WOP Ch 6.1

The pilot implementation of the Avid newsroom system in the London bureau has yielded significantly more effective and efficient results in communication and media delivery with other international bureaus compared to the previous system. Most notably, media exchange time has been drastically reduced, and the editing system has become simpler and clearer. However, the backup issue that arises when the playout server goes down requires further improvement. Overall, the communication benefits are substantial.

Based on statistical data, the man frankly shared his experiences and observations from the past year. His report prompted editors-in-chief from other pilot program branches to voice their agreement.

[Our bureau shares the same opinion. The media exchange format itself feels much simpler, and we believe it’s necessary to integrate it with the existing Avid system.]

[The board will make the final decision, but the consensus on the ground is to expand this system.]

The executives at the end of the conference table listened attentively to the lively discussion, busily reviewing the statistical data. As always, the review process for adopting a new system was meticulous and rigorous.

[Thank you for your feedback. Could you please provide a specific example of the playout server downtime issue?]

[We’ll explain that with a prepared video.]

The man leading the discussion pointed to the projected video screen with his characteristically expressionless face. It was the beginning of a long meeting.

People poured out of the conference room as the door opened. Fatigue was evident on some faces after the lengthy discussion, but most employees were busy discussing the decisions made.

[It looks like it’ll be expanded to Berlin, Paris, and Toronto this year.]

[Probably.]

He replied curtly, pulling his vibrating phone from his pocket. The constant stream of messages from before and throughout the meeting had frayed his nerves.

[Might get sent flying again.]

Tsk. Damian Boyle clicked his tongue and rubbed his chin. The man looking down at him smirked slightly.

[If they tell you to fly, you fly.]

[Hearing that from someone who just got back from flying around….]

As a side effect of his rapid promotion, he had spent the past few years rotating through various bureaus or setting up new ones. As a result, he was one step closer to becoming an executive, but… Boyle, who wasn’t particularly ambitious, didn’t want to spend years toiling in foreign countries. Sighing deeply, Boyle recalled Shin Kwonjoo’s travels across various countries.

[I don’t want to be involved from the beginning of the system implementation. I want to go somewhere where it’s already set up.]

[If you want to do things your way, why don’t you just start your own company?]

[If I had that kind of money, I’d buy a damn villa in Miami right now.]

[If you don’t, then go where they tell you to go.]

Boyle glared at his unsympathetic colleague and grumbled.

[All the Asians I know were kind.]

[That’s a racist remark.]

[I can’t say anything, can I? Damn it, let’s fly together.]

[Fly alone.]

[Are the preparations for the Toronto business trip next week going well? Do I really have to go? Wouldn’t it be enough to send just one person in charge? I have a bad feeling about this.]

[Don’t even think about putting it off.]

He spoke frankly, showering him with jokes and hiding no familiarity. Meanwhile, the man’s eyes, constantly checking the messages on his buzzing phone, shone sharply. The sudden tension in the atmosphere caused Boyle, who had been joking, to narrow his eyes.

[You seem busy.]

[I think I need to head to Parliament now.]

[I heard Demidote’s planning to cause trouble again.]

Boyle scoffed, thinking of a senator who had recently been making strange moves and problematic statements. That such a man could get elected was appalling. Shaking his head with his hand on his forehead, he suddenly stopped and looked at his colleague.

[Oh, by the way, I have something to tell you….]

[Let’s talk later. If it’s urgent, send me a private message. I have to go.]

[Uh…]

Before Boyle could respond, the man strode away and quickly disappeared from view. Hey—! No matter how many times he called out, it was impossible to stop the man’s determined steps. Left alone in the lobby, Damian Boyle muttered in a disgruntled voice.

[I was going to tell you some good news…]

Pouting wouldn’t bring back the man who had already left.

❄

Click—

The man closed the door carefully and leaned against the half-open window. His neatly combed hair naturally fell over his white forehead as he moved.

[Thank you. Have a nice day.]

[You too. Enjoy your drinks with your friend today. God be with you.]

[Haha— yes.]

The kindly taxi driver turned and met his eyes, giving him a thumbs-up. Despite the short interaction, a warm atmosphere flowed between them. The man smiled brightly and bowed his head.

The yellow taxi quickly disappeared from view after a cheerful farewell, leaving him with his luggage. He watched it go for a moment before turning around with a light exhale. A strangely familiar landscape greeted him at the end of his long journey.

