Sirens

Jio exhaled slowly, dreading the approach to his coworker’s desk. Nakyoung had a well-earned reputation around the office—a tempest in human form, with a streak of misandry and a not-so-idle threat of violence toward any man who got too close. But they were on the same team now, which meant he had no choice.

He approached the office lioness with measured steps and careful poise. It wasn’t fear exactly—Jio didn’t scare easily—but he had a healthy appreciation for avoiding unnecessary conflict. Especially when the potential consequences involved a steel bat and HR paperwork.

“Hey, uh… Nakyoung,” he began, tone deliberately respectful. “Could I get the financial quarter statements about an hour early? It’s for the presentation today.”

Nakyoung slowly swiveled her chair, turning away from her screen to face him. As she moved, her hand instinctively reached for the aluminum bat resting beside her desk. Not that she’d use it. Probably. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and suspicious, locking onto Jio like a hawk assessing a threat.

Jio’s heart did something traitorous—raced, not from fear, but from a sudden flush of attraction he hated himself for. It was infuriating how much space she took up in his subconscious. She didn’t even have to try. One glare from her and he was spiraling through fantasies that had no business existing.

“Why do you need them earlier than scheduled?” she asked, voice cool and clipped.

“Because the new boss—Sohyee—asked for them,” he replied quickly. “I’m sorry if that’s a hassle. I can help if you want—”

Nakyoung cut him off with a raised hand, her glare unwavering. After a long beat, she said flatly, “I’ll deliver them to her myself.”

Jio nodded, relief barely masked, and turned to go. As he left, Nakyoung’s eyes followed him, burning with a cold fury that only she truly understood.

Moments later, her cubicle was graced by the bright presence of Tsuki, a fellow analyst and one of the few people Nakyoung didn’t immediately categorize as an enemy.

“Why are you so mean to him?” Tsuki asked, leaning on the partition with an exaggerated pout.

Nakyoung didn’t look away from her monitor as she replied, “Because all men are pigs. They only think with their dicks.”

Tsuki rolled her eyes. “Not Jio. Or any of the guys Sohyee brought in, really. They’re not like that.”

“They’re acting,” Nakyoung snapped, finally turning to face her. “Give it time. Sooner or later, they all show their true nature.”

Tsuki sighed and nudged a paperclip across Nakyoung’s desk with her finger. “If you say so…”

Nakyoung didn’t respond. She stared back at her screen, jaw tight, willing herself to believe it.

With the report finalized and neatly stapled, Nakyoung stood, adjusted her blazer, and made her way toward Sohyee’s office.

Sohyee—an older, sharply dressed Korean businesswoman—had become the company’s lifeline. Brought in to dismantle a toxic culture that had festered for far too long, she moved through the corporate hierarchy like a cleansing storm. Her first act was swift and symbolic: removing the “orcas.”

The orcas were what staff called the predatory executives—men and women alike—who treated the office like a personal hunting ground. They thrived on intimidation, manipulation, and unchecked power. Sohyee replaced them with what she called “sharks”: hyper-competent professionals who came to work, did their jobs with surgical precision, and left without dragging ego or exploitation into the mix.

Under her leadership, productivity soared. Meetings got shorter. Deadlines were met. People stopped crying in bathroom stalls.

Among her most strategic hires were three standout employees: Izo, dubbed the Hammerhead for his brutal efficiency and laser-focused logic; Mark, the Great White, whose calm authority and technical expertise made him a quiet legend in the industry; and then there was Jio—the Tiger Shark. Smooth, disarming, with a confidence that made people lean in. People liked him. Too easily, Nakyoung thought.

But not everyone healed as quickly as the company transformed. Nakyoung was proof of that—what Sohyee, with both affection and caution, referred to as the Bull.

Nakyoung had once been the pet project of the former boss, a man whose mentorship was a cover for manipulation. Her stellar performance, tireless ambition, and loyalty had been met with condescension, boundary-crossing comments, and hands that lingered too long on her shoulder. She had endured, but not without cost.

Now, she worked like a machine—fierce, isolated, untouchable. Her mistrust wasn’t a crack in the system; it was armor.

So when she entered Sohyee’s office alone, report in hand and Jio conspicuously absent, the older woman glanced up from her tea and immediately understood.

The Bull had clashed with the Tiger shark.

Sohyee set her teacup down with practiced grace, a faint smile tugging at her lips as Nakyoung approached. She accepted the report without looking inside—because she didn’t have to. The absence of Jio told her everything.

“You know I asked both you and Jio to deliver this, right?” Sohyee said, voice calm but deliberate.

Nakyoung didn’t flinch. “He did his part. I did mine. I didn’t see a reason for… unnecessary fraternization.”

Sohyee’s brow arched. “Naky.”

“What?” Nakyoung crossed her arms. “He likes doing the bare minimum and ducking meetings. I was just helping him maintain his brand.”

Sohyee sighed, annoyed now. “Your sister asked me to prepare you for executive promotion, remember? And a major part of that means learning to work with men. I know what Mr. Kim did was—well, horrific—but all the orcas are gone. We cleared the tank. Jio’s not your enemy.”

Nakyoung’s jaw tightened. “I don’t trust him.”

Sohyee leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Why not?”

Nakyoung didn’t hesitate. “He’s all charm and no substance.”

Sohyee snorted, unimpressed. “You mean the same guy who quietly pulled a fifty-hour week when half the Shark Tank was down with the flu? Covered everyone’s workloads without complaint?”

“That doesn’t disprove my point,” Nakyoung said sharply. “He’s a smooth talker. Works just hard enough to be praised and just a little enough to never be inconvenienced. He’s the perfect case study for upper management—barely tolerable, occasionally impressive, and not terrible to look at.”

Sohyee couldn’t help but smirk. “So you have looked.”

Nakyoung rolled her eyes. “Professional observation.”

“Uh-huh.” Sohyee laced her fingers together and leaned forward, voice teasing. “You’re telling me the innocent kickboxer act does nothing for you?”

Nakyoung gave her a withering look. “Please. Any attraction I might feel is thoroughly tempered by disgust.”

“Which, for you, is practically foreplay.”

Nakyoung’s mouth twitched—almost a smile—but she shut it down fast. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Of course I am,” Sohyee said with a grin. “You’ve been all storm clouds and ice since you got here. Watching you squirm? That’s practically a gift.”

Nakyoung turned to leave, report now delivered and the conversation dangerously close to poking holes in her armor.

But just before she exited, Sohyee called after her, tone softer this time: “Just… don’t write him off so fast, Naky. Some people earn trust one small gesture at a time.”

Nakyoung paused, fingers on the doorknob. She didn’t turn around, but her voice was quieter when she replied, “We’ll see.”

