inho sat down at the bar, the day had blurred into something distant, something unreal.

His drink sat in front of him, untouched.

Because no matter how much he tried to shove it down, no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter, that fucking moment wouldn’t leave him.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around his glass before lifting it to his lips. The whiskey burned, but it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough to drown out the gnawing sensation curling beneath his ribs.

It wasn’t enough to erase the image of Gi-hun’s easy smile, the way he had leaned in like Sangwoo was the only person in the world.

Like Inho had never been there at all.

He downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender for another.

Because if he was going to drown in this feeling, he might as well fucking drown properly.

The second drink didn’t help. Neither did the third.

By the time Hwang Inho had his fourth whiskey, the bar lights had blurred into a warm haze, and the edges of his mind had begun to loosen.

It was better this way. Easier.

Because the moment he stopped drinking, the thoughts would creep back in.

Gi-hun. Laughing. Sangwoo. Sitting too close. The way they looked at each other—like nothing had changed.

He scoffed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught against it.

Good for him.

If Gi-hun wanted to move on, fine. If he wanted to throw himself at Sangwoo of all people, then that was his own fucking business.

It had nothing to do with Inho.

Nothing at all.

And yet—His fingers twitched toward his phone.

The screen glowed back at him, the familiar weight of an unsent message lingering at his fingertips.

He shouldn’t.

He wasn’t the type to do this. Wasn’t the type to spiral over a decision he had already made.

And yet—His thumb hovered over Gi-hun’s name.

Just one text.

One moment of weakness.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing Send before he could think twice.

[11:48 PM] Inho: So how long has this been a thing?
[11:49 PM] Inho: You and Sangwoo.
[11:49 PM] Inho: Didn’t take you long to move on.

The moment the messages sent, he regretted it.

Not because he didn’t mean it.

But because he did.

And worse—he wanted an answer.

His phone stayed silent. No response. No three dots flashing at the bottom of the screen.

He clenched his jaw, tossing his phone onto the counter with a little too much force before signaling for another drink.

But before the bartender could pour, a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Christ. You’re a mess.”

Inho turned his head slowly, blinking through the alcohol-heavy fog.

Dae-ho.

The younger man stood beside him, arms crossed, brows raised in half-exasperation, half-amusement.

“How the hell did you even find me?” Inho muttered, resting his forehead against his hand.

Dae-ho snorted. “You’re predictable when you’re miserable.”

Inho exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I’m not miserable.”

Dae-ho hummed. “Right. That’s why you’re drinking alone, staring at your phone like it personally offended you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Uh-huh.” Dae-ho plucked the whiskey glass from Inho’s fingers before he could take another sip. “I think you’re done for the night.”

Inho scowled. “Give that back.”

“Yeah, no. I like my job, but not enough to watch you ruin your life in real-time.”

Inho let out a slow, irritated breath, leaning back against his barstool. His body felt too heavy, too sluggish, the alcohol weighing him down like an anchor.

He was tired.

Tired of thinking. Tired of feeling. Tired of knowing that tonight, somewhere across the city, Gi-hun wasn’t thinking about him at all.

Dae-ho watched him carefully before exhaling, running a hand through his hair.

“Come on, boss. Let’s get you home.”

Inho should have fought him on it. Should have rolled his eyes, ordered another drink, pretended he was perfectly fine.

But he didn’t.

Because the truth was—

He wasn’t.

So he let Dae-ho grab his coat, let him pull him toward the exit, let him guide him into the cold air like he wasn’t completely unraveling.

The streets were quieter now, the late-night lull settling over the city in a way that made everything feel too still, too sharp.

Dae-ho hailed a cab, opening the door before looking back at him.

“You good?”

Inho swallowed, ignoring the way his chest felt too tight, too full, too fucking heavy.

“…Yeah.”

Dae-ho gave him a look, unconvinced, but didn’t push.

“Come on.”

And with that, Inho let himself be taken home.

Because really—What else was there to do?

The apartment was silent when Dae-ho finally got him inside.

Not the peaceful kind. Not the comforting kind.

Just empty.

Inho dropped onto the couch with a groan, dragging a hand down his face as Dae-ho watched him with mild exasperation.

"You’re a fucking wreck," Dae-ho muttered, setting Inho’s phone down on the coffee table. "Go to bed."

Inho grunted in response. He wasn’t going to bed. He was going to sit here, drink more water than necessary, and then—what? Stare at the ceiling until morning?

The thought made his stomach twist.

Dae-ho sighed. "I’ll crash on the couch in case you decide to be a dumbass."

Inho barely processed the words. He just waved him off, leaning back against the cushions and letting exhaustion pull at his limbs.

He didn’t check his phone. Didn’t think about it.

And because of that, he didn’t see the message waiting for him.

[11:59 AM] Gi-hun: Inho?
[12:02 AM] Gi-hun: What the hell are you talking about? Me and Sangwoo?
[12:03 AM] Gi-hun: Are you drunk?
[12:03 AM] Gi-hun: Are you okay?

But the screen stayed dark.

And Inho stayed asleep.

Missing it completely.

The first thing Inho registered when he woke up was the pounding behind his eyes.

The second was the dryness in his mouth, thick and suffocating, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of cotton.

Fuck.

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face before cracking his eyes open. The dim morning light filtering through the apartment was enough to make him wince. His body felt like dead weight, his limbs sluggish, his stomach threatening rebellion at the slightest movement.

A hangover. A bad one.

He barely remembered getting home.

His last clear memory was the bar—the warmth of whiskey in his veins, the suffocating weight in his chest, the way every sip had done nothing to quiet the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.

After that? A blur.

A voice. Dae-ho’s. Maybe?

Yeah. Dae-ho had been there.

Another groan left him as he forced himself upright, joints protesting with every motion. The apartment was too quiet, too still, the air stale from a night of drowning in his own self-loathing.

He needed coffee.

With a sharp inhale, he pushed himself off the couch, steadying himself on shaky legs as he shuffled toward the kitchen.

And that was when he saw it.

His phone.

Face-down on the coffee table.

For some reason, the sight of it sent a slow, uneasy twist through his stomach.

Something felt off.

He reached down, grabbed the device, and flipped it over.

Then, the full weight of his mistake hit him all at once.

[11:48 PM] Inho: So how long has this been a thing?
[11:49 PM] Inho: You and Sangwoo.
[11:49 PM] Inho: Didn’t take you long to move on.

His stomach dropped.

What. The. Fuck.

The messages sat there, bold and undeniable, glaring at him like a mistake he couldn’t take back.

He had texted Gi-hun.

He had fucking texted Gi-hun.

His breath caught in his throat, nausea creeping up—not from the hangover, but from pure, unfiltered panic.

His brain scrambled for some kind of explanation, some kind of way to undo this, but the damage was already there, sitting in plain sight.