Honk— Honk—

The voices of people walking on the asphalt blocks, the horns of cars on the road, and the sound of engines all mixed together in a rather noisy cacophony. He adjusted his backpack and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

His destination wasn’t far. After passing a block of densely packed brick streets, he soon spotted the building he was looking for. The dark beige exterior walls and the neat, antique exterior were impressive. It had the feel of a British building, but its atmosphere was somewhere between residential and office space. The lack of a homely feel seemed to reflect the owner’s personality, which he found amusing.

He paused and tilted his head back to look at the sky. The cloudless sky was so blue that it was hard to tell the season. Only the biting cold and the bare trees lining the street hinted that it was winter.

“The weather is really nice…”

He shielded his eyes from the bright sun and blinked slowly. The cold air nipped at his ears.

He couldn’t be certain of anything. Nothing was set in stone. No promises were made. Just…

Dry lips parted. The unspoken words were swallowed, traveling down the throat and settling deep within the heart. For now, they remained unutterable.

Only after a long pause did he begin to walk again. Each step up the stairs created a ripple in the air. His light hair stirred softly in the gentle breeze. Despite the fatigue from his arduous journey, his eyes were clearer and brighter than usual.

He was now close enough to the front door to reach out and touch it. His white hand hesitated over the keypad before finally opening the cover and entering the code.

It was a six-digit number he hadn’t forgotten once since leaving Korea.

❄

The man arrived home well past nine o’clock at night. Following the path of the crescent moon through the clouds, his car smoothly made its way to the parking spot. He parked expertly in his usual spot and turned off the ignition with an indifferent expression. The heavy rumble of the engine slowly faded. In time with that slowing rhythm, he closed his eyes, leaning back against the driver’s seat. The fatigue of a hectic day weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“Haa…”

A weary sigh escaped his lips. He rubbed his tired eyes with a listless hand. The exhaustion from running non-stop like a machine devoid of emotion always seemed to hit him suddenly at night.

He was aware that a part of his mind was constantly leaking. He knew the cause, but there was no solution. All he could do was endure and persevere, relying on oblivion. Perhaps it was fortunate that it didn’t interfere with his daily life or work.

His expression darkened as his thoughts continued. Perhaps this was punishment for his arrogance, for judging those who were swayed by their emotions as weak.

He tilted his head from side to side, pressing the bridge of his nose carelessly, before returning to his usual composed expression. He didn’t have the luxury to dwell on such thoughts.

While he had achieved success with the Avid system implementation, it was likely to lead to the promotion of the initial core members, and those who were wary of the rapidly rising Asian were, as always, a constant presence. On top of that, there were numerous issues related to a looming scandal.

A familiar headache, triggered by the thoughts he had briefly forgotten, washed over him. He winced momentarily and quickly got out of the car, grabbing the documents he had tossed onto the passenger seat. A glass of vodka before bed was the best remedy for a complicated day.

The streets, devoid of their usual year-end bustle due to the economic downturn affecting the entire country, were filled with a chilling air. Burying his face in his coat collar, he quickly climbed the stairs. He suddenly remembered the weather forecast predicting heavy snow this weekend. The thought of having to go to Toronto this Saturday immediately followed, causing him to frown. His schedule offered no respite. He would need to leave a day early due to the risk of flight cancellations – thinking this, he quickly began entering the code.

His touch on the keypad as he entered the six-digit number was, as always, listless. His firm fingertips held no expectation or hope. It was just another day like yesterday, like a year ago – another uneventful, problem-free day in his life, and he had no complaints about his routine.

Beep.

The lock clicked open with a short electronic tone. With a dull expression, he opened the door halfway, as he always did.

“…”

He stopped mid-motion, sensing the warmth emanating from the open doorway. His dark eyes slowly hardened as the warm air brushed against his cheek. It felt as if someone was inside, a warm presence that hinted at a possibility.

Even though he knew it was absurd, he was completely oblivious to his crumbling composure. He simply clenched and unclenched his fist, frozen in place. And soon, the trickle of suppressed emotions began to surge, threatening to break the dam around his heart.

As he hesitated to step through the doorway, time flowed on relentlessly.

You.

You…

An unfinished sentence lingered on his lips like smoke. A dry, parched feeling that made him crave a cigarette. His lips, stiff as a statue, formed no words. The brass doorknob felt icy cold. After a moment of hesitation, he pushed the door open the rest of the way with a slightly awkward hand. The warm air rushed out, caressing a larger area of his face. Taking another deep breath, he stepped inside.

His steps were heavy and slow, as if weighted down by hundreds of kilos of lead. But his cold, still heart began to beat faster and stronger. A strangely clear and distinct beat. A loud, rapid, and dangerously powerful sound resonated throughout his chest.

