Ji-Ah walked back to her desk like someone moving underwater.
Not slow.
Just distant.
Soo-Min swiveled her chair immediately. "What happened? Why did he call you? Was it about the presentation? Did he—"
Ji-Ah didn't answer.
She didn't even look at her.
She placed her bag down carefully. Too carefully. Her fingers trembled once, then stilled.
Soo-Min softened. "Ji-Ah?"
Nothing.
Then quietly, almost politely, Ji-Ah turned and walked toward the restroom.
The hallway felt too bright.
Too loud.
Inside the bathroom, she locked herself into the farthest stall. The click of the lock sounded final.
For a few seconds, she just stood there.
Breathing.
Holding it in.
Her chest tightened first.
Then her throat.
Then her eyes burned in that familiar, unwanted way.
"I hate shouting," she whispered to herself, though no one had truly shouted. It didn't matter.
The tone.
The sharpness.
The pressure.
It tangled her thoughts until everything felt wrong.
She covered her mouth quickly when the first sob slipped out.
Quiet.
Always quiet.
She slid down against the stall door, shoulders shaking as she tried to keep the sound contained.
Tears fell fast, hot, humiliating.
She pressed her palm against her eyes like that might push them back inside.
"It was just a mistake," she breathed. "Just a mistake."
But the way he had said one task echoed in her head.
Outside, back in the office, Seo-Jun returned.
He scanned the desks. "Miss Park?"
Soo-Min looked up. "She went to the restroom."
Seo-Jun's expression shifted, subtle but immediate.
"How long ago?"
"A few minutes."
He nodded slowly.
Then he stood there.
Waiting.
Not rushing in.
Not knocking.
Just standing near the hallway, hands folded behind his back, expression thoughtful.
Because he had seen that look before.
And he knew this wasn't about a presentation anymore.
-----
The moment the company closed, Ji-Ah left.
No lingering.No chatting in the hallway.No dramatic retelling to Soo-Min.
She packed her bag, shut down her computer, and walked out like someone exiting a building that had suddenly grown too tight around her ribs.
The evening air hit her face.
Cool.
Unjudging.
She breathed.
Her phone buzzed.
Min-Jea.
My rowdy baby, don't be disheartened. Want to go out?
She stared at the message for a long second.
Rowdy baby.
She almost smiled.
Then sighed.
Of course she did.
Staying in that house tonight would be suffocating. The walls would replay his voice. The memory would sit at the dining table like an uninvited guest.
Another buzz.
I know you. You're overthinking. Come out. I'll buy you something sweet.
She typed back slowly.
Fine. But I'm not talking about it.
His reply came instantly.
You will.
She rolled her eyes and slipped her phone back into her pocket.
The sky was turning that soft purple between day and night. The city lights were flickering on, one by one, like Seoul deciding to distract her.
And maybe she needed that.
Noise. Movement. Sugar.
Anything but the echo of one task.
--
Night settled over the house like a lid.
Inside, the lights were still on.
Ha-Joon sat on the couch in a black shirt and dark trousers, hair slightly disobedient as if he had run his fingers through it one too many times. He looked composed. Straight back. Calm breathing. Hands folded.
But his mind was pacing.
What if she avoided coming home.What if she cried somewhere alone.What if she decided this place was too heavy.
He glanced at the clock.
10:57 PM.
Do-Hyun and Nisa had already gone to bed. Seo-Yeon too. Even the house seemed to be pretending everything was fine.
Only Min-Hyuk remained, leaning against the armchair, watching his older brother spiral internally with polite dignity.
"She's not five," Min-Hyuk said lightly.
Ha-Joon didn't look at him. "I know."
Another glance at the clock.
10:59.
The doorbell rang.
Ha-Joon stood immediately. Not rushed. Not frantic.
Just fast.
Min-Hyuk smirked. "You were counting seconds."
Ha-Joon ignored him and opened the door.
It was not Ji-Ah standing there.
It was Min-Jea.
With Ji-Ah draped across his back like a sleepy koala.
Her bag hung from one of his arms. Her shoes were dangling from his fingers. She smelled faintly of beer and something sweet. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes glossy and innocent, hair slightly messy from the ride.
She lifted her head slowly.
"Sirrrrrrr," she sang softly, as if she had discovered gravity personally.
Min-Jea smiled politely. "Good evening."
Ha-Joon's jaw tightened for half a second.
"She drank," Min-Jea added in a whisper, amused. "Not much. Just enough to be brave."
Ji-Ah waved weakly at Ha-Joon. "I walked very straight. Ask him."
Min-Jea leaned closer and murmured, "I'll take her to her room."
"No," Ha-Joon said immediately.
Not loud. Not sharp.
Just firm.
"I will."
Min-Jea paused. Their eyes met.
A quiet exchange.
Territory. Responsibility. Something unspoken.
