WOP Ch 4.4

A notification, shaped like an envelope, shimmered on the screen accompanied by a vibration. Taejung, deeply engrossed in drafting detailed plans, slowly shifted his gaze. Finally, deciding he couldn’t postpone it any longer, he reached for his phone, which had been discarded in a corner of his desk.

「The weather’s quite cold today. Dress warmly for work.」

「Hyung, it’s that sleepy time of day. Get some fresh air while you work.」

“……”

His expression remained unreadable as he scrolled through the messages, the temperature of his gaze indiscernible. After checking all of his pending notifications, Taejung began to type a reply.

He briefly scanned his message one last time before finally pressing send. Only then did the guilt that had been clinging to him all afternoon begin to dissipate, even if just a little. He tilted his head back, his bangs scattering across his forehead. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but at the same time, the tension that had stiffened his neck eased momentarily.

Even after they had agreed to take a break, Seo Youngwoo continued to send messages. At first, he had called, but the awkward atmosphere had eventually led him to switch to texting. The content wasn’t emotionally burdensome. They were simple messages, just brief greetings once or twice a day. Though they were short, they clearly showed Youngwoo’s lingering anxiety and concern about bothering Taejung.

Seo Youngwoo had never been hesitant to express his feelings to Kang Taejung. Knowing this made Taejung feel both sorry and wretched. He was plagued by guilt for choosing a selfish path, even though he knew what Youngwoo feared. Despite this, Taejung continued to grapple with his own emotions, trying to sort them out.

In the midst of the particularly hot and humid summer, Kang Taejung recalled another person who, like Youngwoo, had contacted him frequently. This person, however, rarely sent messages, mirroring their general reticence in conversation. And when they did, the messages were mostly curt replies. That person was Ha Joyoon. Yet, after returning to Korea, Joyoon had sent him countless messages.

Messages saying, “Let’s meet.” “I want to see you.” “Please, just contact me once.” Despite those clumsy, pleading messages, Taejung hadn’t replied even once. What had he been so afraid of? What had terrified him so much that he had so cruelly pushed away the hand reaching out to him? If he had hurt Joyoon less, if he had been more considerate, would he have been able to shake off this guilt? But then again, even if he had embraced Joyoon, would he have been able to heal the anxiety that had gnawed at his heart and the weariness that had worn him down for so long?

As the humid heat gave way to the cooler breezes of autumn, the messages from Ha Joyoon stopped. The final message, preserved like a fossil, became further etched into his memory with each passing day, a fresh source of pain rather than a fading recollection.

Taejung covered his nose and mouth with his hands, exhaling deeply. Regret wouldn’t turn back time. Memories couldn’t be erased. The long, ugly scar would remain, a constant reminder of his mistakes, forcing him to relive them hundreds, thousands of times. Unspoken emotions escaped with his breath, scattering meaninglessly into the air. The traces of his inner turmoil were evident in the deep furrows of his brow.

He knew he couldn’t keep wasting time like this. But his thoughts were tangled like a messy ball of yarn, the knots impossible to unravel even with time. Suddenly, he craved a cigarette. Kang Taejung patted his back pocket, confirming the presence of his cigarette case, and stood up.

“Hey, Kang. Heading out for a smoke?”

His team leader’s voice startled him. He bowed his head slightly in response.

“You look terrible.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine, my foot. Do you think I don’t know you’ve been pulling all-nighters for days?”

Days of voluntary overtime, driven by a desire to escape his turbulent thoughts, had taken their toll. He listlessly rubbed his rough cheeks a few times, glancing sideways at his own blurry reflection in the monitor. Even at a glance, he didn’t look well. His team leader, watching him, clicked his tongue and waved his hand dismissively.

“Don’t even think about working late today. Go straight home.”

“But…”

“Just go, no buts. It’s a burden to everyone seeing you like this. People will think I’m working you to death. And given the day it is… No one’s working late today, so don’t be a Scrooge.”

“…Alright.”

He replied reluctantly and pushed his chair back. His eyes fell on the date on the calendar. December 24th. Christmas Eve.

Oh.

An involuntary sigh escaped his slightly parted lips. Now he understood Seo Youngwoo’s increased contact. But his expression quickly returned to its usual impassiveness. Christmas Eve or Christmas, nothing would change. He was still cowardly, still unable to reach a decision.

Frustrated, Kang Taejung grabbed his lighter and cigarettes and walked out of the office. The moment he stepped through the door, the warm air that had been enveloping him vanished, replaced by the frigid winter wind. He passed the elevator and headed for the stairwell, climbing towards the rooftop.