And then—he saw it.

Gi-hun’s response.

[12:32 AM] Gi-hun: Inho?
[12:35 AM] Gi-hun: Are you drunk?
[12:38 AM] Gi-hun: What the hell are you talking about? Me and Sangwoo?
[12:41 AM] Gi-hun: Are you okay?

A sharp exhale left his lips.

His fingers tightened around the phone as his chest coiled with something tense, something unsettled, something dangerously close to regret.

Shit.

He didn’t remember sending the texts.

Didn’t even remember thinking about sending them.

And worse—Gi-hun had responded.

Had asked if he was okay.

Had sounded confused.

Because of course he was.

Because nothing was going on between him and Sangwoo.

That had just been his own fucking insecurity, his own twisted, jealous paranoia feeding off itself until it bled into something reckless.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Pretend it never happened? Ignore it? Would Gi-hun bring it up? Would he even care?

The thought of facing him on Monday made his skin crawl.

He needed to fix this. Somehow.

But before he could even begin to think of a response, a voice cut through the air.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

Inho jerked his head up, eyes snapping toward the couch.

Dae-ho.

Slumped against the armrest, one leg stretched out, arms crossed, watching him with a look that was entirely too knowing.

How the fuck did he always look so put together?

“You look like shit,” Dae-ho said, sitting up with a stretch. “How’s your little existential crisis going?”

Inho scowled, raking a hand through his hair. “Don’t start.”

Dae-ho arched a brow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Oh, I’m just saying. You texting your ex-fling about another guy is a bold move.”

Inho froze.

His grip on his phone tightened.

Slowly—too slowly—he turned his gaze toward Dae-ho.

“…What?”

Dae-ho smirked. That smug, insufferable smirk. “You were on your phone last night. Looked real intense. Figured you were either confessing your undying love or making a complete ass of yourself.”

His stomach twisted.

His head throbbed harder.

His jaw clenched. “And you didn’t stop me?”

Dae-ho shrugged. “Figured it wasn’t my place.”

“You’re my assistant,” Inho snapped. “Your job is literally to make my life easier.”

Dae-ho laughed. “I didn’t realize that included babysitting your emotions.”

Inho exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Dae-ho tilted his head, eyeing him with mock sympathy. “That bad, huh?”

“…I don’t even remember sending them.”

Dae-ho let out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s rough, buddy.”

Inho wanted to die.

Instead, he groaned, flopping down onto one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping into his hands.

Dae-ho stood, stretching his arms over his head before making his way to the coffee machine. “Want my professional advice?”

“No.”

Dae-ho ignored him. “You should text him back.”

Inho lifted his head just enough to shoot him a glare. “Not happening.”

Dae-ho clicked his tongue. “So what, you’re just gonna pretend you didn’t send them?”

“Yes.”

Dae-ho sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Right. Because avoidance has worked so well for you so far.”

Inho scowled, but had no argument.

Because Dae-ho was right.

Avoidance had only made everything worse.

He had pushed Gi-hun away, shoved him to the other side of an invisible wall, convinced himself it was better that way.

And yet—Here he was. Hungover, miserable, staring at a screen waiting for a text that wasn’t coming.

Pathetic.

Dae-ho took a sip of coffee, watching him over the rim of the mug. “You know he was probably worried about you, right?”

Inho stiffened.

His fingers twitched against the phone.

“…Shut up.”

Dae-ho smirked. “I’m just saying—he cared enough to respond.”

His stomach twisted.

Because he had felt it too.

That flicker of concern in Gi-hun’s words, the quiet hesitation, the question underneath it all.

Are you okay?

No.

No, he wasn’t.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure he could keep pretending otherwise.

Fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He exhaled slowly. Then, he typed.

[9:13 AM] Inho: I was drunk.
[9:13 AM] Inho: Forget it.

The moment he hit send, his chest tightened.

And yet—he felt like he could breathe again.

Until the response came.

Almost immediately.

[9:23 AM] Gi-hun: Yeah, I figured that part out.
[9:23 AM] Gi-hun: What I don’t get is why the hell you thought I was with Sangwoo.

Inho stilled.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

That the thought of Gi-hun moving on so easily made something in him snap? That seeing him with someone else, someone safe, made him feel like he had lost something he had never even had?

That maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as in control of this as he had convinced himself he was?

Dae-ho sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know, you could just be honest for once in your miserable existence.”

Inho shot him a look. “And what, tell him I had some pathetic jealous breakdown over something that isn’t even real?”

Dae-ho’s lips twitched. “Pretty sure he already knows, man.”

A sharp click of Inho’s tongue.

Fucking hell.

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Dae-ho, still nursing his coffee at the counter, let out a low whistle. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“Shut up,” Inho muttered, eyes locked on the screen.

[9:23 AM] Gi-hun: What I don’t get is why the hell you thought I was with Sangwoo.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. Because I saw you, dumbass. Because you were smiling. Because I fucking hate the way that felt.

But he couldn’t say that.

He needed an excuse—something to shut this down before it spiraled into something he wasn’t ready to deal with.

[9:27 AM] Inho: I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

Dae-ho scoffed, leaning against the counter. “Wow. Incredible. You really put your whole heart into that one.”

“Dae-ho.” Inho shot him a glare.

His assistant shrugged, unbothered. “I’m just saying, boss. If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.”

His phone buzzed again.

[9:29 AM] Gi-hun: Bullshit.

His breath caught in his throat.

Dae-ho peered over his shoulder, reading the message before Inho could angle the screen away. “Oof. He knows.”

No shit.

Inho ran a hand over his face, the dull throb behind his eyes only getting worse. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t still be talking to him.

He should just end it.

[9:31 AM] Inho: Believe whatever you want.
[9:32 AM] Inho: This conversation is over.

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh. “God, you are exhausting.”

“Dae-ho.”

“I mean it,” Dae-ho said, setting his mug down with a sharp clink. “You could just admit you’re jealous instead of running circles around the poor guy.”

Inho tensed. “I’m not—”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Dae-ho cut him off, smirking. “That’s why you got blackout drunk, sent those pathetic texts, and are now acting like a cornered animal.”

Inho opened his mouth, ready to snap back, but his phone vibrated again.

[9:35 AM] Gi-hun: Fine.

Just one word. Flat. Clean. No fight left in it.

And somehow, that was worse.

Dae-ho clicked his tongue. “Well. That’s that, then.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Inho stared at the screen, at that single word— Fine.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. He shouldn’t care.

But his jaw was locked so tight it ached, his fingers twitching at his sides like they wanted to grab something—break something.

Dae-ho exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You know, I could say ‘I told you so’—”

“Then don’t.”

“—but I really think you need to hear it.”

Inho shot him a glare, but it didn’t have its usual bite. His chest felt too tight, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on him, suffocating.