Sohyee smiled then pushed her intercom, “Tsuki,”

“Yes boss” the bubbly assistant answered.

“Send Jio in.”

Minutes later, the door opened and Jio stepped in, casual as ever in rolled-up sleeves and a sheepish half-smile. “You called for me, Ms. Cho?”

Nakyoung was still seated in the corner, arms crossed, pretending she hadn’t spent the last five minutes silently building psychological barriers.

Sohyee gestured for Jio to sit. “Close the door.”

He glanced between them, picking up immediately on the tension in the room. “Uh… I didn’t do anything, right?”

“No sadly,” Nakyoung muttered under her breath.

Jio gave her a sideways look, then sat with exaggerated care. “Cool. Cool. cool .”

Sohyee ignored the sarcasm. “There’s a team-building retreat next weekend. Four nights in the mountains. No laptops. Minimal cell service. Group exercises, conflict resolution workshops, and shared cabins.”

Nakyoung visibly tensed. Jio blinked. “Wait, shared—?”

“You two,” Sohyee said, cutting through the noise, “are paired together. Cabin mates. Activity partners. The full experience. I trust you will behave Tiger,”

Silence.

Jio turned slowly to look at Nakyoung, who was glaring at Sohyee as if she’d just handed her a live grenade.

“Look,” Jio said, laughing nervously. “I don’t know if that’s the best—”

“As much as I hate agreeing with him he’s right It’s not,” Nakyoung interrupted flatly.

Sohyee sipped her tea and let them squirm for a beat before replying. “That’s exactly why you’re going.”

Nakyoung straightened in her chair. “Respectfully, Sohyee, I don’t need trust falls or hiking circles with him to be an effective team member.”

“And I’m all for healthy communication,” Jio added quickly, “but maybe not… forced proximity in the wilderness?”

Sohyee placed her cup down with a soft clink. “You both think you’re right about each other. Nakyoung thinks you’re an overconfident slacker with too much charm and not enough depth. Jio thinks Nakyoung is a misanthropic ice queen with a superiority complex. Did I miss anything?”

Both of them went quiet.

Sohyee smiled, pleased. “Good. Now you’ll have a whole weekend to prove each other wrong. Or, at the very least, learn to function without passive-aggressive sniping every time you share air.”

Jio exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really want us in a cabin together?”

“I really do,” Sohyee said, folding her hands. “Because if you two can figure out how to work together without strangling each other, then there’s hope for the rest of the company.”

Nakyoung rose to her feet, back rigid. “Fine. I’ll go. But if he so much as snores in my direction, he’s sleeping in a tree.”

“Noted,” Sohyee said, amused.

Jio stood as well, offering a hand to Nakyoung with a grin that bordered on cocky. “Guess it’s you and me, partner.”

Nakyoung stared at his hand like it was contaminated, then brushed past him toward the door. “Try not to get eaten by a bear.”

“Only if you don’t feed me to one first,” he called after her.

Sohyee watched the door swing shut and chuckled softly to herself. Chaos was a risky tool—but in the right hands, it could be alchemy.

A few days later Nalyoung found herself in the coffee room. The hum of the coffee machine filled the small kitchenette as Nakyoung poured herself a double espresso, no cream, no sugar. Just bitterness—like her mornings.

As she turned, she found Jio standing in the doorway, balancing a paper plate of toast in one hand and an aggressively cheerful smile on his face.

“Morning, Nakyoung.”

She froze for a beat. Not because it startled her—he’d said it every morning for the last two weeks—but because it was starting to feel… intentional.

“Don’t,” she said curtly, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t… greet you like a functional human being?” Jio asked, taking a bite of toast. Crumbs fell onto his hoodie. He didn’t seem to care.

“Exactly. We are coworkers not buddies,” She moved to brush past him.

“You know, most people say good morning back and forth they don't have to be friends, even when they don’t mean it,” he added casually, turning slightly to make room for her to pass. “It’s called civility.”

She stopped, looking him up and down. “You used to flinch when I entered a room.”

“Well, yeah, you used to carry a metal bat with you everywhere. You don't know, so I don't flinch anymore we are evolving,” Jio replied with a shrug. “Like a Pokémon. I'm now Less ‘Scared Intern’ and more… ‘Disrespectful Peasant.’”

Nakyoung blinked, caught off guard.

He grinned. “What, no witty comeback? Am I growing on you?”

She scoffed. “Like a fungal infection.”

But he laughed—and told her it was clever, which more than anything, annoyed her. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy her barbs.

As the day of the retreat grew closer Nakyoung found Jio’s presence tolerable. It was despicablehe was a man just like Mr. Park always saying the right thing but behind closed doors was a villain she just needed to prove this.

They were assigned to prepare a presentation for the retreat’s opening session—something about team dynamics, which was a cruel joke as far as Nakyoung was concerned.

She worked silently, flipping through a deck of slides while Jio adjusted fonts and alignment.

“Did you eat?” he asked without looking up.

“What?”

“Lunch. Did you eat?”

She frowned, not at the question but at the ease with which he asked it. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to project metrics.”

“You get snippy when you’re hungry,” he said, then paused. “Well—snippier. I figured I’d ask because I don't want your performance to decline.”

“Are you trying to wear me down?” she muttered.

He looked up, genuinely confused. “No. Am I just… trying not to be an asshole? You’ve got enough of those in your past. Plus that's not my flow. Wearing someone down is cringe I prefer to care exactly as much as needed,”

Nakyoung’s fingers hesitated on the keyboard. That one slipped past her defenses.

Before she could fire back, he added quickly, “But I can go back to cowering in fear if that’s your preference. I had a whole routine. Trembling lip, darting eyes, the works.”

She rolled her eyes and focused on the screen. “Stick to fonts, Tiger Shark.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

But from the corner of her eye, she saw it—the faintest smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. He knew he was getting to her. And worse, part of her didn’t hate it.

The office was nearly empty, the sky outside fading into a dusky gray. Most employees had clocked out, already mentally on the retreat. But Nakyoung lingered, pacing silently outside Sohyee’s door before finally knocking twice and stepping in without waiting.

Sohyee didn’t look up right away, finishing the last strokes of her signature on a stack of approvals.

“Something on your mind, Bull?”

Nakyoung shut the door quietly. “What’s the story with Jio?”

That got Sohyee’s attention. Her pen stopped mid-signature. She glanced up, bemused. “You're finally asking because you’re curious, or because you’re trying to build a psychological profile before bunking with him in the woods?”

Nakyoung ignored the jab and sat, her posture as rigid as her expression. “He’s… odd. Inconsistent. Sloppy but precise when it matters. Kind in ways that feel strategic but also strangely sincere. I don’t get it.”