He pushed open the heavy, cold metal door, and the open expanse of the rooftop stretched out before him. Only then did he feel a slight release from the tightness in his chest.

Kang Taejung surveyed his surroundings with dull eyes, habitually putting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it. As he inhaled the smoke, his erratic heartbeat gradually returned to normal.

He had quit smoking for a while, but recently he’d been lighting up with increasing frequency, unable to control the urge. Come to think of it, there was nothing he could control. Not his emotions, not his actions.

“Failed at quitting again…”

He twisted his lips in self-derision.

After Joyoon moved closer, Taejung found himself glancing at the red-roofed building and scanning his surroundings whenever he left work. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. It was simply a habit.

At first, he worried. What would he do if they happened to run into each other on their commute? How would he face Joyoon? But as if mocking his concerns, Taejung never caught even a glimpse of Joyoon. A perpetually dark room, tightly closed windows, and drawn curtains were all the traces he ever saw. It was as if they had been completely erased from each other’s lives, their paths diverging entirely.

It was strange.

Throughout the entire process—Joyoon’s return, Taejung’s decision to break up with him, and the cruel execution of that decision—there had been periods when he hadn’t seen Joyoon. Since Taejung never sought Joyoon out, it was more accurate to say that he hadn’t seen him except when Joyoon had come looking for him. Even then, Taejung had rationalized it. The days he didn’t see Joyoon weren’t particularly more painful or sad. It was just a continuation of a constant, leveled pain.

But now, it was different. Lately, every moment, every second he didn’t see Joyoon felt acutely sharp and distinct. A nameless anxiety accompanied this awareness.

Impossible hypotheticals swirled in his mind, drifting through the air with the cigarette smoke. Taejung found a fleeting comfort in the dissipating plume. He idly thought that he would probably never be able to quit smoking.

What if he hadn’t drunk so much at the reunion? If he had been even slightly more sober, would he have remembered Joyoon helping him? Would he remember what Joyoon had said, or what he himself might have said? Would he have been able to react differently? No. Before that, what did he even want to say to Joyoon? What were his true feelings…?

The smoke drifted with the wind, carried in a single direction. Imagination was just imagination. There were no “what ifs” for the past.

Kang Taejung covered his eyes with the back of his hand, shielding himself from the painful thoughts. Darkness fell over his eyelids. His body, exhausted from days of overwork, was protesting. He decided to take his team leader’s advice and go home early to rest. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, the bitter smoke filling his lungs, stinging his nose.

❄

By the time he left the hospital and boarded the bus home, it was well past six o’clock. Since late afternoon, the sky had been a solid grey. Heavy clouds hung low, threatening to unleash a blizzard at any moment, just as the forecast had predicted.

As the bus left the noisy, polluted, crowded city center, the scenery gradually transformed into the familiar landscape Joyoon had known for so long.

This was the first Monday he’d had off since returning to work. Thanks to his editor’s consideration, his schedule had been adjusted, allowing him to work only one or two days a week depending on assignments.

His family had been the first to welcome the news of his leave. After that, there had been much to do. He had to undergo rehabilitation and therapy while also discussing his return date and posting location with his direct superior, Damian Boyle. He also needed to re-establish a concrete treatment and rehabilitation plan. The remaining time seemed to fly by in a blur.

Every exhale produced a small cloud of white breath. The weather had gotten noticeably colder in the past few days. No matter how tightly he wrapped his scarf, he couldn’t protect the tip of his nose, which was now bright red and painfully numb, as if it might fall off. Should he look for his gloves? Joyoon rubbed his nose with his bare hand, finding little relief. He quickened his pace, thinking about his winter gear, likely stuffed away somewhere in his closet.

‘It can’t be helped. I’ll just tell him before the Monday meeting. But I still need to tell Reporter Ha, too.’

‘I apologize. I know it’s not right, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything….’

‘No, no. The atmosphere has been tense lately, so it must have been difficult. I understand.’

His editor hadn’t taken the news of his leave well, a fact that still bothered Joyoon days later. He felt guilty for causing inconvenience to others.

Should he call? He shoved his hands into his pockets to warm them and buried his face deeper into his scarf. His ragged breaths clouded his vision.

Ha Joyoon recalled his recent meeting with Shin Kwonjoo. Kwonjoo’s expression had been unreadable, but his responses throughout the conversation had been different than usual, and towards the end, he had even shown a flicker of emotion. It was unlike him. The atmosphere had been frigid, but Joyoon knew Kwonjoo wasn’t as cold as he appeared.

A pang resonated in his chest. At the same time, a hollow laugh escaped his lips.