He swiped out of the chat before he could stare at it any longer, tossing his phone onto the counter with a little too much force.

Dae-ho hummed. “You gonna sulk all day, or—”

“I’m not sulking.”

Dae-ho raised a brow. “Right. You just look like you swallowed glass.”

Inho exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. His head still throbbed from the hangover, his body still felt sluggish, but none of it compared to the slow, gnawing frustration curling under his skin.

He wasn’t even sure why he was pissed.

Was it Gi-hun’s reaction? The lack of reaction? The way he hadn’t argued, hadn’t pushed, hadn’t called him out the way he always did?

Or was it something worse?

Something that sounded dangerously close to regret.

His stomach twisted. No. No. He had already made his choice.

Dae-ho sighed, stretching his arms over his head. “Look, boss, I’m gonna level with you. You could keep pretending like this doesn’t bother you, keep sitting here brooding like some tragic drama protagonist—”

Inho glared.

“—or you could do literally anything else.”

Inho scoffed, shaking his head. “Like what?”

Dae-ho shrugged. “I don’t know. Actually talk to him? Go outside? Touch some fucking grass?”

Inho let out a short, humorless laugh. “Helpful.”

Dae-ho gave him a look. “Better than you sitting here acting like someone just ran over your dog.”

That got under his skin.

Inho pushed back from the counter, jaw tight as he grabbed his phone and shoved it into his pocket.

Dae-ho smirked. “Ah, so I am getting through to you.”

“Shut up.”

Dae-ho snorted, leaning against the counter. “What’s the plan, then?”

“There isn’t a plan,” Inho muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I just need—”

Space. Distraction. Something to keep his brain from circling the same fucking drain.

“Coffee,” he settled on. “I need coffee.”

Dae-ho hummed, watching him too closely. “Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Dae-ho said easily, smirking. “Just wondering how long you’re gonna keep lying to yourself before you snap.”

Inho exhaled sharply, ignoring the way his stomach churned. “Get out of my apartment.”

Dae-ho grinned, grabbing his coat. “Gladly. But hey—when you inevitably cave and do something stupid?”

He shot Inho a knowing look.

“Call me first. I wanna watch.”

And with that, he left.

Inho stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing in around him again.

He shouldn’t care.

He shouldn’t.

But as he grabbed his own coat and stepped out the door, he already knew—This wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

The café was quieter than usual.

Late morning meant the rush had already passed, leaving only a few stragglers scattered between tables—students hunched over laptops, couples speaking in hushed voices, the occasional loner flipping through a newspaper.

It was exactly the kind of place Inho should have been able to sit in, drink his coffee, and not think.

And yet—

His knee bounced beneath the table, fingers tapping restlessly against the side of his cup. His coffee had gone lukewarm, untouched, because of course his mind wouldn’t shut up.

Gi-hun’s last text flashed behind his eyes.

Fine.

It was logical. Predictable. The exact kind of response Inho should have wanted—clean, detached, an easy way to let this whole thing die.

So why did it sit in his chest like a stone?

Why was he waiting—checking his phone every few minutes even though he knew there was nothing left to say?

He scowled, dragging a hand down his face before forcing himself to take a sip of his coffee.

This was pathetic.

Across the table, an abandoned newspaper lay folded beside the sugar packets. His eyes flicked over the headlines, not really reading, just looking for something—anything—to fill the space in his head.

And yet, all he could see was the memory of him.

Gi-hun. Sitting across from Sangwoo, laughing just like that first day he went seeking Gi-hun at the office, in the cafeteria except this time they were in different places, strangers but not strangers.

Like Inho had never been there at all.

His fingers curled tight around his cup. He hated that feeling.

That powerlessness. The thought that he could just be—forgotten.

“Inho? Is that you?”

The voice snapped him out of his spiral.

He blinked, looking up—

Hyun-ju.

Of course.

Because the universe loved nothing more than kicking him when he was already down.

She stood at the edge of his table, coat draped over one arm, a takeaway coffee in hand. She raised a brow, scanning him from head to toe with that sharp, knowing gaze of hers.

Inho didn’t bother pasting on an act. It wouldn’t work on her anyway.

“You look like hell.”

He let out a dry huff. “Good morning to you too.”

Hyun-ju sighed, rolling her eyes before pulling out the chair across from him. “Move.”

“What?”

She nodded at his barely touched coffee. “Move your stuff. I’m sitting.”

Inho sighed but pushed the newspaper aside, letting her settle in. She set down her coffee, crossed one leg over the other, and gave him a long, unimpressed look.

“Alright,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Hyun-ju scoffed. “Try again.”

Inho clenched his jaw, staring at the rim of his cup like it might give him an escape.

“You want me to guess?” she asked, voice lighter now, teasing—but not unkind. “Let’s see. You’re drinking bad coffee in a café you don’t even like, alone, looking like someone just told you your stocks crashed overnight.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “My stocks are fine.”

“Then it’s the other thing.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “The Distraction.”

His stomach twisted.

He should have expected that.

She always noticed things too quickly.

Inho said nothing.

Which, of course, was an answer in itself.

Hyun-ju sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You’re not the first person to say that today.”

“Well, I should be saying it the loudest.” She tapped her nails against the side of her cup. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

Hyun-ju gave him a flat look. “Bullshit.”

His fingers tightened around his coffee. “It’s over.”

Another silence.

Hyun-ju studied him for a moment, something flickering behind her gaze. Then, finally—

“Is it?”

His jaw locked. “What?”

“Is it actually over?” She lifted a brow. “Or are you just making sure it is?”

Something in his chest twisted violently.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Hyun-ju exhaled, shaking her head. “God, Inho. You have got to stop doing this to yourself.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” She leveled him with a firm, steady stare. “You do this every time. You push people away first, then act surprised when they don’t come back.”

He felt his nails dig into his palm.

“I told him it was a regret,” he muttered, voice barely audible.

Hyun-ju’s face didn’t change.

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.

She just studied him for a long moment, expression unreadable, before letting out a slow breath.

“You don’t even believe that.”

Inho swallowed.

His throat felt tight.

“It’s better this way,” he muttered.

“For who?”

His head snapped up.

Hyun-ju’s gaze was steady.

Unyielding.

For the first time all morning, he felt like someone was actually looking at him.

Not through him. Not around him. But at him.

And he hated how much that made something inside him ache.

Her voice softened.

“Inho.”

His fingers twitched.

She sighed, reaching across the table, placing a hand over his wrist. Not forceful. Just there.

“You can’t keep running from this.”

He swallowed, staring at the space between them.

The warmth of her hand against his wrist felt grounding. Steady. A reminder that he wasn’t—

No.

He wasn’t thinking about that right now.

“Even if you don’t want to admit it,” she continued, voice gentle but firm, “you care about him.”