He knew the reason for these strange symptoms. His steps toward the living room were now filled with uncontainable urgency. He wanted to see the intruder lying on his beloved sofa. He wanted to see the face of the person whose light brown hair peeked out from between the armrests.

So.

Once he confirmed the identity of this rude intruder.

Thud.

I…

Thud.

His heavy steps finally stopped as he reached his destination.

His emotionless eyes slowly scanned the scene.

From the worn backpack carelessly tossed on the sheepskin rug, to the camera with its body and lens detached on the coffee table, and finally to the familiar white and delicate features of the person sleeping soundly on the four-seater sofa.

“…”

Patience was not a virtue he possessed. He had always lived a life that valued immediate results and reactions, and he pursued that way of life. Therefore, the process of patiently nurturing something over a long period, like watering and exposing a plant to sunlight several times a day before finally seeing its fruit, was a foreign concept to him.

However…

The person sleeping on the sofa slowly opened their eyes, as if sensing the shadow cast over them and the presence nearby. Thin eyelids, through which blue veins were visible, slowly lifted, revealing jewel-like brown eyes. And at that moment, Shin Kwonjoo witnessed the collapse of all his reason, logic, and rational thought.

The eyes blinked a few times, as if disoriented, before focusing on the man standing before them. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, they curved into crescents like the new moon. The sight, more beautiful than any work of art, made Shin Kwonjoo feel as if his throat had constricted.

“…Did you sleep well?”

A strangely hoarse voice escaped his throat. A foreign sound, unlike his own. But as if unconcerned by his awkward and unfamiliar demeanor, the other person’s lips slowly parted.

“…I took some great photos on the way here. Want to see them?”

He faced the longing he had left behind in his homeland long ago.

Your eyes smiling at me, the crumbling reason and logic, the overwhelming feeling of your mere existence. What words could possibly encapsulate this emotion?

“…”

His entire being, imbued with the chill of winter, crumbled. No words, no explanations were needed.

“Later.”

His coat, still cold from the outside air, rubbed roughly against the other’s cheek. He knelt down, their cheeks touched, their noses brushed, and then their lips met. A familiar scent filled his senses. A bittersweet taste. And as those soft lips parted,

He realized that his long wait was finally over.

December 20th, a cold winter night.

A reunion in a residential area in Georgetown, Washington D.C.

Side. The Sound of Silence

The scene he returned to was one of utter devastation, its history, culture, and way of life cruelly shattered. The task of capturing the tragic downfall of a once-brilliant city within his lens tormented him every moment. Was this moment he was throwing himself into truly worthwhile? Did it truly hold even the smallest, most minuscule benefit that could put an end to this tragedy? Even as he tried to steel his resolve, the thought of the people fighting a daily war for survival made the camera in his hand feel sometimes unbearably heavy, and sometimes absurdly light.

For a year, Ha Joyoon had thought of the countless people who had passed through his life. Those who carried all the joys and sorrows of life, endlessly walking towards an unknown destination, simply to survive. Those who risked their lives, those who abandoned everything they had ever achieved to leave their homeland and cross borders.

[Still, I believe there is hope.]

At the Turkey-Syria border crossing in Şanlıurfa, following the flow of refugees, Ha Joyoon met a long-lost friend he had deeply missed. As Philip Bauer had told him, Colli’s left arm would never regain its former freedom, but the injury hadn’t scarred his spirit in the slightest.

[Look, Yoon. No one is trying to save themselves first.]

Colli pointed with his remaining hand towards a group of people. Where his finger pointed, beyond the tangle of sharp barbed wire, fifteen people were huddled together, helping a three-year-old child across. It was the same spot where, just hours before, dozens had died trying to cross the border under fire from Turkish troops. The camera shutter clicked almost reflexively.

[Don’t they want to live?]

[Everyone loves themselves the most. But there is definitely a love that is greater than that.]

Until the very end, their priority wasn’t their own survival, but the survival of others. The children they lifted weren’t just children; they were their future. They represented the future that would remember and carry on their fragmented, shattered culture and history.

Click— Click— Click—.

Lost in the moment, Ha Joyoon captured every detail in his viewfinder. Their desperate hands, reaching as high as they could, hands covered in dirt, dust, and wounds. Their expressions, their desperation, their sorrow, their yearning, their stoicism, their suffering, their pain. Their hearts, their prayers, their hopes. He captured it all, determined not to miss a single moment, to preserve the values they clung to in the face of life’s cruelest and coldest moments.