He had run away out of fear, yet he hadn’t been able to completely sever the connection.

Not everyone struggled with relationships like he did, clinging on and fumbling through endings. Each time it happened, it became harder, not easier. Would it take less time to forget someone he’d known for a shorter period? He doubted it. He suspected that, just as with Kang Taejung, it would take longer than he anticipated to truly let go of Shin Kwonjoo.

Pushing aside his swirling thoughts, Ha Joyoon lengthened his stride, trying to outrun the cold. Physical exertion was the most effective way to deal with a troubled mind.

Following the road eastward along the bus route led to a beautiful alley lined with large, majestic trees and evenly spaced streetlights. The narrow brick path, illuminated by a soft orange glow, was Joyoon’s favorite place in the world. When it snowed, the whole street would transform into a pristine white carpet. The thought of the snow-covered alley made his steps light and buoyant, almost childlike.

As a child, Joyoon would often get lost. Whenever that happened, he would hold Kang Taejung’s hand and follow the warm glow of the streetlights. Following those lights would eventually lead him home to his mother’s embrace. It was a very old memory.

He hoped that the lights, which had always guided him in the right direction, would now help him navigate the directionless wanderings of his heart. Just as he had done as a child, Joyoon let the streetlights lead him, walking without a destination. And at the end of the alley, where the faint glow of the stars faded, he spotted a familiar figure standing motionless.

…Why?

The unexpected sight of Shin Kwonjoo caused Joyoon’s heart to skip a beat. Why was he here? The unspoken question, unasked, dissolved into a fine, invisible dust that settled in his heart. He suddenly remembered a philosopher’s words: after the season of tears, a gentle and quiet joy would return.

“…….”

After a brief pause, Joyoon started walking towards Shin Kwonjoo, who stood with his back to the light. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the silent alley. Following the approaching sound, Kwonjoo slowly turned his head. He was still holding a cigarette, seemingly about to light it.

The scattered cigarette butts beneath his polished black shoes testified to the length of time he had been waiting. Hearing Joyoon approach, Kwonjoo crushed the unlit cigarette under his heel, pushed himself off the wall, and turned fully. Finally, his features became clearly visible in the dim light. His sharp gaze, imbued with a cool determination, was fixed straight ahead, as always.

When had he given a part of his heart to those fathomless dark eyes?

Ha Joyoon took a quiet breath and asked himself a question he knew had no answer.

A stray cat padded softly along the top of a wall, then quickly vanished. Silence descended, leaving only the afterimage of its soft, rounded tail. The only sound was the cold night wind whipping against Joyoon, a sound that seemed to echo in his very heart. His frozen body refused to move easily.

Just as he began to wonder what to do, the man who had been standing silently took a slow step forward.

“Sunbae-nim.”

A puff of white breath escaped his lips, dissipating into the cold air. The man, who had been silently looking down at Ha Joyoon, flinched slightly, his long, narrow eyes flickering.

“When did you get here? It’s cold.”

His unreadable gaze drifted from Joyoon’s breath clouding the air, to his frost-kissed cheeks, and finally to the tip of his bright red nose, before settling on Joyoon’s eyes. The intensity of his stare made Joyoon feel as though he were being scrutinized, dissected.

“I heard.”

His voice, calm and low, settled over the street. It seemed he was referring to Joyoon’s leave. Had the editor told him? Joyoon’s gaze swept indifferently over the discarded cigarette butts at Shin Kwonjoo’s feet as he waited for him to continue.

“Why didn’t you tell me yourself?”

“…….”

“If you were trying to make me angry, it worked. Did you really have to make me hear about it from someone else on Monday morning? Did you want me to hear about you from someone else’s mouth?”

“…That wasn’t my intention. I… I was going to call.”

“With that expression, who would believe you?”

Kwonjoo’s unexpected reaction flustered Joyoon, and he looked up. Shin Kwonjoo was staring directly at him, his expression cold with anger, but Joyoon couldn’t understand the reason for it. He bit his dry, chapped lip and offered a clumsy explanation.

“Last week, in your office… I tried to tell you, but the atmosphere wasn’t right.”

“…….”

Joyoon felt his breath catch in his throat. It seemed like everything he said or did only made the situation worse. He hadn’t wanted things to end like this with Kwonjoo. But he didn’t know how to salvage the situation.

“Just how much are you planning to cut off because you’re ‘ending things’? Is running away from everything, work and all, your way of dealing with things?”

“That’s not it.”

“That’s not it?”

His voice, dark and heavy, hung in the air. Joyoon’s eyes widened in surprise at the accusation. Kwonjoo’s gaze was unusually somber, almost anxious. Joyoon couldn’t understand his expression.