Inho inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching beneath Hyun-ju’s steady touch. He wanted to pull away. Wanted to shake her off and end this conversation before she said something he couldn’t ignore.

But she didn’t let up.

“I know you,” she murmured. “And I know when you’re lying to yourself.”

He scoffed, looking away. “I’m not—”

“Inho, for goodness sake, look at yourself.”

That tone. That frustrating, unyielding, I see right through you tone that always made his skin prickle.

She wasn’t going to drop this.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe evenly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Because it just doesn’t.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I said what I said. He got the message. It’s done.”

Hyun-ju leaned back slightly, tilting her head. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes.”

Her brow lifted, unimpressed. “You look really okay.”

Inho clicked his tongue in irritation. “I’m not here for a therapy session.”

Hyun-ju sighed, sitting back in her chair, fingers tapping against her cup. “Alright. Fine. No therapy.”

“Thank you.”

“But humor me,” she added, ignoring his pointed look. "If you’re so fine with this, why do you look like someone whose world is caving in under the weight of their own choices?

Inho’s stomach churned.

The memory hit him again—Gi-hun, sitting across from Sangwoo, laughing like nothing had ever happened. Like Inho had never happened.

His grip tightened around his coffee cup, knuckles white.

It must have shown on his face, because Hyun-ju’s expression shifted. The teasing glint faded, replaced by something quieter. Sharper.

“Inho,” she said carefully. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

Another flat stare. “Try again.”

His jaw locked. He wasn’t about to admit it. Not to her. Not to anyone.

But the silence stretched, and Hyun-ju wasn’t the type to let things go.

Then—Realization flickered in her eyes.

Her gaze sharpened, scanning his face, reading between the cracks he was trying too damn hard to keep sealed.

“…Did something happen to him?”

His fingers curled. “No.”

“Then why do you—” She cut herself off, blinking. Then, in a much quieter voice, she asked, “Did you see him?”

Inho stiffened.

And that was all the answer she needed.

Hyun-ju inhaled, setting her cup down with a soft clink. “Inho,” she said, slower now, like she was piecing things together. “Where?”

His stomach felt like it was twisting in on itself.

She was too fucking perceptive.

He swallowed, throat tight. “I ran into him…well kind of I saw him from afar.”

Hyun-ju’s brows lifted slightly. “And?”

He shouldn’t tell her.

But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“He wasn’t alone.”

Silence.

Hyun-ju didn’t react at first. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him, eyes searching his face like she was waiting for the punchline.

When it didn’t come, her expression darkened.

“…Who?”

The question settled in the air like a weight.

Inho exhaled through his nose. “Sangwoo.”

Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

“Sangwoo,” she repeated, slow. Like she was testing how the word tasted.

Something flickered across her face—thoughtful, sharp, calculating. Then, suddenly, her expression flattened.

She scoffed. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Inho blinked. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what’s got you spiraling?”

His irritation flared. “Excuse me?”

“Inho.” She gave him a look. “Sangwoo…Sangwoo?”

His stomach twisted. “They looked close.”

“They’ve been close.”

That didn’t make it better.

Hyun-ju sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but Gi-hun and Sangwoo aren’t a thing.”

Inho’s mouth opened, then closed. His mind raced, latching onto the only argument it could find. “They—”

Hyun-ju cut him off with a wave of her hand. “They what? Have been best friends their whole lives? Talk shit over drinks? Bully each other like middle schoolers?” She scoffed. “Jesus, Inho. You’re smarter than this.”

His jaw clenched. “It looked like something.”

“And you would know, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, arching a brow. “Considering how often you actually look at people?”

That shut him up.

His stomach churned, pride and frustration warring in his chest.

Hyun-ju sighed, voice gentler now. “Did he see you?”

He hesitated. Then—quietly, bitterly—“No.”

She hummed, thoughtful. “And you just… walked away?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything else,” she deadpanned.

Inho exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You sound like Dae-ho now.”

This was exhausting.

Hyun-ju studied him for another long moment. Then, suddenly, she leaned back, crossing her arms.

“You know what?” she muttered. “You are an idiot.”

He shot her a glare. “Wow. Great insight.”

She ignored him. “You could have just asked him.”

His stomach twisted painfully. “Asked what?”

“If he’s with Sangwoo.”

Inho froze.

His whole body went rigid, breath catching in his throat like a trap had just sprung shut around him.

Hyun-ju had been relentless before, but this—this was a whole new level of unbearable. Because now, the truth was sitting right there, hovering just behind his teeth, waiting to be dragged into the light.

And he really didn’t want to say it.

He should’ve lied. Should’ve waved her off with some dismissive, half-assed remark and let her drop it.

But Hyun-ju was staring at him expectantly, and her patience was already wearing thin.

Which meant she wasn’t going to drop anything.

So, with a sharp inhale, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “I, uh… might have sent him a text.”

Silence.

Hyun-ju blinked. Once. Twice. Then, very slowly, her head tilted.

“A text?” she repeated.

Inho’s shoulders tensed.

She was doing that thing again—that slow, calculated tone, like she was handling a wild animal that might bolt at any second.

Which, frankly, he might.

His fingers twitched against his coffee cup. “A few texts. After a few drinks.”

Another pause.

Then, Hyun-ju inhaled through her nose, set her elbows on the table, steepled her fingers together, and—

“Oh my God.”

Inho scowled. “Don’t.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no.” She sat back, pressing a hand over her face like she was physically in pain. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He stayed silent.

She groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “You drunk-texted him?”

His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Hyun-ju dropped her hands and leveled him with a stare so withering it could’ve peeled paint off the walls.

“Okay.” She exhaled sharply. “Walk me through it. How much did you drink?”

He huffed. “I don’t know. A few whiskeys.”

She gave him a flat look. “Define few.”

His gaze flickered away. “…Four.”

Hyun-ju let out a slow, pained whistle.

“Jesus.” She pinched the bridge of her nose again, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like "why am I friends with you?”

Inho bristled. “Look, I wasn’t—”

“What did you say?” she cut in.

He hesitated.

Her brows lifted. “Inho.”

He swallowed, shifting in his seat, eyes darting toward the café window like maybe he could escape through it.

When that failed, he reached for his phone and slid it across the table.

Hyun-ju didn’t even hesitate. She snatched it up immediately, scrolling through his messages.

Silence.

Then—“…Oh, no.”

Inho scowled, grabbing his coffee. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Oh, noooooo.” She let the phone drop onto the table like it had personally offended her. “Inho. Why?”

He said nothing.

Just took a long sip of coffee and prayed for death.

Hyun-ju stared at him in pure, agonized disbelief. “‘Didn’t take you long to move on’?!”

He winced. “Okay, that one might’ve been—”

“Might’ve?” she hissed. “Inho, you basically handed him a handwritten letter that says "Hi, I’m jealous and pathetic. Please laugh at me.”

