He tossed his bag onto the floor and flopped into the guest chair like it owed him rent.
“You gonna lecture me now?”
Yul took a long drag. “Wouldn’t work.”
“Then skip it.”
“I’ll offer instead.” He exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “You want another week?”
Haneul blinked slowly. Then, “I don’t need time.”
Yul nodded like he expected that.
“I need motion.”
“Of course you do,” Yul muttered. “Motion with no sleep and that dead-boy stare in your eyes. Classic recipe.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re haunted.”
“I’ve always been haunted.”
“You’re worse now.”
“You’re worse every day.”
Yul chuckled under his breath. “Fair enough.”
Seungho stood in the doorway. Arms folded. Not interrupting.
Just… steady.
??????
As Haneul wandered out, grumbling something about “where the hell is my black nail polish,” Yul gestured for Seungho to stay.
He closed the office door behind them and leaned against it like the world outside could wait.
“You look like a man who just signed a ten-year lease on a stray hurricane,” he said dryly.
Seungho didn’t blink. “I’m fine with the weather.”
Yul’s eyebrows lifted. He studied him, then glanced back toward the closed office door where Haneul had disappeared, still muttering under his breath about “stupid corporate dragons.”
And then something in Yul’s gaze shifted, quiet, almost imperceptible.
He’d seen this before. People falling for “Cheonsa”. Men. Women. Rich. Poor. They always mistook the fire for warmth, the glint for invitation. Most ended up burned, bewildered, shut out without warning.
But this time…
This time the boy wasn’t snarling to escape.
He was snarling, yes, loudly, creatively, but he hadn’t moved away. Not once. Not when Seungho shadowed him into the club. Not when his eyes lingered too long. Not when his silence filled the room like gravity.
That was new.
Yul didn’t know Seungho well. They shared a friend. That was all.
