"Don't apologize." I tucked my legs beneath me, settling deeper into the couch cushions, watching him with open curiosity. "I'm learning things."
"What kind of things?" He raised an eyebrow, his attention still half on his screen as he typed a rapid response, multitasking with the ease of long practice.
"That you're terrifying when you want to be." I said it lightly, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watched him work. "That poor manager sounded like he was about to cry."
"He should cry." Jae-won's voice was dry, but I caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, a crack in his serious demeanor. "He's been doing this job for three years. He knows better than to suggest we compromise our preparation."
His phone rang again, and I watched him take another call — this one about scheduling conflicts for a variety show appearance. Then another about merchandise production delays. Then another about a reporter requesting an exclusive interview.
Through it all, I observed.
I saw the way his shoulders carried tension that never fully released, muscles knotted beneath his shirt. The way his jaw tightened when someone suggested something that would negatively impact his members. The way he automatically put himself between his pack and any problem, absorbing the pressure so they didn't have to.
Every decision he made affected four other people. Every choice carried weight. And he bore it all without complaint, without showing strain, without letting anyone see the cost.
"You do this every day." I said it when he finally set his phone down, something like awe creeping into my voice as I studied him. "All of this. The calls, the negotiations, the protecting."
"It's my job." He rose from his desk and crossed to the couch, settling onto the opposite end with a tired exhale, his body sinking into the worn leather. "Someone has to do it."
"But it doesn't have to be you." I pointed out, shifting to face him fully, my knees brushing against his thigh. "You could delegate. Share the load."
"I could." He agreed, his dark eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch, something fierce flickering in their depths. "But I won't. They're my pack. My responsibility. I won't let anyone else carry that weight."
"Even if it's crushing you?" I asked it quietly, seeing more than he probably wanted me to see, the exhaustion hiding beneath his composure.
Something flickered in his expression — surprise, maybe, or recognition that I'd seen through his walls. "I didn't realize it was that obvious."
"It's not." I admitted, pulling my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "I just... I know what it looks like. Carrying things alone. Pretending you're fine when you're drowning."
He studied me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful, assessing. "We're more alike than I expected, Keira Park."
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening with annoyance, then deliberately turned it face-down on the couch cushion between us.
"No more calls." His voice was firm, final, like he was issuing a command to himself as much as declaring it to the room. "I promised you today. You're getting it."
Before we left, Jae-won handed me a black face mask and a baseball cap.
"Put these on." He was already pulling on his own mask, a bucket hat covering his distinctive hair, dark sunglasses completing the transformation. "We can take them off inside, but on the street..."
"You become a walking target." I finished for him, adjusting the cap over my hair, tucking stray strands behind my ears. "Got it."
He looked at me for a moment, something soft flickering in his eyes above the mask. "Thank you for understanding. Some people find it annoying."
"Some people aren't bonded to five idols." I pointed out, my voice slightly muffled by the fabric. "I'm learning to adapt."
We ended up at a small café tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, far from the main streets where fans might recognize him. Even disguised, Jae-won moved with purpose, his hand hovering at the small of my back as he guided me through back alleys and side streets, clearly following a route he'd mapped out in advance. He'd called ahead, and we were seated in a private corner booth, hidden from view by strategically placed plants and a decorative screen. Only oncewe were safely tucked away did we remove our masks, the anonymity of the space letting us breathe.
"You planned this." I observed, sliding into the booth across from him, my fingers trailing over the smooth wood of the table as I noted the careful positioning.
"I plan everything." He signaled a server with a subtle gesture, his movements economical and precise, wasting no motion. "It's a character flaw."
"Or a survival mechanism." I countered, accepting the menu the server offered with a polite smile, my eyes scanning the options without really seeing them.
"Both." He agreed, something warm flickering in his dark eyes, softening the hard lines of his face. "Probably both."
We ordered — coffee for him, tea for me, pastries to share — and settled into a comfortable silence while we waited. I found myself studying his face, noticing details I'd missed before. The fine lines around his eyes that spoke to years of stress. The way his jaw stayed slightly clenched even when he was relaxed.
"You're staring." He observed it without judgment, his lips quirking into something that wasn't quite a smile, one eyebrow raised in question.