[Yoon, is there anyone you want to see?]

Colli, now a young man, asked him the question as he sat exhausted in the deserted land. Just a meter away, separated by the barbed wire, he silently gazed at his cherished friend. Soon, morning would come, and with it, the watchful eyes of strict surveillance. They had to leave immediately, but neither of them could bring themselves to move. Looking into Colli’s dark, soul-piercing eyes, Ha Joyoon gently lowered his gaze. I know eyes just like yours. I remember eyes as deep as the darkest night, as vast as the universe.

[Colli, I…]

Dark blue waves flowed gently through his consciousness. In a strange space between dream and reality, his body floated, defying gravity. Lost in thought, he unconsciously opened his eyes, feeling the touch of skin against his cheek. The longing that had gripped his unconscious moments before dissipated like smoke.

“…Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Shin Kwonjoo spoke gruffly, his expression perfectly neutral, as if he hadn’t just been caressing his face. Ironically, it was this very composure, so characteristically him, that convinced Ha Joyoon he was truly back, and he couldn’t help but smile slightly.

“How can I sleep when you keep playing with my face?”

He chuckled at the playful retort, running a hand through his hair.

“Want some coffee?”

“Yes.”

Shin Kwonjoo got out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. Ha Joyoon followed, his body protesting with every movement after the long flight. Yesterday, he had been so exhausted that he had fallen asleep while they were talking, even though he had only intended to close his eyes for a moment.

As he winced, stretching his sore muscles, the bitter aroma of coffee filled the air. With the clinking of dishes in the background, Ha Joyoon finally took a moment to look around the apartment.

The interior was simple and minimalist, with everything in its place. After a brief survey, he headed towards the kitchen where Shin Kwonjoo was. The bitter scent of freshly ground coffee beans wafted towards him.

“Aren’t you going to work?”

Shin Kwonjoo paused in pouring the water and looked up at the sound of his approach. His characteristically indifferent and cool demeanor was unchanged. Seeing him exactly as he remembered, Ha Joyoon smiled again.

“I’m going in this afternoon.”

“You must be busy.”

“Hectic. I have to go to Toronto this weekend.”

“Toronto? Why there…?”

“Business trip. To hand over the pilot program we implemented in London.”

He answered casually, looking down at the coffee brewing in the French press. I see. Remembering how busy Shin Kwonjoo had always been back in Korea, Ha Joyoon nodded slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He felt a pang of hunger, his stomach empty. He tried to convince himself that the slightly awkward atmosphere was simply due to the long time they had been apart, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. Forcing a casual smile, he stood beside Shin Kwonjoo.

“Well, this weekend… I was thinking of exploring the area. It’s my first time here… I don’t really know any places.”

“I don’t know if there’s anywhere worth visiting.”

“When will you be back?”

“Around Monday.”

“That’s soon. Well, maybe I’ll look for some good restaurants…”

Clack.

Shin Kwonjoo placed the French press on the table a little too forcefully. The rhythmic churning of the coffee grounds ceased.

“Why are you so calm?”

“Huh?”

A clear emotion flickered across his otherwise impassive face. Shin Kwonjoo frowned, his hand unconsciously rubbing his stiff cheek as he looked at Ha Joyoon’s wide-eyed, questioning expression.

“You’re talking and acting so casually…”

The unspoken words hung in the air. His distorted expression betrayed his anxiety. Why are you so calm, so quiet, so… like we just saw each other yesterday? As if you just came to say hello, to simply check in.

“Never mind.”

“…”

“It’s nonsense.”

He couldn’t bring himself to voice his foolish and insecure thoughts, but his restless eyes and tightly clenched hands betrayed his inner turmoil.

Ha Joyoon was surprised by how acutely aware he was of Shin Kwonjoo’s emotions. Every subtle feeling directed towards him was vivid and distinct, as if alive and breathing. He hadn’t changed. It was Ha Joyoon’s own heart that had changed. He slowly rubbed his hand over his chest, feeling the dull ache.

“Sunbae-nim.”

“Forget it.”

“Sunbae-nim, wait a moment…”

Shin Kwonjoo’s fingers, which had been covering his eyes, paused. Watching him, Ha Joyoon forced his lips apart.

He had always been terrible with words. Past experiences of receiving less-than-positive feedback during conversations had become an invisible shackle, contributing to his reticence.

But.

