“Noted.”
By the time Seungho left the office that night, the deed was done.
A name quietly added to the manifest: Han Eul – independent consultant (temporary contract).
He didn’t know that Jaewan was still in the office an hour later, staring at the roster with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, muttering to himself:
“God save Jeju.”
??????
Meanwhile, at the penthouse, Haneul was sprawled on the couch sketching birds and finishing a late assignment, earbuds in, oblivious to the small hurricane forming around his name.
When Seungho stepped in, coat slung over his arm, Haneul looked up lazily.
“You’re late.”
“There was traffic.”
“There’s always traffic. It’s called Seoul, skyscraper.”
“I booked us a flight,” Seungho said, cutting straight through the sarcasm.
Haneul blinked. “A what?”
“A flight.”
“Why?”
“Jeju.”
There was a pause. Then another.
Haneulfrowned, eyes narrowing. “You mean… the Jeju? Ocean. Sand. Sticky air. Gulls with murder complexes?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen the sea.”
“I know.”
“I hate the idea of it.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why the fuck—”
“Because you need to see it,” Seungho said simply. “You can hate it in person.”
??????
Chapter 39 –Lanterns and Salt Air
The plane hadn't even lifted off and Haneul was already chewing on his earphones like they were a form of protest.
He sat stiffly by the window, shoulders hunched, arms crossed like a human barricade, his thigh pressed tight to the armrest. His fingers tapped erratically on his jeans, faster with every announcement in both Korean and English.
Seungho, seated beside him in a dark blazer and travel loafers—looking infuriatingly calm—glanced over.