Sohyee leaned back, arms crossing thoughtfully. “Jio’s been under me for three years. Quiet hire. Background in logistics and operations. Smart, adaptable. A little too laid-back for most people’s taste—but reliable in the ways that count.”

Nakyoung frowned. “He doesn’t act like someone with experience.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Sohyee said, almost to herself. “He’s my left hand. Picks up things I drop. Smooths friction. Puts out fires no one notices because he doesn’t advertise the burn.”

Nakyoung looked unconvinced.

Sohyee continued, eyes narrowing just slightly. “He’s saved projects, de-escalated clients, stepped in for absent team leads, and even organized the merger travel itinerary when the assistant director had a breakdown. But someone else always got the credit because Jio never made a noise about it.”

“So he’s a martyr?” Nakyoung asked, skeptical.

“No,” Sohyee said quietly. “He’s… tired. Not burned out, just—gnawed at. You know that kind of man who does everything right, but never quite breaks through because he lacks that one, crucial thing?”

“Ambition,” Nakyoung said.

“Desire,” Sohyee corrected. “He doesn’t want more. Doesn’t want to dominate the room. He wants to belong to one. That’s the difference.”

Nakyoung considered that, eyes distant. “You think it bothers him?”

“I think it’s eating him alive in slow, quiet ways. Especially now that I’m grooming people like you for the top floor.”

Nakyoung blinked, surprised. “You think he resents me?”

“No,” Sohyee said, offering a small smile. “He admires you. You’re everything he’s not—blunt, sharp, ambitious. He probably knows you’d rather punch him than thank him, but he shows up anyway.”

Nakyoung looked away, lips pressed tight. “It’s hard to respect someone who won’t stand up for themselves.”

“Or maybe,” Sohyee said gently, “you just don’t know how to handle someone who chooses softness over struggle.”

Silence settled between them.

Nakyoung stood slowly. “Thanks for the context.”

“Bull,” Sohyee called just as she reached the door, “he’s not harmless. But he’s not pretending either. That warmth you hate so much? It’s real. Maybe that’s what scares you.”

Nakyoung paused, fingers tightening on the doorknob. She didn’t reply.

She just walked out, her thoughts heavier than when she’d come in.

A little later back in the office The quiet hum of the office sounded almost like a lullaby this late in the day. Most of the shark tank was still working, but in that distracted, pre-retreat haze. Jio sat at his desk, eyes flicking between two open spreadsheets, the numbers blurring a little as he tried to focus.

His gaze wandered—again—to the corner where Nakyoung sat, motionless and razor-sharp. She was reviewing documents, her lips pursed in concentration, one finger tapping a staccato rhythm against her tablet. Her jaw clenched, then relaxed. She looked ready to go to war with an Excel formula.

And somehow, Jio’s brain decided that was the moment to short-circuit.

He heard the click of her heels before he saw her. Nakyoung crossed the room with a quiet confidence, something different in her eyes—less frost, more fire.

She didn’t speak at first. Just walked up beside his chair and tilted her head, examining his work like it was mildly amusing.

“What’s this?” she asked, voice low and teasing.

Jio blinked. “Uh… productivity charts. Q2. Mostly boring. You okay?”

She smirked. “Boring’s good. Makes you easy to catch.”

Before he could respond, she straddled his lap—just like that—smooth, casual, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His breath hitched, heart jackknifing into his throat. Her arms settled around his shoulders, fingers playing at the nape of his neck. He smelled her perfume: jasmine, maybe. Or something dangerously close.

“N-Naky—” he stammered.

“Shh,” she whispered, leaning in until her lips hovered just above his. “Give me a kiss.”

His eyes widened. She didn’t blink. Her gaze pinned him down more thoroughly than any glare she’d ever thrown.

He leaned forward, their mouths almost touching—

The copier screeched violently across the room, and someone swore loudly about a paper jam.

Jio snapped out of the haze like he’d been dunked in ice water. He sat rigid in his chair, blinking at his untouched screen. His heart was pounding.

Nakyoung, very much not in his lap, stood in her usual corner, completely unaware. Or so he thought—until she shifted and looked over her shoulder in his direction. Their eyes met, and for the briefest moment, her gaze lingered.

Just long enough for his brain to reboot.

He turned back to his monitor and dragged a hand through his hair, muttering to himself.

“God… I wonder if her lips are as soft as they look.”

He tapped the stylus against his chin, a crooked smile forming despite himself.

Dangerous thoughts.

The rooftop was quiet except for the hum of city traffic below. A few coworkers lingered by the railings, smoking or scrolling through their phones, but Jio had staked out a quiet bench in the corner. He unwrapped his kimbap, halfway through a bite, when his phone buzzed.

HANNI was Calling.

He smiled instinctively and answered, mouth still full.

“Mmm–yo.”

“Ew, Jio,” Hanni groaned. “Are you eating? I can hear your mouth. You sound like a cow chewing through bubble wrap.”

He chuckled and covered his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. What’s up, superstar?”

“Nothing much,” she replied, voice warm and teasing. “Just sitting in a makeup trailer being pampered by three people and wondering why my favorite himbo is still shackled to his little desk job.”

Jio wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Ah, you’re calling to tempt me again. Very subtle.”

“No, I’m calling to remind you that freedom is only a phone call away.” Her voice dipped into that dramatic lilt she used on talk shows. “All you have to do is say the word, and you could be out here—fetching my matcha, memorizing two lines a week, and getting paid to look cute in the background of K-Dramas.”

He laughed, leaning back against the bench. “You say it like that’s a promotion.”

“It is,” Hanni insisted. “You’ve got the face, the charm, the reflexes—I’ve seen you duck a stapler midair. You could be a P.A. by day and stealing scenes by night. Why are you still in that tomb of trauma?”

Jio was quiet for a moment, staring up at the overcast sky.

“I dunno,” he said honestly. “Maybe I’m used to the grind. Maybe I’m scared that if I leave, I’ll just… drift.”

Hanni didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was softer.

“Or maybe you’re scared you’ll actually be good at something that isn’t about surviving other people’s messes.”

He closed his eyes. That one hit a little too close.

“I like being useful,” he muttered.

“I know,” she said. “But don’t confuse being useful with being fulfilled, Jio. You’re not a wrench. You’re a whole person. And I see you—way more than you think.”

He smiled, a little bitter, a little grateful. “Thanks, Hann.”

“Anytime, dummy,” she said brightly. “Also—if you do quit, I’ll personally get you in a drama where your character gets to kiss someone way out of his league. It’ll be great for your confidence.”

“Like who, you?”

“Please. I am your league.”

Jio burst out laughing. “Alright, superstar. Go win an award or something.”

“Think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

As the call ended, Jio stared at his lunch, his appetite dulled by the familiar ache in his chest—possibility, flirting with fear.

He glanced down at the office badge clipped to his belt.