Despite dismissing his own thoughts as nonsense, Shin Kwonjoo was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Ha Joyoon mumbled, his lips barely moving. He had spent enough years swallowing his feelings and regretting it. He now knew that some feelings couldn’t be conveyed without words.

“…During the time we were apart, I was never certain I would see you again.”

Do you know how I felt as I climbed the stairs, walked to your door, grasped the handle, and opened it? Thousands of unspoken emotions tickled his lips, clumsily forming into inadequate words.

“I thought even hoping for it was selfish of me.”

Ha Joyoon hesitantly flexed his fingers before finally gathering the courage to gently take Shin Kwonjoo’s hand.

“I was hesitant even as I booked the flight. You might have been seeing someone, or you might have moved…”

He hadn’t slept a wink during the long flight, plagued by anxiety and worry. His usual nonchalance in the field felt like a distant dream, and his heart hadn’t calmed down even as he arrived.

“I felt like I was going to die until the moment I entered the code…”

His halting words were slow, like a snail’s pace. But Shin Kwonjoo’s eyes, looking down at him, shone brightly. Joyoon continued, still speaking slowly, pouring out his heart.

“But when the door opened, all my thoughts disappeared.”

“…”

“Right now, I can’t think of anything else…”

A firm finger touched his chin, tilting it upwards with a gentle pressure.

“I guess I like everything about it.”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed by approaching lips. Shin Kwonjoo’s hands, pulling him closer by the waist, were hasty and clumsy, almost desperate. And at the same time, a hot tongue urgently invaded his slightly parted lips.

“Suh…”

The breath that grazed and sucked at his lips and teeth was so hot that Ha Joyoon awkwardly tilted his head back further, his hands instinctively reaching for Shin Kwonjoo’s waist. His hesitant tongue entwined with the other man’s, his lips parting and closing, gently nipped by teeth. Sharp intakes of breath punctuated the sensation of being enveloped by a broad, rough touch. Low, breathless moans escaped his lips, and his pale cheeks flushed crimson.

“Sunbae-nim, wait…”

Shin Kwonjoo finally pulled away, cupping Ha Joyoon’s flushed cheeks in his hands. His lips, reddened and swollen from being kissed and bitten, parted in a silent plea. Shin Kwonjoo’s gaze lingered on every detail before he lowered his head again, their lips meeting.

“It’s fine.”

“…”

“I know what you mean.”

“Ah…”

You don’t have to say it. The unspoken words hung in the air, but neither of them had the capacity to care.

“Nnngh.”

A thumb roughly entered his mouth, swirling around, quickly becoming coated with saliva. Suck it properly. The low whisper echoed in his mind. His vision blurred, and he blinked repeatedly, unsure which finger Shin Kwonjoo was referring to – the one in his mouth, or the ones probing below.

“Agh…!”

The fingers abruptly withdrew from below, leaving a gaping emptiness. Before he could process the loss, the finger he had been sucking was thrust inside him. Ahh— A gasp escaped his lips as he arched his back, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensation.

His long, slender neck arched back, his throat bobbing with a dry swallow. Gasps and moans, a mixture of pleasure and pain, escaped his lips. The squelching sounds of fingers moving rapidly within him were intensely erotic. Shin Kwonjoo grasped Ha Joyoon’s wrist, which was clenched around his hand in an attempt to stifle his moans, and murmured,

“Let go of your hand.”

Hmm? Ha Joyoon’s questioning sound was ignored as the fingers inside him pushed deeper, the pressure growing more insistent and shameless, his bare legs trembling uncontrollably.

“It… doesn’t feel good.”

Ha Joyoon whimpered, his smooth forehead creased in discomfort, his hands feebly pushing against Shin Kwonjoo. The weak resistance was easily overcome. Shin Kwonjoo chuckled and gently grasped Ha Joyoon’s hardening erection, the heat radiating from it palpable against his palm.

“It’s because it’s been a while.”

“Still… mm…”

Even in the throes of passion, Shin Kwonjoo’s words resonated. A while. Yes, it had been a while, an immeasurable amount of time. He inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of skin filling his lungs. The taste of flesh. It was enough to satiate the hunger that had plagued him for so long. He couldn’t recall when the last time had been. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was who he was about to have sex with, that was all.

“…Tell me if it hurts.”

He murmured against the delicate skin of Ha Joyoon’s neck, kissing him deeply. Despite the pained expression on his face, Ha Joyoon’s eyes softened at the slightly somber tone.

A single, almost imperceptible smile was enough to shatter his self-control. His afternoon schedule, the documents he needed to review, his phone buzzing with messages – all of it vanished from his mind. It was a bizarre experience.