His stomach twisted violently.

Hyun-ju exhaled, rubbing her temples like she was personally suffering. “This is so much worse than I thought.”

He scowled. “You asked me to tell you.”

“I didn’t think you’d make it this easy to diagnose your problems,” she shot back. “Jesus, Inho. How are you even a functioning adult?”
His grip tightened around his coffee cup. “I was drunk.”

“That is not an excuse!” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Drunk you is just regular you without a filter!”

He bristled. “That’s not true.”

Hyun-ju smirked. “Then tell me—what exactly made you so jealous?”

His stomach plummeted.

He glared. “I wasn’t—”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, eyes glinting. “Go on. Say it.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were jealous,” she sing-songed.

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“You were so jealous.”

His teeth ground together. “Hyun-ju—”

She sat back, victorious. “God, you're a textbook case.”

Inho exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers pressing against his temple.

He was not doing this right now.

Hyun-ju, still looking far too pleased with herself, picked up his phone again and scrolled through Gi-hun’s responses.

Her smirk faded.

“…He asked if you were okay.”

Inho stiffened.

Her voice wasn’t teasing anymore.

She glanced up at him, expression unreadable. “You didn’t answer him.”

His throat felt tight.

“I did,” he muttered.

Hyun-ju scoffed, reading aloud: “‘I was drunk. Forget it.’”

She set the phone down with a clink. “Yeah. That’s not an answer.”

His fingers curled against the tabletop.

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

Hyun-ju studied him for a long moment.

Then, finally—“If it was fine,” she said quietly, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Silence.

The weight of her words settled between them, heavier than his coffee cup, heavier than the gnawing feeling in his chest.

Inho didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t want to say anything.

Because the truth—the real truth—was something he still wasn’t ready to face.

After Hyun-ju finally left—only after getting in one last jab about his “emotional incompetence"—Inho tried to go about his day like normal.

It didn’t work.

His mind kept looping back to their conversation. To her voice, cutting through all his bullshit like it was nothing. If it was fine, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

To the texts sitting in his phone, to the way Fine still sat in his chest like a weight.

To the way he had let it end.

He went to the office for a few hours, but the work in front of him blurred together, numbers and reports blending into nothing. He took a long walk. Ate something. Went to the gym, tried to wear himself out, but no amount of movement could settle the buzzing under his skin.

And by the time he made it home, stepping into the quiet of his apartment, he had already lost the fight.

Because the second he sat down on his couch, phone in hand, staring at his last message to Gi-hun, his fingers were already moving.

[10:58 PM] Inho: Let’s talk.

Chapter Text

A deep breath.

There. It was done.

Except—His phone buzzed in his hand immediately

His stomach dropped.

He barely had time to register Gi-hun’s name before he hit accept.

The second the line connected, a slurred, drunken voice spilled through the speaker.

“Inhooooo.”

Inho closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. Fuck.

Gi-hun was gone.

“Where are you?” Inho asked immediately, already on edge.

But Gi-hun barely seemed to hear him. “You absolute—fucking—bastard.”

Inho froze.

“I hate you,” Gi-hun continued, voice thick, words spilling into each other. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Inho swallowed, grip tightening around the phone. “You’re drunk.”

Gi-hun laughed. Not his usual, teasing kind—something rougher, messier. “Wow. No shit? Incredible. Really—really brilliant deduction, CFO-nim.”

Inho’s stomach twisted.

Because it wasn’t just drunk rambling.

It was the way Gi-hun’s voice shook just a little. The way he was talking too fast, like if he stopped, he might actually have to feel whatever it was that had driven him to this in the first place.

“Gi-hun,” Inho said carefully, forcing himself to stay calm. “Where the hell are you?”

But Gi-hun kept talking, ignoring him completely.

“You know,” he slurred, “it’s so funny, you texting me now. So fucking funny.”

Inho’s jaw clenched. “Why?”

“Because you’re you.” Gi-hun let out a sharp, breathy laugh. “Because you’re—so fucking cold—so fucking stupid—and you still—”

He stopped.

Something heavy settled in the silence.

For a second, Inho swore he could hear the sound of his own pulse in his ears.

Then—softer, bitter—“You should’ve just left me alone.”

Inho’s chest tightened.

Before he could think, before he could react—

CLICK

The call ended.

Inho pulled the phone away, staring at the screen, his breath coming too fast, too uneven.

His body had already moved before his mind could catch up.

He was already standing.

Already grabbing his keys.

Because whatever the fuck this was—It wasn’t ending like this.

Inho was out the door before he even knew where he was going.

His body moved on instinct—keys in hand, coat half-shrugged over his shoulders, heart hammering in his chest.

Because Gi-hun never talked like that.

Not to him.

Not seriously.

The words still rang in his ears.

"You should’ve just left me alone."

He should have.

He fucking should have.

But that didn't matter now, because all Inho could focus on was the slur in Gi-hun’s voice, the way his words bled together, thick with alcohol and something else.

Something dangerously close to hurt.

His thumb hovered over his phone screen, hesitating for only a second before he pressed call.

One ring. Two. Three.

Voicemail.

Fuck.

He clenched his jaw, dialing again.

This time, the call connected—but it wasn’t Gi-hun’s voice that answered.

It was him.

"Wow," Sangwoo drawled, voice thick with something sharp and smug. "Look who suddenly gives a shit."

Inho’s grip on the phone tightened. "Where is he?"

Sangwoo let out a slow, mocking chuckle. "Where is he? Now that’s funny. Let me guess, you’re having a moment? Feeling bad? Thought you’d swoop in and fix everything?"

"Sangwoo," Inho said, patience already worn paper-thin.

But Sangwoo wasn’t finished. "Now you want to talk? After all the shit you pulled? You don’t get to do this, Hwang. You don’t get to disappear, fuck him up, and then show up when it’s convenient for you."

Inho clenched his jaw. "Put him on the phone."

Sangwoo let out a slow exhale, voice dropping into something quieter—something cruel. "He doesn’t want to talk to you."

Something in Inho’s chest twisted, sharp and unforgiving.

"You sure about that?" he bit out.

Sangwoo’s breathy laugh sent something cold down his spine. "Oh, I’m sure. You wanna know what he was saying before you called? How much he fucking hates you? How he wishes he’d never—"

A shuffle. A muffled sound.

Then, distantly—"Sangwoo, who—give me my—who are you talking to?"

Inho held his breath.

A pause. Then, Sangwoo, voice dry and unimpressed: "Guess."

Silence.

Then—"…No fucking way."

A sharp inhale, the sound of Gi-hun fumbling for the phone.

Then—closer, breath heavy, voice lower—

"Didn’t I tell you to stay away?"

Inho exhaled slowly. "Where are you?"

Gi-hun huffed out something that was almost a laugh. "Why? You coming to break my heart again?"