Then up, toward the clouds, wondering what it would take to finally leap.

Jio sat on the rooftop bench, the warmth of his phone call with Hanni still lingering in his chest like a fading melody. He stared at his untouched rice triangle, thoughts drifting—far from spreadsheets and status reports, closer to the words You’re not a wrench. You’re a whole person.

He didn’t hear the rooftop door creak open. Didn’t hear the measured footsteps until they stopped just a few feet away.

“Who’s trying to poach you?”

Jio blinked and looked up—Nakyoung stood there, lunch tray in hand, her face unreadable as ever. Her brows weren’t furrowed, not yet. But her tone had that deceptively casual clip he’d learned to be wary of.

“Oh. Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You heard that?”

“Hard not to when someone’s out here giggling like a schoolboy,” she said, stepping closer. “So? Who is it?”

He gestured vaguely with his sandwich. “Hanni. You know, my friend. Is she on that drama with the weird time-traveling chef? Keeps trying to recruit me as her assistant-slash-extra.”

Nakyoung nodded once, tight. “And you’re considering it?”

Jio hesitated, then smiled, playing it off with a shrug. “I mean, who doesn’t wanna carry someone’s oat milk latte and occasionally die dramatically in the background of a chase scene?”

“Hm.” She sat on the bench opposite him without asking. Set her tray down quietly. Didn’t meet his eyes right away.

To anyone watching, she looked composed. Maybe even disinterested. But inside?

Something shifted.

Something small and cold and tight.

The idea of him gone—no more annoying “good morning” greetings, no more over-explained tech support, no more of that stupid, warm grin when she accidentally complimented his work. Just… gone.

And it wasn’t fear of change exactly. It was something dumber.

She pushed a cherry tomato around her tray with her chopsticks.

“Wouldn’t suit you,” she muttered.

Jio blinked. “What?”

“Acting. Running after celebrities. You like structure. Order. Being useful.”

He tilted his head. “Is that your way of saying I’d suck at it?”

“It’s my way of saying you don’t quit easily,” she said, finally looking up at him. “Even when people give you a dozen reasons to.”

There was a quiet between them—one of the few that didn’t feel hostile.

Jio gave her a small smile. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you almost don’t want me to leave.”

Nakyoung scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the lie came a little slower this time. A little softer. And that bothered her more than she cared to admit.

Jio let it hang there, respectful enough not to press. “Well… I haven’t made any decisions.”

She nodded once, eyes flicking back to her food. “Good.”

“Why?”

Nakyoung paused, chopsticks halfway to her mouth, then said—quietly, without looking up:

“Because people like you don’t show up often. And when they do, they don’t stay long.”

Then she ate, like she hadn’t just said something weighty.

Jio stared at her for a moment, heart thrumming with something confusing and warm.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

“You shouldn’t,” she replied quickly.

But her mouth twitched.

Just slightly.

On the day of the retreat, Jio felt odd, like in transition like something was changing for him he just didn't know it yet. However, he pushed those feelings aside and got on with his day.

The bus idled at the curb, sleek and modern, with wide tinted windows and deep blue upholstery. Inside, chatter buzzed between coworkers, luggage jostled in the overhead compartments, and Sohyee stood near the front, clipboard in hand and mischief in her eyes.

Nakyoung climbed aboard, scanning the rows. She had already spotted Tsuki and a few others near the back—her intended seat. Quiet, familiar, safe.

“Bull,” Sohyee called, voice sweet like syrup and steel.

Nakyoung turned with a practiced smile. “Yes, Director?”

“Sit next to Tiger, will you? I had the seat chart rearranged at the last minute. For synergy.” She gestured to the second row, where Jio sat by the window, earbuds in, thumbing through emails on his phone.

Nakyoung narrowed her eyes. “Director, I believe synergy is best served when people are placed—”

“Next to someone they need to understand better?” Sohyee finished, with a raised brow.

A pause. Nakyoung sighed sharply through her nose and made her way down the aisle, shooting Jio a half-hearted glare before settling beside him.

Jio pulled one earbud out. “Good morning.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she replied, but her voice lacked venom.

The bus pulled away from the curb. The hum of the road, the rhythmic sway of the ride, and the lulling drone of the driver’s radio filled the cabin. Nakyoung stared out the window, arms crossed. Jio leaned back, visibly relaxing after a week of tension and deadlines.

Minutes passed.

Maybe an hour.

Then, quietly, without thinking, she shifted—and her shoulder brushed his.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pretend to move. Just… let it happen.

And slowly, awkwardly, naturally, her head came to rest against his.

And his, against hers.

⸻

He stood in a wide, endless field under a soft lavender sky. Wind moved through the grass like whispers. In the distance, Nakyoung stood barefoot, not in her suit, but in a flowing white blouse and jeans. Soft. Human. Real.

He walked toward her.

“Do I scare you?” she asked without turning.

He answered without hesitation. “No.”

“I should.”

“I’d rather be near something powerful than stuck watching it from far away.”

She turned then, her face open, unsure. And then she smiled—small, uncertain, radiant.

⸻

She stood in the office lobby—but it wasn’t sterile or cold. The windows glowed golden, the air warm. Jio sat on the receptionist’s desk, chatting with a young intern who laughed freely. He looked up and saw her.

Instead of teasing, instead of retreating, he walked over.

“You always look like you’re about to run,” he said gently.

She looked away. “That’s because I usually am.”

He offered his hand. “You don’t have to.”

She hesitated. Then took it.

Back on the Bus

They slept like that for almost the whole ride, breathing in sync, unaware of the coworkers exchanging glances or Tsuki snapping a quick photo and sending it to Sohyee with three heart emojis.

The bus curved off the highway toward the wooded retreat grounds.

Nakyoung stirred first, blinking awake. She felt the weight on her shoulder, then turned—just slightly—to see Jio, still dozing, his expression soft in sleep.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shove him off.

She let him rest.

Then, without really meaning to, she whispered just loud enough for herself:

“…Don’t leave.”

The sun shifted higher in the sky, casting golden rays through the bus windows. The soft murmur of coworkers chatting had faded into a low, lazy quiet. Most had dozed off or turned to their phones.

Jio and Nakyoung remained nestled together, heads resting against each other’s like a sculpture of reluctant peace.

But soon the gentle bump of the road roused them.

Nakyoung blinked awake first, stiffening as she registered the warmth against her temple. She glanced sideways to find Jio still sleeping, soft strands of hair falling into his eyes. He looked… harmless. And handsome, in that stupid, easy way.

Her chest gave a small, inexplicable lurch.

She cleared her throat softly.

Jio stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and it took a beat before he realized where his head was—and whose shoulder he was on.

“Oh—shit—sorry,” he mumbled, leaning away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nakyoung surprised both of them by simply saying, “It’s fine.” Then, teasing, “You drool, by the way.”