Shin Kwonjoo nipped at Ha Joyoon’s sharp chin with his teeth, his tongue tracing the bite, pushing aside any awareness of his own erratic behavior. Reason had already bound and choked him enough.

“Joyoon-ah.”

Yes. A weak reply escaped his lips, as short and faint as a breath, yet ironically captivating. Shin Kwonjoo nibbled at his collarbone, his hands kneading and spreading Ha Joyoon’s buttocks, before whispering in a slightly teasing tone,

“Should I put it in?”

“Ah… uh…”

The question was rhetorical. There was no time to answer. The fingers of his other hand were already buried deep inside him, stretching and spreading him open with a touch that was more eager than playful, barely restraining the urge to thrust in hard.

The feeling of being completely open was always awkward and uncomfortable, regardless of how many times he had experienced it. Ha Joyoon closed his eyes, gripping Shin Kwonjoo’s shoulders. His lips were pressed tightly together, but he couldn’t completely suppress his ragged gasps.

“…Slowly.”

He managed to get the words out, his eyes half-open. The fingers abruptly withdrew. The sudden emptiness was frightening, and he instinctively tried to sit up, but a hot, blunt tip pressed against his entrance. Then, after a few teasing strokes, it pushed fully inside.

“Sunbae… Ah— Ahhh———!”

“Nnngh…”

“Ah— Ahh— Ahhh—!”

His eyes squeezed shut as he was slowly, but completely, filled. His cries grew louder as the thrusts deepened. His body arched back, stretched taut, but the heat where they joined overshadowed every other sensation.

“Ha…”

Shin Kwonjoo buried his face in Ha Joyoon’s shoulder, his erection fully sheathed, and exhaled deeply.

“I’m all the way in.”

“Haa…”

Ha Joyoon’s breaths grew ragged, his body bearing the full weight of Shin Kwonjoo.

“…I feel alive.”

I feel alive. Shin Kwonjoo whispered again, his eyes closed. The tone was low and heavy, the emotion within difficult to define. Unable to find a response, Ha Joyoon simply nodded repeatedly. Hot, painful, overwhelming. With every sense heightened, primal thoughts flooded his mind. Sex, no matter how many times he experienced it, remained unfamiliar and awkward.

“Ha Joyoon.”

A hand moved lower, fingers tracing his waist, searching, before reaching his hidden, intimate heat, cupping his erection. The entrance, stretched taut around Shin Kwonjoo’s length, was smooth and tight.

“Here.”

“Ah… Suh, Sunbae-nim…!”

His chin trembled. A blunt fingertip traced the sensitive skin around his entrance. Shin Kwonjoo paused, still fully embedded, and took a slow breath. Fuu. Fuu. His slow exhales grazed Ha Joyoon’s ear. The slow breaths and the steady beat of his heart gradually eased the tension in Ha Joyoon’s body. His arched back twitched slightly.

“Sunbae-nim…”

He tentatively placed a hand on Shin Kwonjoo’s shoulder, and the rhythmic breathing faltered. Sensing his urgency, Ha Joyoon gathered his courage and wrapped his arms around Shin Kwonjoo’s dark hair. The heat below was still intense, but his mind felt strangely at ease. His eyelashes fluttered.

“I’m not very gentle.”

Shin Kwonjoo mumbled against the nape of his neck, his voice dry. Ha Joyoon nodded faintly, remembering their past encounters, the way Shin Kwonjoo always initiated sex with a fierce urgency. He also remembered how he would initially struggle, only to be swept away by the heat of the moment, his own passion mirroring the other man’s. After a moment’s hesitation, he nuzzled his cheek against Shin Kwonjoo’s hair and spoke.

“I liked it anyway.”

The arm around his waist tightened. He winced as Shin Kwonjoo began to withdraw, a feeling of emptiness returning. Tsk, tsk— As if taking it as a cue, Shin Kwonjoo slowly pulled out, his length scraping against him until only the tip remained. Just as Ha Joyoon started to sit up, thinking he was about to stop, he was thrust back down with a force that made him see stars.

“Ah… Ah!”

“I might not be able to control myself.”

After that, all conversation ceased. He was filled again, hard and fast. His chest heaved with ragged breaths. He feared his stretched walls would tear. The slapping sounds of their bodies colliding fueled his shame. Each thrust brought the rough friction of hair against his entrance. His legs, wrapped around Shin Kwonjoo’s waist, trembled uncontrollably.