“How am I supposed to interpret you clearly withdrawing from even professional matters?”

Joyoon silently gazed at the man before him. Looking into those dark, impenetrable eyes caused a dull ache in his chest. Whenever he looked at Kwonjoo, he used to feel a mixture of gratitude and bittersweetness. Now, it just hurt. And that fear was frightening. He was afraid that this pain might be the beginning of something he couldn’t control.

But he knew he couldn’t say any of this. That had been their unspoken agreement when they started their relationship.

“I’m sorry. Regarding the Foreign Correspondents’ Club membership…”

“That’s not all I’m talking about.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“I’ve thought about it over and over, but I still don’t understand. Why you suddenly said those things.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Kwonjoo wasn’t oblivious to the walls Joyoon had erected. Joyoon’s apologies, which effectively shut down any further conversation, caused Kwonjoo’s carefully maintained composure to crumble.

“I didn’t come here to listen to your parrot-like apologies.”

“Sunbae-nim.”

“You know.”

The words, clipped and forced through gritted teeth, were more intimidating than any shouted anger. With no attempt to hide his fury, Shin Kwonjoo stepped closer and grabbed Joyoon’s wrist.

“Even though it hurt my pride that you initiated the breakup, I was trying to accept it.”

His fingers tightened, as if trying to dig into Joyoon’s skin, to crush the muscle and bone beneath.

“That hurts.”

At Joyoon’s quiet words, Kwonjoo’s grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. Damn it, Kwonjoo muttered under his breath.

“But no matter how much I think about it, I can’t understand why.”

“Sunbae-nim.”

“I keep replaying it in my mind. It’s absurd.”

Shin Kwonjoo frowned, his face etched with an incomprehensible anguish. As if unwilling to reveal his emotions any further, he brought his free hand up to his forehead, the shadow cast concealing his expression.

“I thought there weren’t any problems in our relationship, except for when you occasionally get lost in your own strange thoughts. Was I wrong?”

“Sunbae-nim, I…”

The casual ease with which he used to address Kwonjoo had long since vanished. The sharp wind whipped around them, tugging at Kwonjoo’s hair.

“It’s…it was my problem. My feelings were the problem. I wasn’t thinking straight, I didn’t think about the future… I was just focused on the present…”

None of the usual ways he dealt with relationships applied to Shin Kwonjoo. Clear theories, sharp logic, none of it worked. Shin Kwonjoo waited, his expression anxious, for Joyoon to continue, but his patience was wearing thin.

“I didn’t come here to scold you.”

“…….”

“I just don’t want it to end like this.”

Finally, Shin Kwonjoo, with a harried expression, inadvertently revealed his hidden feelings. As he stepped closer, his shadow fell upon Joyoon’s pale face.

The hand gripping Joyoon’s arm slid down to his wrist. The feel of Kwonjoo’s firm palm against his skin made Joyoon’s eyelids flutter and he bit his lip.

“I came here because I wanted to talk to you again.”

Holding Joyoon’s cold wrist firmly, Shin Kwonjoo continued in a low, heavy voice.

“Ha Joyoon.”

“…….”

“Look at me.”

A gust of icy wind whipped through Joyoon’s hair, stinging his skin with the unforgiving cold. His finely drawn eyes glazed over, losing focus. His mind, unable to concentrate, drifted like a buoy on the ocean. Noticing Joyoon’s distraction, Kwonjoo’s face contorted.

“Say something! I feel like an idiot talking to myself!”

Unable to contain his anxiety, Shin Kwonjoo raised his voice. He shook Joyoon’s wrist, his movements abrupt and jerky.

“Sunbae-nim…”

Joyoon was speechless, taken aback by Kwonjoo’s intensity. It was hardly the way one treated a casual fling. His mind, frozen like a prehistoric fossil, couldn’t form a coherent thought. A cold breath escaped his parted lips. Just as he thought he should say something, anything, a new sound broke the silence.

Tap. Tap tap.

Footsteps mixed with the sound of someone approaching from around the corner. Both men’s gazes snapped towards the sound. Under the hazy, orange-tinged glow of the streetlight stood a tall figure, a figure that looked remarkably like the man Joyoon had once loved most.

“Yoon-ah.”

A warm voice cut through the frigid air, calling out Joyoon’s name. The moment he recognized his name on Taejung’s lips, all his scattered senses converged.

His downcast gaze slowly lifted towards the entrance of the alley. His eyes suddenly felt hot, and he stared at Taejung, his face a mixture of confusion and something else he couldn’t quite name. As he did, the other man’s gaze, fixed on him, turned icy, like the frozen plains of a snowfield.