Jio shot her a look. “No, I don’t.”

“You do. Evidence is on my jacket.”

He grinned, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his phone. “Well, you snore. So I guess we’re even.”

“I do not—!”

“You kinda growl. Like a little cat.”

Nakyoung narrowed her eyes at him, but the heat behind them was less severe than usual.

Jio scrolled through his streaming apps, lazily browsing. “Need something to wake me up. Have you ever seen Overlord?”

Nakyoung turned toward him, the edge of her lip twitching with sudden interest. “The Nazi zombie one?”

He looked at her, amused. “Wait—you’ve seen it?”

“No. Heard about it. Always meant to, but didn’t have time.” She leaned a little closer. “Play it.”

“You… like horror movies?”

“They’re the only genre that doesn’t bore me.”

Jio chuckled. “You’re full of surprises.”

“You’re full of bad choices. Start the movie.”

The movie hit a brief lull, a tense moment of silence before the next wave of horror erupted on screen. Jio reached into his backpack and quietly unzipped a side pocket.

Out came a crinkly red box—Hot Tamales, the cinnamon candy. He popped one into his mouth and let the familiar burn ride his tongue. A little taste of home. His mom had mailed him a care package last week, and this was her idea of comfort food.

Next to him, Nakyoung glanced sideways, catching the scent.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Hot Tamales. Spicy Cinnamon candy. Super American,” he said, shaking the box gently. “Want one?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is it actually spicy, or American-spicy?”

“Try one and find out.”

She hesitated for exactly one second before plucking a single piece from the box and popping it into her mouth.

Her eyes widened almost immediately.

“Oh my god,” she murmured, blinking. “That’s weirdly good.”

Jio raised an eyebrow. “Weirdly?”

She waved a hand as the cinnamon heat bloomed. “Spicy. Sweet. Annoyingly addictive. I hate how much I like this.”

He grinned and tilted the box toward her. “Want another?”

“…Two.”

She took them without breaking eye contact.

They fell into a rhythm—movie flickering in front of them, arms barely touching, Nakyoung sneaking Hot Tamales one or two at a time like she didn’t want to admit she was hooked.

At one point, she muttered, “You should tell your mom I said thank you.”

Jio chuckled. “I will. She’ll be thrilled she converted someone.”

“You’re not getting this box back, by the way.”

“I figured.”

She didn’t smile, not quite, but the corners of her mouth softened.

Later, as the movie’s credits rolled and the bus turned onto the long road leading toward the forested retreat grounds, Nakyoung looked down at the nearly empty box in her hand.

She looked at him, almost suspicious. “What else are you hiding in that bag?”

Jio just smirked and said, “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

She rolled her eyes.

But she didn’t hand the candy back.

Every time a scare hit, she didn’t flinch.

But once, near the midpoint, she leaned in just slightly. Not enough to admit anything. Just enough that their arms stayed touching.

“Good pick,” she said quietly.

Jio’s heart thudded a little louder.

“…Thanks.”

They didn’t talk again for the rest of the movie.

But they didn’t move apart either.

They arrived at the retreat not much later and were each given their cabin keys before being set free for the next two hours.

The wooden cabin stood nestled among tall trees, the porch shaded by pine branches swaying gently in the breeze. Inside, the decor was rustic and minimal: twin beds, a shared desk, a small bathroom, and a window overlooking the forest trail.

Nakyoung and Jio entered together, each dragging a small suitcase. Jio looked around with a small nod of approval. “Not bad.”

Nakyoung pressed two fingers to her temple, her face tightening.

“You okay?” Jio asked.

She set her bag down with a thump and walked over to the nearest bed, sitting down with a slow, weary breath. “Migraine,” she muttered, eyes closed. “All that noise on the bus, plus the movie, plus whatever Tsuki was wearing as perfume… It’s like a sledgehammer behind my eyes.”

Jio paused for only a moment before shifting into quiet motion. “Got it. Don’t talk. Just rest.”

Nakyoung cracked one eye open, suspicious. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

He disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the tap run, the rustle of cloth, the creak of the cabinet. In under two minutes, he returned with a small, damp hand towel, warm and neatly folded.

“Lean back.”

“…Why?”

“So your skull doesn’t explode?”

She glared, but complied, lying back as he gently placed the towel over her forehead. The warmth and pressure made her exhale sharply—almost a sigh.

He then reached into his backpack again, pulled out a small travel pack of peppermint oil—another gift from his mom—and dabbed a bit onto a tissue, holding it near her face.

“This’ll help with the tension,” he said. “Not on your skin, just breathe it in.”

Nakyoung inhaled once, deeply.

Then again.

“…Where did you learn this?” she asked, her voice quieter.

“My mom gets them. Bad ones. I’ve had this routine memorized since I was ten.”

She didn’t respond right away, just lay there, letting the towel do its work, her shoulders slowly relaxing.

Jio sat on the bed opposite her, elbows on his knees, not saying a word.

After a long beat, Nakyoung spoke again, her tone somewhere between grudging and curious.

“You’re good at this.”

Jio glanced over. “Thanks.”

“…You’re not always a slacker, huh?”

“Only when I’m not needed.”

Another pause. This time, it was a little warmer.

“…Thank you,” she said, softer now.

Jio leaned back, a lopsided smile on his face. “Don’t mention it, Bull.”

She gave him a warning look. “Don’t push your luck, Tiger.”

But the sting in her voice was gone.

And he noticed.

The cabin had grown quiet. Outside, the retreat’s first welcome activities were beginning, but inside, Nakyoung lay stretched across her bed, the damp towel still resting on her forehead. Her breathing had evened out, softened into the rhythm of sleep.

Jio glanced over from his bed, where he sat half-reclined with his phone forgotten in his lap. He hadn’t meant to stay quiet this long, but watching her sleep—peaceful, vulnerable, beautiful—had stilled him.

His eyes lingered on her relaxed expression. Her usually tight jaw had softened, the faint crease in her brow smoothed away. She looked nothing like the storm that stalked office hallways, snapping at people who dared to underestimate her. And yet, that stormy side was exactly what was getting under his skin.

God, he thought, what is wrong with me?

He leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

And drifted.

In the dream, the lighting had changed. The room glowed with soft amber—more sensual than cozy. Nakyoung stood by the window, her hair loose, her sharp eyes fixed on him as she could see straight through every defense he thought he had.

She walked toward him, hips swaying with that cool confidence that made him ache. Her expression was unreadable but not unkind.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want something,” she said, voice low and smooth.

Jio swallowed. “What if I do?”

Her smirk cut like silk. “Then take it.”