“Haa… Joyoon… Ha Joyoon…”

Despite the pain, a wave of heat spread through his body with each thrust. Pleasure began to seep into his cries.

“Ah! M-My, my legs…”

Ha Joyoon whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut, his sweat-slicked body writhing. His stretched legs ached, and the relentless thrusts were frightening. Ha Joyoon. Shin Kwonjoo whispered. In his hazy mind, the familiar scent brought his name to the forefront. Shin Kwonjoo. His boss, his sunbae, his…

“…I missed you.”

His nose burned. A large hand, gripping the sheets, reached out and covered his own trembling hand, their fingers intertwining. Shin Kwonjoo tightened his grip, their hands clasped tightly together. Even as their bodies moved frantically, the familiar scent filled his senses.

“I… missed you…”

It was a scent he longed for. Their clasped hands moved above their heads, their eyes meeting.

“What do you think I felt?”

“Ahh, uh— hhnnn…!”

His head tilted back, his throat constricting. A low chuckle grazed his ear. The point where they joined was slick with their mingled fluids, the squelching sounds filling the air. One body completely consumed by another. Moans escaped his lips, overwhelmed by the intense physical sensations.

“I…”

Shin Kwonjoo, his eyes narrowed, cupped the back of Ha Joyoon’s head with his free hand. What do you think I felt? The repeated question didn’t seem to require an answer as he leaned in, their lips meeting. A hot tongue explored his mouth, lapping up the overflowing saliva. Ha Joyoon wrapped his legs around Shin Kwonjoo’s waist, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

Thwack—!

A wave of pleasure crashed over him as Shin Kwonjoo bottomed out. Ha Joyoon squeezed his eyes shut, his toes curling.

“Joyoon-ah.”

Shin Kwonjoo pulled back until only the tip remained, then thrust back in with a powerful stroke. Ha Joyoon’s thin cheeks and unfocused eyes fluttered, overwhelmed by the sensation. Shin Kwonjoo’s jaw tightened as he picked up the pace, the force of his thrusts pushing Ha Joyoon against the headboard.

“Suh… ah…!”

“Ha Joyoon…!”

“Ah, ahh—uh—uh—nnngh!”

His cries mingled with the rhythm of the thrusts, echoing through the room. He felt as if his skin, his bones, his very insides were burning. Tears welled up, blurring his vision and soaking the sheets. Shin Kwonjoo, on the verge of climax, pushed deeper, harder, carving a path within him.

Ah! Ah! A cry of pure pleasure escaped his lips. The tingling, shivering sensation was unbearable. Then, with a final surge, Shin Kwonjoo’s weight pressed down, burying him completely. Ha Joyoon’s pupils dilated, his body tensing as he reached his peak.

“Nnngh!”

“Ahh!”

Their embraced bodies trembled. A warm, viscous fluid spilled into him. As he lay panting, Shin Kwonjoo murmured in a husky voice near his flushed ear,

“…I came inside you.”

“…Haa…”

“It’s leaking.”

Too embarrassed to meet his gaze, Ha Joyoon simply nuzzled his face against Shin Kwonjoo’s shoulder, his breath coming in slow gasps. Despite having climaxed, Shin Kwonjoo remained hard inside him.

Finally, after a long moment, he slowly withdrew. As he pulled out, a thick stream of semen leaked out. Mortified by the uncontrolled flow, Ha Joyoon quickly sat up, his cheeks burning.

“Sunbae-nim, I need something to wipe this…”

“Just leave it. The sheets need washing anyway. Someone will be coming this afternoon.”

The sheets were already a mess of sweat and their combined fluids. Ha Joyoon’s eyes widened in alarm at the mention of someone coming, his gaze sweeping over the evidence of their lovemaking. Shin Kwonjoo, seemingly unfazed, reached out to him.

“Come here.”

A long arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. Ha Joyoon, trapped in his arms, craned his neck, his embarrassment evident as he glanced down at the still-leaking semen. Shin Kwonjoo’s eyes softened as he rested his forehead against Ha Joyoon’s.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little…”

“You were pretty loud.”

“It felt good too… But still…”

“When will you get used to it?”

His low voice, laced with amusement, rumbled against Ha Joyoon’s ear. He seemed to have noticed Ha Joyoon’s initial hesitancy during their lovemaking. Ha Joyoon smiled sheepishly, looking down. Despite being damp with sweat, the feeling of skin against skin was comforting. He took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of Shin Kwonjoo’s aftershave.

“…There’s no rush.”

“You’re still smooth with your words.”