Inho flinched. "Gi-hun please, you’re drunk—"

"No shit!" Gi-hun snapped, slurring slightly. "And whose fault is that, huh?"

Inho pressed his fingers to his temple. "Gi-hun."

"No. No, no, no." The words came fast, unsteady, spilling over each other. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to—" His breath hitched, something breaking in his voice before he covered it with a sharp, bitter laugh. "You wanna talk now? After all that? Think again Inho I never want to see you again.”

The line went dead.

Inho sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Maybe Inho should have just let it go, let the conversation die the way he had tried to kill whatever this was in the first place.

But the problem was—he couldn’t.

Not after hearing that.

Not after the raw, slurred edge in Gi-hun’s voice, the way his words wavered between anger and something else. Something wounded.

Not after knowing that he was out there, drunk, spiraling, and still feeling enough to hate him this much.

His chest was tight.

His mind raced.

He could still hear him—sharp and bitter and wrecked—You wanna talk now? After all that? Think again Inho I never want to see you again.

And yet—Inho didn’t believe it.

Not for a second.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

Then, before he could second-guess himself, he hit redial.

Voicemail. Again.

He swore under his breath.

A text, then.

[11:12 PM] Inho: Gi-hun.
[11:13 PM] Inho: Answer me.

The message stayed unread.

Seconds passed. Then a full minute.

His jaw clenched.

He should stop. He should listen. He should respect that Gi-hun didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t want anything to do with him.

But the image of him drunk and stumbling through some shitty bar, angry and reckless and hurt, wouldn’t leave his mind.

Another call.

Straight to voicemail.

A new text.

[11:16 PM] Inho: Where are you?
[11:16 PM] Inho: I’m coming to get you.

The moment he hit send, his stomach twisted.

This was a mistake.

Gi-hun didn’t want to see him.

But then—three dots.

Inho’s breath caught.

The typing indicator blinked once, twice—Then it vanished.

No message. No answer. Nothing.

Inho moved quickly, his coat barely keeping out the sharp bite of the wind as he scanned the streets, his mind running through every possible place Gi-hun could have gone.

He wasn’t home. He wasn’t answering. And Sangwoo sure as hell wasn’t going to help him.

That left one option.

Search bar to bar.

It was fucking ridiculous.

He should turn around. Should let it go. Should respect the fact that Gi-hun clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

But he couldn’t.

Because the way Gi-hun had sounded on the phone—slurred, sharp, something breaking apart beneath all that anger—wasn’t something Inho could ignore.

His stomach twisted as he stepped into the first bar, scanning the dimly lit space. Loud music. Laughter. The smell of alcohol clinging to the air.

No sign of him.

Inho exhaled sharply, turning on his heel and walking out.

The second bar was worse—crowded, humid, filled with people who weren’t him.

He left without stopping.

By the third, his patience was wearing thin.

He pushed inside, scanning the booths, the bar, the darkened corners. Nothing.

His phone remained silent.

He swallowed down the irritation, the guilt, the something clawing at his ribs.

Fourth bar.

This time, before he could even reach the entrance, a sound cut through the night.

Familiar.

A laugh—sharp, bitter.

Then—“Oh, fuck off, Sangwoo. I can take care of myself.”

Inho’s stomach dropped.

There.

He turned the corner, stepping onto the side street.

And then—he saw him.

Seong Gi-hun, leaning against the brick wall of the bar, half-slumped but still holding himself upright, his tie long gone, his shirt half untucked. Sangwoo stood beside him, arms crossed, looking seconds away from dragging him home by force.

Inho barely hesitated.

“Gi-hun.”

Both of them froze.

Sangwoo was the first to react.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Gi-hun, however—Gi-hun blinked.

His expression shifted, the hazy blur of alcohol fighting against the sharp recognition in his eyes.

Inho took a step forward.

This time, Gi-hun didn’t step back.

He just stood there, blinking up at him, eyes unfocused but locked onto Inho like he was seeing something he didn’t know how to process. Like he hadn’t actually expected Inho to find him, let alone show up.

It made something twist in Inho’s chest.

"Come with me," he said, tone steady, controlled.

Gi-hun blinked again. Then, after a slow, delayed beat, his lips curled—not in a smirk, not in amusement, but something looser, something bitter.

"Why?" he slurred. "You finally feeling guilty?"

Inho exhaled sharply through his nose. "Gi-hun—"

"You should’ve just left me alone," Gi-hun muttered, shaking his head. His hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t bother pushing it away. "I told you to stay away."

"You called me," Inho reminded him.

Gi-hun huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. "Yeah, well. You texted me first, that was a mistake."

"Great," Sangwoo cut in, tone flat, arms still crossed. "Since we all agree this was a mistake, I’ll be the one taking him home. You can fuck off now."

Inho ignored him.

Because Gi-hun was still looking at him.

And there was something in that look. Something unfocused, something tired, something that made Inho’s grip tighten at his sides.

"You’re drunk," he said, measured, careful.

Gi-hun scoffed. "And whose fault is that?"

Inho clenched his jaw. "I’m taking you home."

"No," Sangwoo snapped before Gi-hun could answer.

Inho turned to him, expression hard.

Sangwoo held his ground, gaze sharp, unreadable. But there was something else there now—something colder.

"You don’t get to do this," Sangwoo said. "You don’t get to play the concerned ex-whatever-the-fuck. You don’t get to show up when it suits you."

Inho’s patience was already paper-thin. "Move."

Sangwoo let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Or what?"

Gi-hun groaned, pressing a hand to his temple. "Can you two just—"

"You think you can just swoop in after everything?" Sangwoo cut him off. His eyes flicked over Inho, voice dropping lower, more pointed. "Newsflash, Hwang. You’re the fucking problem."

Inho’s jaw tightened.

He knew that.

But it didn’t change the fact that Gi-hun was standing there, still barely upright, still not looking him in the eye.

And it sure as hell didn’t change the fact that when Inho reached for him—

Gi-hun let him.

Inho’s fingers curled around Gi-hun’s wrist—warm, unsteady, too easy to grasp and felt the way Gi-hun’s fingers twitched in his grasp.

It was barely anything—a small, unconscious movement, but it sent something sharp through him.

Gi-hun wasn’t pulling away.

He wasn’t saying yes, either.

Just standing there, blinking slowly, lips slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he had actually heard Inho right.

Like he was still trying to figure out if this was real.

Inho didn’t let go.

“Come with me,” he said again, quieter this time.

A breath. A pause.

Then—Gi-hun’s brows furrowed, his lips pressing into something almost like a frown.

And Inho braced himself—because he could see it happening, could see Gi-hun’s body tensing, see the moment his mind started catching up, filling with all the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to throw back in Inho’s face.