And she climbed into his lap, straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands braced against his shoulders, nails lightly dragging down his shirt. She smelled faintly of cinnamon and mint—Hot Tamales and peppermint oil.

He reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She tilted her head, eyes half-lidded, daring him.

Then she leaned in and kissed him.

It was hard and slow, full of unspoken tension finally breaking. Her lips tasted like fire—like she’d been crafted from all his favorite contradictions: ice and heat, steel and silk. She kissed him like she didn’t care but also like she’d been thinking about it for weeks.

When they finally broke apart, she whispered against his lips, “Still think I’m scary?”

He grinned, breathless. “Terrifying.”

She kissed him again.

Jio blinked awake with a soft jerk of his head. He exhaled quietly, trying to keep still. Nakyoung was still asleep across from him, the towel now slipping off her forehead.

He watched her for a moment longer, heart thudding faster than it should.

His mind echoed with the kiss, the feel of her in his arms—even if it wasn’t real.

Get it together, he thought. She’s gonna kill you if she ever finds out what goes on in your head.

But he couldn’t help it.

The way she owned every room, every glance, every silence—it didn’t scare him anymore.

It drew him in.

And maybe, just maybe, that was becoming a problem.

The door clicked shut behind Jio as he stepped inside Sohyee’s cabin. The sun was beginning to set, casting long golden shadows across her desk. She sat with her tablet in hand, glasses perched low on her nose as she skimmed through reports.

Without looking up, she spoke. “If you’re here to tell me Nakyoung tried to smother you in your sleep, you’re about twelve hours late.”

Jio chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly.”

Sohyee glanced up then, sharp eyes scanning his face. She set the tablet down, folded her hands, and leaned back in her chair.

“Well?”

“I just… I wanted to talk to you about something. Off the record.”

“That always means trouble,” she said dryly. “But I’m listening.”

Jio hesitated, then met her gaze. “It’s about Nakyoung.”

Sohyee didn’t blink. “Go on.”

“I think I… like her. Like really like her. And it’s not just a stupid office crush. I’ve been trying to ignore it for months, but it’s not going away.” He laughed softly, almost to himself. “And lately, it’s like every time she glares at me, I just—want her more.”

To his surprise, Sohyee didn’t look angry or disappointed.

In fact, she smiled.

“I figured this would happen eventually,” she said, pouring herself a cup of barley tea.

Jio blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Oh come on, Jio. You’ve been making puppy eyes at her since you walked into this office eight months ago. I knew the moment you turned bright red when she told you to get out of her space and called you a ‘walking paperwork hazard.’”

“That was a very specific insult…”

“And you loved it,” Sohyee teased, sipping her tea.

Jio covered his face with both hands. “God, I hate how true that is.”

Sohyee leaned forward, expression more serious now. “Look, I trust you. You’ve always done right by me, even when it meant eating shit behind the scenes. That’s why you’re my left hand. You handle the things people forget or overlook—and you never ask for credit.”

She paused, then added, “So if this does go somewhere with Nakyoung… I know you’ll handle it with the care it deserves.”

That left Jio speechless for a moment, hope rising in his chest.

“…Seriously? You’re okay with it?”

“Let me be clear,” Sohyee said, setting her cup down firmly. “If anything happens between you and Nakyoung—anything—one of you is going to have to quit.”

Jio’s smile faltered.

“Oh.”

“No secret trysts, no drama in the break room, no ‘we’re adults, we can handle it’ speech. One of you leaves, or you don’t go there at all. Got it?”

He nodded slowly. “Got it.”

“Still interested?”

A pause.

Then: “Yeah.”

She smirked. “Thought so.”

He walked aimlessly through the gravel path leading to the fire pit, her words looping in his head like a song stuck on repeat.

“I trust you to do right by me… one of you will have to quit.”

His heart pounded, head buzzing, imagination running wild. He pictured Nakyoung pressed against him in the cabin, her lips claiming his in a kiss that wasn’t cold or calculated—but desperate, possessive.

“You’re mine now, Jio,” he imagined her whispering, pulling him into her orbit with that fierce fire she never let anyone get close to. “All yours. All mine.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

He was in deep.

And now?

There might actually be a chance.

Meanwhile, Nakyoung has her own crisis of emotions leading her to head to her friend Minju’s cabin who is bunking with Tsuki.

Minju sat on a worn picnic bench, arms crossed, sunglasses on, radiating elegant calm. She’d barely touched her water. The sound of sneakers crunching gravel approached behind her.

“Okay, what did Jio do now?” Minju asked as she slid onto the bench with a granola bar already half-eaten.

“I didn’t say it was Jio,” Nakyoung muttered as she approached

“It’s always Jio,” said Tsuki brightly, appearing beside them like a spark of sunshine. She plopped down on the other side, holding a plastic bag of honey butter chips. “You got that face that says ‘I want to suplex him and then kiss him,’y’know?”

Nakyoung groaned. “Am I that obvious?”

“Girl,” Minju and Tsuki said in unison.

Nakyoung exhaled, frustrated with herself. “I can’t tell if he’s just really good at pretending to be decent or if… he’s actually just a decent guy.”

Minju leaned in, smirking. “You’re falling, aren’t you?”

“I might be. But that’s the problem—I’ve been tricked before. I see him being thoughtful, considerate, bringing me towels when I have a migraine, offering candy like some cinnamon sugar devil—and I still hear that voice in my head saying ‘don’t trust it.’”

Tsuki nodded sympathetically. “You’ve got scars. Deep ones. It’s okay to be slow.”

Nakyoung glanced at her friends. “But I don’t want to be slow. Not with him. I want to know.”

“Then test him,” Minju said smoothly. “Push a little. Flirt.”

Nakyoung frowned. “I don’t flirt.”

“You terrify, which for someone like him is the same thing,” Minju quipped. “I told her—stand close, touch once, command him like she owns the room.”

“Ooh, yes!” Tsuki clapped. “You don’t need to flirt like a rom-com lead. Just Nakyoung-style flirt. You know—controlled, ice-cold, and devastating.”

Nakyoung rubbed her temples. “This sounds like war.”

“It’s science,” Minju said with a smug shrug. “And you need data.”

“Or…” Tsuki interjected gently, “You could just… ask him a personal question. Like, why is he still working a desk job when he clearly wants more?”

That made Nakyoung pause. She hadn’t thought of that. “You think he’d answer?”

Tsuki nodded. “If he’s the real deal, he’ll answer and mean it. If he’s not, he’ll deflect.”

Minju arched a brow. “You gonna go with the Tsuki-approach? Soft and sweet? Or my way—precision strike to the libido?”

Nakyoung stared ahead, wind brushing her hair back as the lake rippled in the distance. “Why not both?”

Tsuki and Minju exchanged grins.

“There’s the Bull,” Tsuki said proudly.