Min-Jea carefully shifted Ji-Ah forward. Ha-Joon stepped closer and took her from his back, steady hands sliding under her knees and behind her shoulders. She clung instinctively to his shirt.
Min-Hyuk appeared behind them, efficiently collecting her bag and shoes like a well-trained stage assistant.
Ji-Ah blinked up at Ha-Joon.
"You're… two," she murmured. "Why are there two of you."
"There's one," he said dryly.
Min-Jea chuckled and stepped back toward the door.
"Till tomorrow, Rowdy Baby."
Ji-Ah lifted her hand lazily from Ha-Joon's shoulder and waved half-heartedly. "Bye."
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Ha-Joon adjusted his hold on her. She was light. Warmer than usual. Her forehead brushed against his collarbone.
Min-Hyuk watched carefully.
"You look like you're about to interrogate the moon," he said casually.
Ha-Joon didn't answer.
He just walked toward the stairs, steady, controlled.
But his grip tightened slightly.
As if the night had almost taken something that belonged in his arms.
Ha-Joon carried her down the hallway like fragile contraband.
He knocked once.
The door swung open and Seo-Yeon stood there in pajamas, mid–face mask routine, toothbrush in hand.
She blinked.
Her eyes moved from Ha-Joon.
To Ji-Ah.
Back to Ha-Joon.
Ji-Ah lifted her head dramatically. "Seo-Yeooon. The ceiling is spinning. I did not approve this renovation."
Seo-Yeon slowly pulled the toothbrush out of her mouth.
No words. Just blinking. Processing. Judging.
Ha-Joon stepped inside. "She drank."
Seo-Yeon's brows climbed so high they almost applied for a passport.
He placed Ji-Ah carefully on the bed.
That was his first mistake.
Because the second he tried to straighten up, her hands fisted into his shirt.
"No," she declared softly.
He paused. "Let go."
She narrowed her glossy eyes at him and tugged.
Ha-Joon, dignified corporate titan, lost balance by approximately three inches and ended up leaning far closer to her face than any executive meeting had ever required.
Seo-Yeon froze. Absolutely still. This was better than television.
Ji-Ah squinted at him.
"…You."
"Yes," he said flatly.
She poked his cheek. Slowly. As if testing if he was holographic.
"You look like my boss."
Ha-Joon blinked once.
Seo-Yeon's eyes widened.
Ji-Ah leaned closer, inspecting him with tipsy seriousness. "But no. My boss is scarier. And taller. And more… dramatic."
"I see," he replied.
She nodded sagely. "Also… my boss shouted at me today."
Seo-Yeon's gaze shot straight to Ha-Joon like an arrow.
Ji-Ah continued, voice wobbling but theatrical.
"He did this face." She attempted to imitate him.
It looked more like an angry squirrel. "And he said things in that low voice. Very corporate thunder."
Ha-Joon felt something unpleasant tighten in his chest.
"You know what I hate?" she whispered loudly, pulling him closer again.
He had no choice but to brace his hand on the mattress beside her face.
"Shouting," she said, eyes suddenly less silly. "I really hate shouting."
Seo-Yeon stopped blinking.
Ji-Ah pouted slightly. "He doesn't know that. He just does it. Like… boom. Noise."
Her fingers drifted to his collar, absentmindedly smoothing it.
"But you…" she tilted her head, studying him. "You look quiet and cute."
Seo-Yeon inhaled sharply.
Ha-Joon went completely still.
Ji-Ah squinted again. "No wait. You're not him."
A pause.
"You're more handsome."
Seo-Yeon's mouth fell open.
Ha-Joon's composure cracked microscopically.
Ji-Ah sighed dramatically. "If my boss looked like you, I wouldn't resign every three days in my head."
Seo-Yeon covered her mouth with both hands now.
Ji-Ah leaned even closer, forehead almost touching his. "You look like him… but softer. He looks like he eats spreadsheets for breakfast."
Ha-Joon swallowed.
Her tone shifted just a fraction.
"But when he shouted… it hurt a little."
Not dramatic.
Not exaggerated.
Just honest.
And somehow that landed harder than anything else.
Seo-Yeon's eyes softened.
She glanced between them carefully.
Ji-Ah blinked sleepily and finally, slowly, her grip loosened.
"…Tell him not to shout," she murmured.
Then she flopped sideways onto the pillow.
Out.
Gone.
Seo-Yeon stared at Ha-Joon.
Long.
Meaningful.
Judging.
He straightened his shirt with slow precision, restoring his CEO posture as if nothing had just happened to his emotional infrastructure.
"Good night, Seo-Yeon."
She didn't answer.
She just tilted her head slightly as if to say, You are in trouble.
Ha-Joon walked out calmly.
But in his mind, something had shifted.
Corporate thunder, it seemed, had consequences.