“I heard shouting on my way.”

Taejung’s voice, low and steady, filled the street. He didn’t hesitate. His eyes flicked between Ha Joyoon, backed against the wall, and Shin Kwonjoo, who still gripped his wrist. He started walking towards them.

He knew he was intruding. He’d pretended to just realize it now, but he’d known it was Joyoon all along. He had initially intended to walk past without acknowledging them. But the moment he saw Joyoon’s distress, the way he flinched under Kwonjoo’s grip, he hadn’t been able to think straight. He’d simply acted on instinct, following his heart.

“Taejung-ah.”

Joyoon’s voice, faint yet filled with uncontainable affection and longing, reached Taejung. One man’s gaze hardened, while the other’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Neither of them moved, caught in the contrasting temperatures of their emotions. Shin Kwonjoo finally released Joyoon’s wrist and turned to face Taejung.

“Is something wrong?”

Taejung’s question was laced with a slight tremor. He knew he had no right to interfere. With every word he spoke, conflicting emotions clashed within him.

This isn’t your place. You have no right to speak to him. You’re just a stranger.

The consequences of every choice he’d made for a stable life now bound him like shackles, restricting his words and actions. Yet, even amidst this internal struggle, the sight of Joyoon’s delicate face, softly illuminated in the darkness, made his throat tighten.

“Looks like you’re heading home.”

His reply was irrelevant to the question. But Taejung knew that his seemingly nonsensical words were the result of much thought and deliberation. It was something only those who had known Ha Joyoon for a long time would understand.

“I am.”

Joyoon’s gentle, thoughtful voice, so like him, reached Taejung’s ears. After a moment of hesitation, Taejung nodded slightly. I see. A gust of wind rustled the lapels of his coat.

Memories, bittersweet and nostalgic, began to fill the space between them. Quiet, slow, but deeply affectionate and warm-hearted Ha Joyoon. Kang Taejung, always patiently waiting for Joyoon’s slow responses, attuned to even his smallest breaths. The chain of memories was broken by a cold, sharp voice, imbued with the harshness of winter.

“Kang Taejung-ssi.”

The icy tone, devoid of any emotion, made it clear that Kwonjoo wouldn’t allow them a moment alone. Taejung shifted his focus from Joyoon to the man who had spoken. He saw a cool-faced man, slightly taller than himself, dressed in a black suit. As their eyes met, the man stepped closer and extended his hand.

“We’ve spoken on the phone often, but this is the first time we’re properly meeting.”

“…Who are you?”

Their tones, fueled by an instinctive animosity, were laced with hostility. The man’s brazen smile and the aggressive way he offered his hand made Taejung’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t you remember? I’m almost offended.”

The extremely low, controlled tone. The chilling air that emanated from him. The innate arrogance and cynical demeanor. A wave of memories washed over Taejung, and his lips parted slightly. Ah. A short sigh escaped him. The man, realizing that Taejung recognized him, let out a short, humorless laugh and introduced himself.

“Shin Kwonjoo.”

“…….”

Taejung stared down at the outstretched hand without taking it.

Shin Kwonjoo.

A name he couldn’t forget. The image of himself relentlessly calling this man, demanding updates and pushing him for progress, flashed before his eyes.

“I thought you’d recognize my voice immediately. How unexpected. We used to talk almost every day, didn’t we?”

Shin Kwonjoo asked, one corner of his lip curling upwards in a sardonic smile. The thinly veiled accusation drained the color from Taejung’s face.

The fervent feelings had rusted and faded over time. The evidence of this change of heart manifested directly in his actions: fewer calls, less intensity. He’d begun to ask perfunctory questions, resigned to the hopeless, cyclical answers he received. He’d started to realistically consider whether it was worth sacrificing his pride, begging for something unattainable. A part of him believed Joyoon was dead, yet he continued to contact him out of inertia. The frequency of these contacts decreased even further as he gradually opened his heart to Seo Youngwoo.

He had changed, slowly, silently. While he believed he had done his best, the raw exposure of his compromise with reality, his settling for less, filled him with shame. Especially now, with the very person he had kept waiting standing right there, watching him, Taejung desperately wanted to hide his cowardice and weakness.

“…I’m grateful for your help back then.”

He clenched his jaw and took Kwonjoo’s outstretched hand. A bone-chilling coldness seeped into him through the contact. The man’s eyes, sharp and predatory, seemed to glare at him, as if guarding a prized possession.

“Don’t mention it.”

“…….”