Minju nudged Nakyoung with her shoulder. “You’re about to make that man forget how to speak Korean.”

Nakyoung smirked, standing and brushing off her pants. “Let’s find out.”

As she walked off in search of Jio, Minju whistled low. “You think she’s ready?”

Tsuki giggled. “I think he’s not.”

Two hours later Nakyoung and Jio arrived at the bus for the planned dinner in the nearby restaurant. The bus ride was quiet and comfortable as they headed to dinner. Nakyoung found herself nestling into Jio’s warmth. She found it comforting, but also still suspect as it had to be an act. When they arrived she took the seat nearest to him and when someone tried to take the seat she chose she glared at them with a vicious stare. Sohyee watched this and laughed as she realized the bull was marking her territory.

The dining hall buzzed with low chatter and the soft clinking of chopsticks and spoons. String lights flickered overhead like fireflies, casting a cozy glow over the long wooden tables. Nakyoung sat at the far end, her tray of curry rice untouched as she surveyed the room like a sentry.

Across the table, Jio was laughing. Not the forced kind, but a real belly-laugh that crinkled his eyes and made his dimple show. Tsuki had just finished mimicking one of the supervisors from accounting, complete with her nasally voice and clipped walk, and Jio nearly fell off the bench howling.

He wasn’t just laughing though—he was listening. When Heejin talked about her dog, he asked about the breed. When Minjun mentioned his dad’s health, Jio actually offered to find him a specialist. He even passed around bottles of Chilsung Ciderlike a host making sure his guests were taken care of.

And then—he looked at Nakyoung. Not long. Just a glance.

But it was enough.

He smiled. Small. Simple. Not flirtatious or performative.

Just warm.

She quickly looked away, annoyed at the way her heart lurched.

“Enjoying the view?” Minju whispered, chewing a grilled skewer like a queen watching peasants court.

“I’m observing,” Nakyoung replied dryly.

Tsuki leaned in from the other side, whispering behind her soda can. “Observation is the first stage of emotional infiltration.”

Nakyoung scoffed, but her eyes returned to Jio.

He was talking to Minnu now. Making her laugh. Not overdoing it—just being present. Genuine.

And her friends… they liked him. Even Minju, the most cynical of the bunch, hadn’t sharpened her claws on him. That said something.

Nakyoung’s hand curled around her cup of tea.

Damn it.

That weird flutter in her chest again. That internal tug-of-war between suspicion and surrender. He was real. Or he was a master at the long con.

But one thing was certain.

He had never once tried to impress her. And somehow, that was the most disarming thing of all.

She exhaled slowly.

“Fine,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Minju arched a brow. “Fine, what?”

“I’ll test him.”

Tsuki’s eyes sparkled. “Operation: Fluster the Tiger is a go!”

Minju grinned as she’d just won a bet. “Just don’t fall first, Naky.”

Nakyoung didn’t answer. She just picked up her spoon and finally started to eat.

Her eyes drifted toward Jio again, catching the tail end of a chuckle. He caught her gaze briefly this time and smiled again. Slightly more confident. Slightly more… knowing.

He’s good, she thought.

But tonight, she was going to be better.

After dinner, Nakyoung and Jio found themselves back in the cabin relaxing and equally dreading the following day. The wind whispered through the trees outside their cabin, a soft hush-hush like a lullaby only the mountains knew. Inside, a single lamp cast a honeyed glow over the space. Jio sat cross-legged on his bed, remote in hand, scrolling through movie options while Nakyoung stood by the window, arms folded, staring out at the dark forest.

“You sure about another horror movie?” Jio asked.

Nakyoung turned. “Yeah. Something good. Psychological.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, selecting Candyman (2021) with a smirk. “You’re the boss.”

She didn’t respond—just kicked off her slippers and padded over. Without asking, she climbed onto the bed beside him and, after a brief pause, leaned into him. Her head rested just under his collarbone, her body curling into his side with casual certainty.

Jio froze, breath catching in his throat.

“Don’t get any ideas, Jio,” Nakyoung said flatly. “If you try anything, I will stab you.”

“Understood,” he croaked.

She draped an arm across his stomach and sighed. “Good.”

As the movie began, the flickering screen lit their faces in tones of gold and shadow. Nakyoung watched in total silence, eyes sharp, but every so often her brow furrowed.

“Okay wait,” she whispered at one point, “Why is the mirror thing happening again?”

“It’s generational trauma,” Jio murmured, keeping his voice low. “Candyman isn’t just one guy—it’s a cycle. A myth formed from Black pain and history. When people forget, the violence repeats.”

She blinked. “That’s… deeper than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Jio said, almost proudly. “It’s about stories and symbols. About who controls fear. About how horror isn’t always monsters—it’s memory.”

Nakyoung stared at the screen, but her mind was somewhere else now. “If you remade it, what would you do differently?”

Jio paused, thinking. “I’d lean into the folk horror. Make the setting more claustrophobic—urban decay with ghost logic. Strip back the modern art scene stuff. Keep it raw. Let the audience feel like they might be next.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but his thoughts were miles away. In that moment, he wasn’t an office worker—he was a director, a storyteller, a dreamer.

“You ever think about leaving?” she asked, her voice softer than she meant.

Jio blinked, pulling out of the cinematic fog. “What?”

“The office. Have you ever thought about doing something else? Really doing it?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Hanni’s been trying to get me to jump ship for months. P.A. work, acting, maybe writing. But…”

“But?”

“I’m scared to want more,” he admitted. “I’ve always been the guy who holds the rope while someone else climbs. It’s comfortable. It’s reliable. But sometimes I wonder if I’m just… wasting time.”

Nakyoung said nothing.

Because she agreed.

But a part of her—the part curled around him right now—hated the thought of him not being there. In the same building. Breathing the same recycled air. Offering her candy, fetching hot towels, smiling like he wasn’t afraid of her.

He belonged somewhere bigger. But somehow, he also belonged… with her.

“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered.

Jio looked down. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

The movie continued, but she wasn’t watching anymore. She was thinking. Feeling. Fighting.

And for the first time, losing.

Eventually, after the movie both of them found staying up after the exhausting day difficult which could only mean one thing. The duo passed out on the same bed exhausted.

The faint glow of dawn seeped through the thin curtains, brushing against the still forms on the bed. The TV had long since gone black, the only sound the quiet hum of the forest and the steady rhythm of two people breathing in sync.

Jio stirred first.

His phone alarm buzzed, a soft vibration on the nightstand. He groaned and reached for it blindly, silencing it with a practiced swipe. His hand brushed against something warm, soft, and very much not his pillow.

It took a moment to register the weight nestled against his chest.

Nakyoung.

Still asleep. Still curled into him as she belonged there.

