Day 2 at Yosan – 21st Floor
Kwon kept his head down.
He buried himself in onboarding modules, familiarized himself with team tools, and made sure to stay close to the other new hires — not too friendly, not too distant. Just enough to blend in.
He ate lunch at his desk. Avoided the upper floors. Took the stairs instead of the elevator, even though his legs ached by the end of the day.
He didn't want to risk accidentally bumping into him again.
Into Tae.
It wasn't fear.
Not exactly.
It was the weight of everything left unsaid. Everything that had once almost been something — until it wasn't.
"He probably thinks I'm beneath him now," Kwon thought.
"Or worse… he doesn't care at all."
That should've made it easier. But it didn't.
Meanwhile – 33rd Floor
Tae stood with his back to the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets.
He hadn't gone down to the 21st floor again.
Not yet.
But he wanted to.
Every time he passed Kwon's name on a project draft or approval list, he paused.
The others around him called it coincidence.
Tae knew better.
He hadn't meant to put Kwon under the UX division he directly reviewed. It wasn't favoritism — not yet. But now that it had happened, he found himself… curious. Frustrated, even.
Why pretend?
Why act like they were strangers?
Friday – Weekly Briefing Meeting (UX & Design Divisions)
Location: Floor 33 – Main Conference Room
Kwon's stomach twisted the second he saw the invitation email.
Mandatory attendance. CEO Tae Joon will be present.
He hovered over the message for a full minute before quietly pressing Accept.
Meeting Day – 10:00 a.m. sharp
The conference room was filled with quiet rustling and tapping as laptops came online and notes were pulled up.
Kwon sat toward the far end of the long oval table, blending in with the junior team.
Then the door opened.
And Tae walked in.
Dressed in charcoal gray, no tie, sleeves rolled just enough to show the tension in his forearms. Sharp, commanding. Cold, if you didn't know better.
Kwon didn't look at him.
Not once.
Even when Tae began speaking — outlining strategy, praising progress, critiquing certain design flows — Kwon kept his eyes glued to his notepad. Taking notes like a student. Like a stranger.
But Tae noticed.
Every. Time.
He let the meeting stretch long, drawing out the slides, asking open-ended questions just to scan the room — his gaze drifting too often, too obviously, toward one end of the table.
Where Kwon sat perfectly still.
By the time the meeting ended, the room began to empty out — slowly, clusters of people murmuring about deadlines and coffee orders.
Kwon stood, careful to be neither first nor last.
He made it to the door.
Almost.
"Kwon Seokmin."
His name cut through the air like a blade.
He stopped.
Turned.
Tae stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was calm, his expression unreadable. "Stay a moment. I'd like a word."
Every instinct in Kwon's body screamed to make an excuse. To run. To lie.
But instead, he simply nodded.
"Of course, sir."
The last few team members filed out. The door shut.
Silence.
Kwon stood near the exit, posture formal.
Tae didn't speak for a while. Just studied him.
"You've done good work this week," Tae finally said, tone professional. "I reviewed your interface revisions last night. Efficient. Clear. Sharp."
Kwon gave a polite bow. "Thank you."
Silence again.
Then — softer — "You're going to pretend you don't know me. Is that it?"
Kwon's throat tightened.
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
Tae's eyes flickered. "Don't lie to me."
A pause.
Kwon looked away. "It's been a long time."
Tae stepped forward, his voice lower now. "So that's all I get?"
Kwon swallowed. "We're not kids anymore, Tae. We're coworkers. You're my CEO."
"You're more than that."
Kwon's jaw clenched. "Not anymore."
Tae stopped in front of him — not touching, not pressing — but close enough to break through every wall Kwon had tried to put up.
"Do you really believe that?" he asked quietly.
Kwon's eyes stung.
He blinked hard.
"I don't know what I believe," he whispered. "But I'm here to work. Not to reopen old wounds."
Tae didn't answer.
Just looked at him — heartbreak and longing tucked behind eyes trained to give nothing away.
Kwon turned to leave.
"I'll see you at next week's meeting, sir."
And with that, he walked out.
Leaving Tae alone in the glass-walled room, staring at the door like he'd just watched something precious slip through his fingers again.
But this time…
he didn't plan to let it happen twice.
Yosan HQ – Stairwell Between Floors 32 and 21
Kwon gripped the railing halfway down the stairs, breath shallow.
He'd made it out of the conference room with a straight face.
With professional words.
With steady hands.
But the moment he was alone, everything cracked.
The sound of Tae saying, "You're more than that," echoed in his head like a cruel whisper.
Why now?
Why say that now?
When it's too late. When it has to be too late.
Kwon closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool wall.
The man he'd once crushed on in silence was no longer a memory.
He was flesh, and presence, and power — standing in front of him like he still mattered.
And for a second, Kwon had almost let himself believe it again.
Almost.
Yosan HQ – CEO's Office, That Same Evening
Tae sat at his desk, unmoving.
The office lights had dimmed to soft gold. The city pulsed behind the glass.
A half-drunk coffee sat beside his laptop, cold now.
He hadn't opened another file since Kwon walked out of the meeting room.
His eyes were locked on Kwon's resume, open on the screen like a haunting.
He's still angry. Or maybe just protecting himself.
Tae couldn't blame him.
Back then, he hadn't known what to say. How to say it.
He'd been a coward. Kwon had waited — silently, loyally — for a sign, and Tae had given him nothing.
And now?
Now, the tables had turned. And Tae had no idea how to reach him.
But he knew one thing for sure:
He couldn't let Kwon fade again.
Not this time.
Following Monday – Yosan Cafeteria
Kwon sat in the farthest corner, lunch untouched, laptop open as an excuse.
He stared blankly at his screen. The world around him buzzed with small talk, coffee runs, team gossip.
Then something odd happened.
An alert popped up in the top corner of his screen.
Meeting invitation: UX Design Feedback Review – 1:00 PM, Conference Room 14-B
Invited by: CEO Tae Joon
Kwon stared at the invite, pulse skipping.
No one else on the team had received it.
Just him.
1:00 PM – Conference Room 14-B
He walked in slowly, warily.
The lights were on. The AC hummed. The projector screen was dark.
And Tae was already there, standing beside the table with a single manila folder in hand.
Kwon cleared his throat. "Sir?"
Tae looked up. "Close the door, please."
Kwon did.
Silence settled between them again. Familiar. Tense. Still beating with what was never said.
"I reviewed your interface draft from last night," Tae began, holding out the folder. "I have some notes."
Kwon reached out and took it. Their fingers didn't touch — but the space between them burned like they had.
"Thank you," Kwon said, formal.
Tae didn't move.
He just looked at him.
"You don't have to keep pretending."
Kwon stiffened. "I'm not pretending. I'm working."
"No," Tae said softly. "You're hiding."
Kwon's throat tightened.
"I waited back then," Tae continued. "For the right time. For the courage. And I lost you because of it."
Kwon's eyes flicked up. "You never had me."
"That doesn't mean I didn't want you."
The air in the room changed — heavier, slower.
Kwon swallowed hard. "And now what? You want me to suddenly forget the years that passed in silence? You want me to drop everything just because you—"
"No," Tae interrupted. "I want the chance to explain. To show you I'm not the same boy who walked away."
Kwon looked at him, heart pounding so hard it felt like a betrayal.
Then he said quietly, "I'm not the same boy who waited."
And turned to leave.
But just before he opened the door, Tae said one last thing:
"I'm not asking you to wait anymore."
Kwon paused. Just a breath. Just long enough for Tae to see the smallest tremor in his stance.
Then he walked out.