“I did think it was a wonderful friendship. We haven’t been in touch lately, so I was wondering how you were. Fancy seeing you here.”

With a raised eyebrow and a hollow laugh, Kwonjoo glanced briefly at the man standing some distance away before continuing.

“I understand your concern for your friend. But we were in the middle of a private conversation, so if you don’t mind, could you please excuse us?”

He feigned nonchalance, shrugging his shoulders, but his words were laced with raw, unconcealed emotion. Shin Kwonjoo was on edge.

Kang Taejung.

Just a few months ago, he had only known his name and voice. Now, Taejung had become the person who irritated him the most. A sharp headache, as if his skull was about to cave in, made Kwonjoo involuntarily grind his teeth. Dark, intense emotions surged through him with frightening speed. He wasn’t so obtuse as to not recognize the burning flames of jealousy.

What a shitty situation.

Despite his cynical thoughts, Shin Kwonjoo had no intention of leaving. He lacked the patience to allow them a moment alone, and the days of waiting had already pushed him to his limit. Above all, a possessive feeling towards the man standing silently behind him, watching the scene unfold with detached eyes, raged within him like a storm. Even his carefully guarded pride was no match for the emotions that consumed him.

“He’s uncomfortable.”

“What?”

Taejung’s brow furrowed at the pointed remark.

“Yoon is very uncomfortable right now. Can’t you see it on his face? I don’t know how important what you have to say is, but he’s still recovering…”

“Yoon?”

The carefully maintained mask of composure shattered. Kwonjoo’s expression crumpled, no longer able to conceal his emotions. His voice, strained and tight with barely suppressed fury, grated against the silence.

“Yoon… How laughable.”

A humorless chuckle accompanied his words. Each syllable dripped with anger. Shin Kwonjoo took a step closer and grabbed Taejung by the collar. The crisp, ironed shirt crumpled in his fist. Now, in such close proximity, every nuance of their expressions was exposed.

“If you dumped him, forget about him.”

“…What?”

“Weren’t you the one who dumped this ‘recovering’ person as soon as he came back?”

“Ugh…!”

Kwonjoo’s grip tightened. The wrinkles in Taejung’s shirt mirrored the lines of anger etched on Kwonjoo’s face. His words caused both men to freeze, one with pain, the other with guilt.

“If you avoided and ignored him because you didn’t want him clinging to you, then stick to it. Do you understand?”

The brutal honesty of the words made Taejung’s soft eyes harden. He parted his lips, replaying Kwonjoo’s words in his mind.

“What are you…”

“He was a mess after you dumped him. I picked up the pieces.”

“……!”

Taejung’s body stiffened. Time seemed to stop as Kwonjoo’s words struck him like a blow. He’s mine. Kwonjoo’s eyes, dark and predatory, seemed to scream the words.

“So don’t come sniffing around now with your pathetic excuses.”

As if he’d forgotten how to breathe, Taejung stared at Kwonjoo, then at Joyoon, who stood against the wall, his face a mask of indecision. The person he had pushed away and ignored to protect his own peace of mind. The painful months Ha Joyoon had endured, months Taejung hadn’t known about, hadn’t wanted to know about. The time Joyoon had spent cast aside, defenseless…

“…Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

Kang Taejung gritted his teeth, roughly pushing Kwonjoo’s hand away from his shirt. His words, the defiant posturing of a ridiculous hero, felt hollow. Shame made his jaw tremble.

“What do you know?”

“…….”

“What do you know about the time I endured? What do you know about my feelings… You know nothing!”

His voice, sharp with anger, wavered. He wasn’t sure who his anger was directed at. He knew it was just a pathetic attempt to justify himself.

You, who came to me with a broken face. You, who sat through that meeting with Seo Youngwoo, unable to refuse, even though you didn’t want to be there. You, who desperately contacted me, even though I didn’t respond. You, who pleaded with me, tears streaming down your face. You, who even after being slapped, still clung to my clothes. You, who followed me that night, even though I didn’t look back. The lonely sound of your footsteps. Me, who pushed you away. Me, who hoped for a future without the pain of your absence. Me, who thought that five years of waiting was enough, who felt burdened by you. Me, who wished you would stop contacting me. Conflicting emotions churned within him, a chaotic mess.

“Yes, I don’t know.”

Shin Kwonjoo sneered, flexing his empty hand.

“But why should I understand Kang Taejung-ssi’s feelings and thoughts?”

“You…!”

“I’m already overwhelmed dealing with my own issues with him. I couldn’t care less about yours.”