But before a single word could leave his mouth—

Sangwoo stepped forward. “Oh, give me a fucking break.”

Inho turned his head sharply, already biting back the irritation bubbling beneath his skin.

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Sangwoo said, voice cold. “Not after everything.”

Inho exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.

“Gi-hun can decide that himself.”

Sangwoo scoffed. “Right. Because he’s in great fucking shape to make decisions right now.”

Inho’s grip tightened slightly—not enough to force, just enough to hold.

“He’s coming with me.”

Sangwoo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You really think you get to do this? You think you can just swoop in, act like you give a shit, and expect him to follow you?”

Inho didn’t answer.

Because none of this was about Sangwoo.

It never had been.

He turned his gaze back to Gi-hun—who was still looking at him.

Something passed between them, something heavy and unspoken.

Inho’s pulse beat against his ribs, steady and unrelenting.

Then—softer, slower—Gi-hun nodded. It was small, barely there, like he wasn’t fully conscious of agreeing. Like his body had made the choice before his mind had caught up.

But it was enough.

Inho exhaled, loosening his grip slightly, but he didn’t let go.

Didn’t give Gi-hun the chance to change his mind.

Sangwoo, however, wasn’t ready to let this slide.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered, stepping closer. "You're really going with him?"

Gi-hun blinked slowly, head tilting as if processing the question took too much effort. His balance wavered, forcing Inho to tighten his hold, steadying him before he could stumble.

Sangwoo scoffed. "Unbelievable."

"Back off," Inho said, his voice low. Firm.

Sangwoo let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Back off? You don’t get to tell me to back off. Not when I’m the one who’s been dealing with him—his drunk ass calling me, his mess, his—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Where the fuck were you when he was drinking himself stupid over you? Where the fuck were you when he needed someone?"

Inho swallowed down the tightness in his throat.

Because Sangwoo was right.

He hadn’t been here.

Hadn’t been anywhere except locked in his own fucking head, convincing himself that this—whatever this was—wasn’t his problem anymore.

And yet, here he was.

Gi-hun shifted beside him, his weight pressing subtly into Inho’s side, like standing upright was becoming too much effort.

Inho took that as his cue.

"We're leaving," he said simply, guiding Gi-hun forward.

Sangwoo stepped in front of them.

"You are such a fucking coward." His voice was quieter now, but no less sharp. "You don't get to just pick and choose when he matters to you."

Inho held his gaze.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver.

Just exhaled slowly and said, "Move. Sangwoo."

Sangwoo clenched his jaw, eyes flickering between them.

And then—POW

Sangwoo swung.

The punch landed squarely against Inho’s jaw, the force knocking him a half-step back. His vision flashed white for a second, pain sparking through his skull, the taste of copper blooming across his tongue.

“Sangwoo, what the fuck—” Gi-hun slurred, stumbling slightly.

Inho barely had time to process before Sangwoo was grabbing him by the collar, dragging him close, voice a quiet, furious hiss.

"You don’t get to show up now," he seethed. "You don’t get to act like you give a shit."

Inho didn’t react.

Didn’t fight back.

Didn’t move.

Because he knew. He fucking knew. That he deserved this.

And that was the worst part.

Gi-hun was looking at him now—really looking at him, something uneasy flickering in his gaze, something sobering.

Then—slowly, carefully—he stepped between them, pressing a hand against Sangwoo’s chest.

"Hey," he muttered, voice quieter now. "Stop. Please."

Sangwoo didn’t move at first.

His fingers were still clenched in Inho’s collar, his breathing unsteady, frustration rolling off of him in waves.

But then—Gi-hun’s fingers curled slightly against his jacket, his voice dropping even lower.

"Sangwoo, it’s fine."

Sangwoo let out a slow breath through his nose. "It's not fine."

His grip loosened.

His shoulders dropped slightly.

Then, he let go.

"Whatever," he muttered. "Do what you want."

He stepped back, hands raking through his hair.

But as Inho turned to guide Gi-hun away, Sangwoo’s voice cut through the night—quiet, sharp, bitter.

"Try not to fuck him up more than you already have."

Inho didn’t respond.

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

He just took Gi-hun’s arm, steadying him, leading him away.

And this time—Gi-hun followed.

Inho’s fingers twitched around Gi-huns wrist but he didn’t stop.

Because right now, the only thing that mattered was getting Gi-hun the hell out of here.

Out of this freezing side street, out of Sangwoo’s orbit, out of whatever spiral he’d been drowning in before Inho had found him.

Gi-hun didn’t say anything as they walked.

Didn’t resist, didn’t argue.

Just let himself be led, his steps uneven, his breath visible in the cold night air.

It wasn’t until they turned the corner—until the bar and Sangwoo were out of sight—that he finally spoke.

His voice was softer now, quieter. Less sharp around the edges.

"You shouldn’t be here."

Inho exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on Gi-hun’s arm to keep him steady.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

Then—softer, slurred—

"Are you okay?"

Inho’s brows furrowed. "What?"

Gi-hun shifted slightly, his voice dipping lower, words a little slower now. "Sangwoo punched you."

Inho exhaled through his nose, "It’s fine."

Gi-hun hummed, unconvinced. "Shoulda hit him back."

Inho almost laughed. "I wanted too, I didn't want to give you anymore reason to hate me."

Gi-hun grumbled something under his breath, then he stumbled.

It wasn’t dramatic—just a slow, unsteady misstep, the kind that made his weight suddenly shift too much in one direction.

Inho barely had time to react before Gi-hun pitched forward, colliding into his side with a quiet grunt.

"Shit," Inho muttered, adjusting quickly, his hands gripping Gi-hun’s arms to keep him from going down completely. "You can’t even walk properly."

Gi-hun let out a breathy laugh against Inho’s shoulder, warm and uneven. "Nooope."

Inho exhaled sharply, glancing around. They weren’t far from his apartment now, but at this rate, they’d never make it if Gi-hun kept swaying like this.

"Alright," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "That’s enough."

Without waiting for a protest, he ducked down slightly and hoisted Gi-hun up, looping an arm under his legs and lifting him into his arms.

"Whoa—what the hell?" Gi-hun slurred, half-startled, his arms reflexively winding around Inho’s shoulders.

"Shut up and hold on," Inho muttered, adjusting his grip before starting forward again.

Gi-hun grumbled something under his breath but didn’t fight it.

Inho could feel him settle, his body relaxing bit by bit as the cold air pressed against them.

For a while, the only sound was the quiet echo of Inho’s footsteps against the pavement.

Then, just when he thought Gi-hun had drifted off completely—

"You’re warm," Gi-hun mumbled.

Inho’s fingers tensed slightly where they rested against Gi-hun’s back.

"You’re drunk," he corrected.

Gi-hun hummed, a lazy sound. "Mmm. Maybe. But you are warm."

Inho swallowed. "Go to sleep."

