They worked late.
By evening, most of the office had emptied, leaving only fluorescent lights humming above rows of desks.
Seoul glittered outside the window, blurred by rain.
Jae-hyun stood behind Seo-yeon's chair, looking over the monitor.
"Show me the timeline," he said.
Seo-yeon clicked through charts. "The anomaly begins at 9:17 a.m."
"And the wind direction?"
"Changed twice in five minutes," she answered. "Which shouldn't happen."
Jae-hyun leaned in closer, reading.
Seo-yeon's shoulders tensed.
Not because he was handsome.
Not because she wanted him close.
Because the air shifted when he was near her.
She had felt it earlier too.
Something like… the sky holding its breath.
Seo-yeon reached for a printed file.
Jae-hyun reached at the same time.
Their fingers touched.
A simple accident.
A harmless brush.
But Seo-yeon felt it like a shock.
Her heart stuttered.
And the temperature in the room rose as if someone turned an invisible dial.
Outside, the rain paused.
Just for half a second.
Jae-hyun pulled his hand back immediately, eyes narrowing.
Seo-yeon did too, fingers curling as if she could hide the warmth under her skin.
"What was that?" he asked.
Seo-yeon swallowed. "What?"
"The air," Jae-hyun said. "It changed."
Seo-yeon forced a blank expression. "Maybe the heater—"
"There is no heater," he replied. "This is a government building. They barely fix the lights."
Seo-yeon almost smiled at that.
Almost.
Because his sarcasm—dry and unexpectedly human—felt like the boy she remembered.
The boy who laughed softly at a summer festival.
Jae-hyun stared at her, as if trying to peel her calm expression away.
Then he did something she didn't expect.
He sat in the chair across from her.
Not interrogating.
Not accusing.
Just… staying.
"You looked at me earlier," he said.
Seo-yeon's heart sank.
"Did I?"
"You did," he answered. "Like you recognized me."
Seo-yeon's throat tightened.
She couldn't tell him.
She couldn't say:
Five years ago, I saw you smiling beside your sister.
I thought you were beautiful in a harmless way.
I wished you'd look at me once.
Then snow fell and your sister died because I couldn't control my heart.
Seo-yeon lowered her gaze. "I don't recognize you."
Jae-hyun held the silence, eyes sharp.
Outside, thunder grumbled in the distance.
Seo-yeon forced herself to be calm.
Then Jae-hyun stood and walked toward the window.
He looked at the rain like it was a living thing.
"Do you know what's strange?" he said quietly.
Seo-yeon didn't answer.
He turned back.
"For five years, I couldn't feel anything when it rained," he said. "It was just noise."
He paused.
"But today… it feels like the sky is watching."
Seo-yeon's breath caught.
Jae-hyun walked toward her desk again.
He stopped close.
Not too close.
But enough that her heart picked up speed again.
He spoke softly—like this wasn't a threat, but a confession he hated making.
"Every time you're nervous, the weather reacts."
Seo-yeon's lips parted.
She tried to deny it.
But the truth sat between them, heavy and invisible.
Jae-hyun's eyes flicked to her hands.
"Are you afraid of storms, Intern Han?"
Seo-yeon whispered before she could stop herself.
"I'm afraid of… what storms take."
For the first time, Jae-hyun's expression shifted.
Not softened.
But cracked.
Like grief briefly showed its teeth.
Outside, the rain slowed.
Not because the forecast changed—
But because Seo-yeon's heart had steadied for one moment.
And the sky listened.
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