His unrefined anger spilled out. He was naturally timid and easily frightened. Despite his intentions to remain patient and try to talk things through, the situation quickly deteriorated, making him feel insignificant. Shin Kwonjoo realized his usually ironclad composure, something he’d always prided himself on, was crumbling.

He’d invested, in his own way, what he considered considerable effort into Ha Joyoon, his rationality battling with the sliver of emotion he allowed himself to feel. As time passed and he got to know Joyoon better, he found himself not minding Joyoon’s clumsiness, something he’d initially found pathetic. At some point, different feelings had begun to surface, leading him to act and speak in ways he never had before.

The unfamiliar dynamics of their relationship had been awkward, but he’d gradually grown accustomed to this new version of himself. Then, the sudden breakup had hit him like a ton of bricks, a lingering shadow that poisoned his heart. Questions of why and how had long become a luxury he couldn’t afford.

“I don’t care how much Kang Taejung-ssi sacrificed or how difficult a time he endured. I don’t have the time to dwell on the past between the two of you. I’m simply telling you not to refer to Ha Joyoon like that.”

“What right do you have to say that?”

“None, of course. But Kang Taejung-ssi is nothing either, isn’t he? Are you really that clueless?”

Kang Taejung, who had been about to lunge at Kwonjoo, froze. At this, Kwonjoo sneered and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Yoon-ah. The short, affectionate nickname grated on his nerves. Despite knowing it was childish and petty, Shin Kwonjoo couldn’t help but express his raw anger. He remembered Joyoon, hurt and vulnerable. He remembered how his own gaze had been drawn to Joyoon despite thinking him foolish, how that had angered him.

He was angry. Beneath his arrogant exterior lurked a dark, possessive desire. A ferocious protectiveness, a refusal to be robbed of what he now considered his, rose within him. His sharp, metaphorical fangs were bared, ready to tear into anyone who threatened that possession.

Just as his anger threatened to explode, cool fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, accompanied by a soft sigh. The gentle touch instantly diffused the tension between the two men.

“Stop it.”

“…….”

“Please stop, Sunbae-nim.”

Joyoon’s warm gaze softened. A desolate wind blew, mirroring the melancholy in his eyes. He had pulled a grey scarf from his bag and wrapped it around his neck. His voice was quiet.

“Am I an object? To be discarded and picked up?”

“…….”

“I’m not trash.”

“You…”

A flicker of surprise crossed Kwonjoo’s face at Joyoon’s blunt, almost joking words. His eyes wavered, confusion swirling within them.

“That’s not what I meant… What I was saying…”

“…….”

“You know I…”

Kwonjoo’s voice trailed off, his expression hardening. Unable to contain the turmoil within him, he covered his eyes with his hand and sighed, his voice low with self-disgust for his harsh, uncontrolled words.

“I know.”

But unfazed by Kwonjoo’s distress, Ha Joyoon smiled faintly and shook his head, firmly taking control of the situation.

“Taejung-ah, you too, stop it.”

“…Yoon-ah. But…”

He spoke firmly, his words directed at his former lover, who still stood a step away, trembling with humiliation. With just a few simple words and gestures, the sharp, tense atmosphere dissipated. A cold winter gust whipped through their hair. Shivering, Joyoon rubbed his arms and turned towards Shin Kwonjoo. His face, now calm, betrayed none of his earlier distress.

“Sunbae-nim, are you free tomorrow?”

It was a polite dismissal. Kwonjoo understood. His narrow eyes widened slightly.

“What are you talking about?”

His gaze sharpened, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“If you tell me when you’re leaving work, I’ll meet you in front of your office.”

“You…!”

Kwonjoo’s sharp, handsome features hardened. His eyes, filled with displeasure, darted towards Joyoon, but Joyoon remained unmoved. He was surprisingly stubborn when he wanted to be. Kwonjoo knew from experience that Joyoon wouldn’t be intimidated or coerced, no matter how hostile the atmosphere became.

Cursing under his breath, Shin Kwonjoo roughly pushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. His smooth brow furrowed.

“You’re telling me to leave?”

“…….”

“To leave you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Joyoon rubbed his cold face and slowly nodded.

“Just give me some time.”

Exhaustion was etched onto his pale, delicate features.

“There are things I can’t say here.”

His words sounded like a threat, a warning, but they weren’t. He knew Kwonjoo wouldn’t hurt him. As Kwonjoo’s gaze deepened, Joyoon smiled sadly and lowered his eyes.

“Sunbae-nim… I need to sort things out.”

“…….”

Shin Kwonjoo’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his expression stunned.

“I’ll definitely be there tomorrow. Let’s talk again when things have calmed down. I also think we need to have a proper conversation, Sunbae-nim.”