Gi-hun ignored him.

"You know," he murmured, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful, "you always act like you don’t care."

Inho stiffened slightly but kept walking.

"But you came," Gi-hun continued, barely audible now. "You came to save me anyway."

Inho said nothing.

Didn’t know what to say.

Gi-hun let out a quiet, tired laugh against his shoulder. "You’re such a liar, Inho."

Inho’s grip tightened slightly.

He kept walking, his steps steady, his expression unreadable—but inside, something twisted at Gi-hun’s words.

You came to save me anyway.

You’re such a liar, Inho.

Gi-hun’s breath was warm against his neck, uneven and laced with exhaustion, but he wasn’t fully asleep yet. His fingers curled into the fabric of Inho’s coat, gripping lightly, like he was trying to anchor himself.

"You hate me, remember?" Inho muttered, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Gi-hun exhaled a slow, tired breath. "Mmm. I do."

"Yeah?" Inho almost laughed,

A lazy hum. "Yeah…hate you so much."

Inho huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Could’ve fooled me."

Gi-hun shifted slightly in his arms, his weight pressing closer for just a second before he mumbled, "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Say things like that. Act like none of this matters." Gi-hun let out a soft, breathy laugh. "But if I really hated you… you wouldn’t be carrying me back to your place, would you?"

Inho’s chest tightened.

Gi-hun’s voice was slurred, his words spilling out without thought, but they still landed too fucking precisely.

He should’ve said something. Should’ve shut it down.

But instead, his grip just tightened slightly, his jaw clenching as he kept moving through the quiet, empty streets.

Gi-hun shifted again, his face tilting slightly toward Inho’s neck, his breath warm against his skin.

"You smell the same," he mumbled.

Inho swallowed. "What?"

"Same cologne." Gi-hun’s voice was barely above a whisper now. "I remember it. Rosemary, Sage, and Cedar"

Something about that hit too deep.

Too intimate.

Too much.

Inho took a slow breath, forcing himself to focus on the street ahead. "Go to sleep, Gi-hun."

Gi-hun hummed in response, but this time, his grip on Inho’s coat loosened, his body going heavier in his arms.

By the time Inho reached his apartment building, Gi-hun was dead weight in his arms.

His breathing had slowed, warm and steady against Inho’s neck, his grip on Inho’s coat slack. He was fully out now, lost to whatever drunken haze had pulled him under.

Inho sighed, shifting his grip slightly as he pressed the elevator button with his elbow. The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, ignoring the curious glance from an older man on his way out.

The ride up was quiet.

Too quiet.

Inho’s mind wouldn’t shut up.

He swallowed hard, staring at the elevator doors like they held an answer he wasn’t ready to face.

The moment the doors slid open, he adjusted Gi-hun’s weight in his arms and made his way down the hall.

Unlocking his door was a challenge, but somehow, he managed to maneuver them both inside without dropping Gi-hun.

The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of the city filtering through the curtains.

He carried Gi-hun to the couch, lowering him carefully onto the cushions.

The second he let go, Gi-hun stirred slightly, a quiet mumble leaving his lips, but he didn’t wake.

Inho exhaled, rolling his shoulders before stepping back.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He should get a blanket. Maybe water for when Gi-hun inevitably woke up feeling like death.

Maybe he should sit down. Maybe he should—Inho sighed, glancing at the couch, then back at Gi-hun.

He was already half-curled up, lost in whatever drunken dreams he’d slipped into, his breath slow and even. His body had relaxed completely, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting over his stomach.

It would have been fine.

The couch was comfortable enough.

But—Inho ran a hand thought his hair, exhaling sharply.

He wasn’t going to wake up in a cramped position, stiff and miserable, not after the mess he’d already put himself through tonight.

“Damn it,” Inho muttered under his breath.

He bent down, slipping his arms under Gi-hun again, this time slower, more careful. Gi-hun stirred slightly, letting out a quiet noise of protest, but when Inho pulled him against his chest, he didn’t fight it.

If anything, he sank into the warmth, pressing his face against Inho’s shoulder with a small, content hum.

Inho’s breath caught.

His grip tightened—just for a second—before he forced himself to move.

The bedroom was dark, the soft glow of the city casting shadows along the walls.

With slow, deliberate steps, Inho carried Gi-hun inside, maneuvering carefully until he reached the bed.

Lowering him down was more difficult than expected.

Gi-hun wasn’t exactly helping—his fingers had somehow ended up tangled in the front of Inho’s shirt, and the moment Inho tried to pull back, the grip tightened.

A quiet grumble left Gi-hun’s lips, something incoherent but unmistakably stubborn.

Inho sighed. “You’re not making this easy.”

Gi-hun mumbled something again, barely audible.

And then—softly, slurred—“Stay...please.”

Inho’s breath hitched.

His fingers froze where they had been prying Gi-hun’s hands away.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then, Gi-hun’s grip slackened, the last of his fight slipping away as he sank fully into the mattress.

His breathing evened out.

Inho swallowed hard.

He reached down, carefully pulling off Gi-hun’s shoes, setting them aside before adjusting the blanket over him.

Then, he just stood there.

Watching.

Taking in the way Gi-hun’s hair was a mess against the pillow, the way his lips had parted slightly, the way his hand still rested near where Inho had been a moment ago—like he was still waiting for something.

Inho’s chest felt too tight.

He exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his own hair.

“…Tsk you idiot, where would I go?” he muttered.

Inho sighed, dragging a hand down his face before finally relenting.

He moved carefully, slipping onto the bed beside Gi-hun, keeping to the edge, as far as the mattress allowed. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have left, should have gone to the couch, should have kept whatever distance still remained between them.

But Gi-hun had asked him to stay.

And for some reason, Inho couldn’t bring himself to say no.

He lay stiffly on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of Gi-hun’s breathing. It was slow now, deep—his body fully surrendered to sleep. Inho exhaled, finally allowing himself to relax, just a little.

Then—movement.

Before he could react, Gi-hun shifted, rolling toward him, his arm draping loosely over Inho’s waist, his face pressing into the space just beside his shoulder.

Inho tensed.

The warmth of him was immediate, seeping through the layers of fabric between them. Gi-hun's breath, soft and even, brushed against Inho’s skin.

For a moment, Inho considered pulling away.

But Gi-hun let out a quiet sigh, his fingers curling slightly against Inho’s side, like even in sleep, he didn’t want to let go.

Inho swallowed hard.

His body remained rigid for a few seconds longer, fighting against the instinct to keep his distance.

But then, slowly—carefully—he let himself breathe.

He didn’t move away.

Didn’t push Gi-hun off.

Didn’t let himself think too hard about why.

Instead, he just lay there, eyes drifting closed, allowing the steady warmth at his side to lull him into something dangerously close to peace.

Chapter Text