Despite the teasing tone, his gaze was gentle. The charged atmosphere slowly cooled, returning to its normal temperature.

“How have you been?”

It was a question he had wanted to ask since the moment he woke up and saw Shin Kwonjoo’s face. Shin Kwonjoo’s throat bobbed as he looked at him.

“I’ve been well.”

“Working hard as always?”

“Probably harder than you.”

“I figured as much.”

A wave of drowsiness washed over Ha Joyoon, his eyelids heavy. He wanted to ask Shin Kwonjoo about his life during the years they were apart, but exhaustion was catching up to him. Shin Kwonjoo gently kissed his tired shoulder and added,

“I’ll be home late tonight, so I’ll write down a few places you can visit while I’m gone.”

“Okay.”

“But it’s cold, so try to stay home.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure you eat properly.”

“…Okay.”

His voice gradually faded into silence. The sunlight streaming through the window felt particularly warm. Shin Kwonjoo smiled silently at Ha Joyoon’s drooping eyelids and kissed him softly. An indescribable warmth spread through his heart.

Tap, tap, tap.

Blue eyes, scanning a document, flickered towards the source of the noise. His gaze landed on a man with an impassive expression, tapping his pen rhythmically against the table as he read the same document. Finally, unable to bear the noise any longer, Boyle spoke.

[Something on your mind?]

The rhythmic tapping stopped at his irritated tone. Sharp eyes turned towards him.

[Why?]

The cynical retort made Boyle’s lips purse in annoyance.

[The pen. You’ve been tapping it non-stop. It’s distracting, so please stop.]

[Ah.]

Shin Kwonjoo glanced down at the pen in his hand and let out a short exclamation. My apologies. He offered a perfunctory apology before returning his attention to the document. Damian Boyle, after a brief glare at Shin Kwonjoo, also turned back to his paperwork, his mind preoccupied with the tasks that needed to be completed by the weekend. Damn it, why did they have to go to Toronto on the weekend?

His expression shifted as he thought about his packed schedule for the next month. He tried to read faster, hoping to leave work early.

Tap, tap, tap.

Oh my god, what’s with him today?

Boyle frowned and looked up. The man sitting across from him was still staring at the papers with an indifferent expression, his fidgeting hands betraying a restlessness that contradicted his outward calm. Judging by his expression, he seemed completely unaware of his repetitive action.

[Shin! Please stop….]

[Damian.]

Shin Kwonjoo interrupted him before he could finish. Hearing his first name from Shin Kwonjoo’s lips felt strangely unfamiliar. Past experience had taught Boyle that whenever Shin Kwonjoo used his first name, especially with that determined expression, nothing good ever followed. Boyle’s face crumpled.

[Oh, don’t say anything. Please don’t….]

[I don’t think I can go with you this weekend. Something important has come up.]

Damian Boyle’s thick eyebrows furrowed at the dreadful words spoken with the utmost seriousness.

[What are you talking about…?]

[I’ll schedule a separate meeting with the Avid representatives during the week. We needed to meet with them again anyway to discuss system implementation and review the statistics, so we can combine the two meetings. It’s not really necessary for both of us to go this weekend.]

[Yes, I agree that we don’t both need to go. But we still need to meet with the branch manager there….]

[Damian.]

The man abruptly stood up, interrupting him again. Why did he use his name if he wasn’t even going to look at him? Shin Kwonjoo began gathering his things with machine-like efficiency. He hadn’t been able to concentrate all day. It would be more productive to just finish his work at home – he thought, entirely self-absorbed.

Boyle stared, dumbfounded, as his colleague packed up his things with unusual haste.

[It’s really important, so I’m asking you a favor.]

[Being stubborn isn’t going to solve anything.]

Ignoring Boyle’s protest, Shin Kwonjoo continued, already prepared to leave.

[That’s why I’m asking you this favor.]

Despite the pleading tone, his expression was utterly shameless.

Knowing his colleague’s personality, Boyle knew that he would likely end up going to Toronto alone this weekend. Still, it was human nature to want to resist, at least once. But any playful thought of defiance vanished as he watched his colleague actually leave the room.

[Where are you going?]

[Home. Send me the rest by email. I’ll review it at home and reply right away. Thanks, Damian.]

[What are you thanking me for! I haven’t agreed to anything! I’m not going! You damn…!]

[See you next week.]

Boyle let out a disbelieving laugh as he watched Shin Kwonjoo disappear. It had all happened so fast, he hadn’t even had a chance to stop him.

[What’s going on?]