“You!”

Shin Kwonjoo took a step forward, his face etched with anxiety. Joyoon reached out and shook his head pleadingly. It was a small gesture, but Kang Taejung, watching them from a distance, clenched his fists. A nameless ache pulsed within him. He bit his trembling lip and spoke.

“Are you planning to out Yoon by making a scene and spreading rumors about our love triangle?”

“…….”

“Stop it.”

His voice, quiet but firm, resonated in the cold air. The tense atmosphere shifted, a sudden stillness descending like ice water.

“Look who’s talking.”

Kwonjoo’s grip on Joyoon’s arm loosened. He stared at his now empty hand, then sighed heavily, covering his eyes with his other hand.

He had to admit that, in this moment, Ha Joyoon had chosen Kang Taejung over him. It was a brilliant attack, a devastatingly effective blow. A low, bitter chuckle escaped Kwonjoo’s lips, the sound echoing the deep wound inflicted by Joyoon’s simple gesture. His tightly pressed lips slowly parted.

“This is a day I’ll never forget. Should I thank you for that?”

“Sunbae-nim, I’ll definitely come tomorrow…”

“…Should I have ignored you completely back then?”

“…….”

“Though I probably couldn’t have.”

Shin Kwonjoo smiled bitterly, rubbing his cheek. His voice, as always, was low and deep, but it trembled slightly. He lowered his head, the shadow cast by the streetlight concealing the hurt and humiliation etched on his face.

He looked up, his gaze, now carefully composed, settling on Joyoon. He took a deep breath, then turned to look at Kang Taejung, his expression cold.

“Kang Taejung-ssi.”

“…….”

“Instead of wasting time here, you should keep a closer eye on your lover. Teach him to know his place and when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Sunbae-nim!”

Joyoon’s carefully maintained composure cracked, his eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected words. Taejung was equally startled.

“What…what are you talking about?”

But Shin Kwonjoo didn’t give him a chance to elaborate. He turned abruptly, not walking away immediately, but pausing to look down at Joyoon’s hand, which still loosely held his arm. The sharp, cutting edge of his gaze softened, but the gentleness in his eyes felt carefully constructed.

“Sunbae-nim, wait.”

“Let go.”

“I’ll come to your office tomorrow…”

“Whether we talk tomorrow or the day after, it’s up to you now.”

“…….”

“Don’t think I’m unaffected by this.”

The hurt and wounded pride in his eyes were palpable. Joyoon’s gaze wavered, his eyes widening with distress at Kwonjoo’s cold stare.

“That’s not what I meant. If you just wait…”

“Ha Joyoon.”

Kwonjoo’s voice was firm. He smiled faintly.

“Haven’t you already learned that not everyone will wait for you?”

The weight of his words settled heavily upon Joyoon. Yet, in this moment, he knew what he had to prioritize.

“…….”

Joyoon stood frozen, unable to move. Shin Kwonjoo, seeing that Joyoon wouldn’t stop him, curled his lip and shrugged off Joyoon’s pale hand, his gaze flickering with hurt.

“Let go.”

With a final, dismissive word, Shin Kwonjoo turned and walked away. The sharp tap of his shoes against the pavement echoed in the quiet alley.

He didn’t stop or look back, not even once. The image of his resolute back lingered, a phantom heat settling in some indefinable part of Joyoon’s heart.

“…Joyoon-ah.”

After staring at the empty space where Shin Kwonjoo had disappeared, Joyoon finally turned to face Taejung. He met Taejung’s gaze, which was a mixture of confusion and shock.

“How…do you know each other?”

Taejung’s voice was strained, tight with unspoken emotion. How should he explain his relationship with Shin Kwonjoo? Unable to answer immediately, Joyoon hesitated, then finally spoke.

“Sunbae-nim.”

The simple term, “Sunbae-nim,” encompassed a multitude of complex, undefined feelings. But Taejung, watching him carefully, understood from the subtle shift in Joyoon’s expression that their relationship was more than just senior and junior. It was a nuance that anyone else would have missed, but Kang Taejung knew Ha Joyoon better than anyone. He had suspected it, but seeing it confirmed before his eyes was a different matter altogether.

“From work?”

“…Since university.”

“Is he…the person from back then?”

“Back then?”

Joyoon’s eyes tilted upwards, his expression curious. A burning poison, starting from his toes, curled upwards like smoke. The scene before him shifted, transforming into that afternoon when he’d run into Ha Joyoon in front of his company building. What expression had Joyoon worn that day? Taejung’s lips, frozen like a statue’s, reluctantly parted.