One leg tossed over his. Her arm draped lazily across his waist. Her cheek was resting just below his collarbone. Jio froze, wide-eyed, but gradually relaxed as the realization settled in: he didn’t want to move. He didn’t need to.

It felt… right.

Nakyoung blinked awake seconds later. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. Instead, she stretched, sighed softly, and let her eyes drift up to his face.

“Your alarm’s obnoxious,” she murmured, voice husky from sleep.

“You’re not wrong, but it gets the job done,” he replied with a crooked smile.

Neither moved.

Eventually, Nakyoung rolled off him with a reluctant groan and sat up, running a hand through her hair. Jio followed, rubbing the back of his neck. The quiet between them wasn’t tense. It was something else. Gentle. Familiar.

Domestic.

Nakyoung padded over to her bag, pulling out a hoodie and a pair of leggings. Jio grabbed his toiletries and headed to the bathroom. They didn’t speak much as they got ready—but they didn’t need to. Their movements were in tune, passing each other in the cabin’s small space with ease, soft brushes of arms and shoulders that sparked warmth instead of awkwardness.

By the time they made their way to the main lodge for breakfast, the sun was fully up and a light mist still clung to the treetops.

They found a table by the window. Coffee was already brewing. Nakyoung poured two cups—one black, one with two sugars. She slid the second one to Jio without asking.

He grinned.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the birds flit from branch to branch outside. Then, somewhere in the middle of a quiet laugh about how badly their cabin heater clunked in the night, their hands found each other beneath the table.

Fingers laced. Natural. Unthinking.

When Sohyee walked in five minutes later, sharp in a navy trench and morning calm radiating from her, she paused mid-step at the sight.

Nakyoung and Jio.

Holding hands at the breakfast table.

Not hiding. Not flaunting. Just… being.

Sohyee smiled softly to herself before moving on. She wouldn’t say anything yet. Not today.

But in her mind, she made a quiet note:

The bull and the tiger have finally started swimming in the same pack.

The ride to the retreat area where the team building exercise was moderately sized and perfect for the small shark pit.

This allowed Sohyee to keep a focused eye on the activities.

The sun had warmed the morning chill by the time the team gathered in the courtyard for the next activity. A long table was set up beneath a banner that read: “Sugar and Stress – The Dalgona Challenge!” Beneath it sat neat rows of circular candy tins, each holding a delicate honeycomb shape with a stamped figure in the center—stars, umbrellas, hearts, even a few unlucky umbrellas.

Sohyee, clipboard in hand and eyes twinkling, clapped her hands together. “Alright, folks! You have ten minutes to complete the shape without breaking it. Break the shape? You’re out.”

Laughter and groans rippled through the group. Some took it as a joke. Others, like Jio and Nakyoung, narrowed their eyes in unison.

Jio rolled up his sleeves.

Nakyoung tied her hair into a low ponytail.

Someone from HR whispered, “Oh no… they’re both like this?”

As the clock started, Nakyoung picked up her needle with the precision of a surgeon. Jio held his between two fingers like a scalpel. Everyone else watched, half-fumbling, licking the backs of the candy nervously. Tsuki broke her star and pouted immediately. Minju was halfway through her heart when she noticed something… off.

“They’re not even sweating,” she whispered, nudging Tsuki.

Jio was hunched over his tin, exact and calm, carefully carving out the edges like it was a blueprint. Nakyoung? Same thing. Poised. Silent. Her eyes laser-focused. Her lip twitched only slightly as she worked.

Five minutes passed. People began to panic.

Jio tilted his candy toward the light, checking his progress. “I got a circle,” he muttered.

“So did I,” Nakyoung replied, not even looking up.

Sohyee folded her arms, watching them with amused pride.

By minute nine, only a handful of people remained. Everyone had either snapped their piece or thrown in the towel. All eyes were on the duo who now sat side by side at the front table.

Jio leaned in slightly, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he made the final careful carve.

Snap.

He held it up with a smug grin. “Perfect.”

Nakyoung set hers down next to his a beat later—completely flawless. “Mine’s cleaner.”

They turned to each other. Jio raised an eyebrow.

“You wanna race next time?” he challenged.

“Only if you’re ready to lose,” she said, deadpan.

From the sidelines, Minju’s jaw dropped. “They’re the same person in different fonts.”

“Same cursed energy,” Tsuki added, eyes wide.

Everyone burst into laughter—even Sohyee chuckled behind her clipboard.

Nakyoung looked away quickly, but there was the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

As the others reset for the next round, Jio and Nakyoung stood side by side, not speaking—but in sync. In a challenge. In curiosity.

The tiger and the bull had found a common language: competition.

And everyone else had definitely noticed.

As laughter died down around the courtyard, Sohyee lingered in the back, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. The rest of the team was still marveling at Nakyoung and Jio’s surgical precision during the dalgona challenge, some joking about starting a betting pool for who would outdo the other at the next event. But Sohyee? She wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

She watched Jio smirk in victory, nudging Nakyoung with playful arrogance as she rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. The chemistry was so obvious it practically hummed. Sohyee chuckled to herself—and just like that, a memory surfaced.

Three years ago Sohyee invited Hyeong-seo and Jio to sit in her office. Her two mentees, whom she was hoping to mold into executives.

In a minimalist conference room filled with bright whiteboards and lukewarm coffee, two trainees sat across from Sohyee—Hyeong-seo, bright-eyed and inquisitive, scribbling notes at a rapid-fire pace… and Jio, stone-faced and arms crossed, as if the table between them were a wall.

“Alright,” Sohyee had said, folding her hands. “Tell me where you see yourself in three years.”

Hyeong-seo answered first, of course. “Working in operations or strategic logistics. I like coordination and problem-solving. I think it suits me.”

Sohyee nodded, then looked to Jio. “And you, Mr. Guarded?”

Jio’s expression didn’t change. His tone was cool, almost bored. “I’ll be wherever I’m useful. I don’t like drawing attention. I just want to do the work and leave.”

Sohyee grinned. “You’ve got this chip on your shoulder and all this fire you’re trying to hide behind a polite scowl. You remind me of someone.”

“Let me guess,” Jio said, dry. “You?”

Sohyee laughed. “Not quite. But I think you’ll find the company of people like you—eventually.”

She looked again at Nakyoung and Jio, standing side by side, smug and silent, arms crossed and expressions sharp like knives dressed in business casual. It was uncanny.

“They really are the same,” Sohyee muttered under her breath, shaking her head in amusement. “Just took her longer to realize it.”

She took a sip of her tea, smiling with quiet satisfaction.

“I always knew you’d meet your match, Jio. I just didn’t expect it to be the sister of your old partner in crime.”

And with that, Sohyee turned away, clipboard in hand, content to let the rest unfold.

Eventually, the group broke for lunch and Nakyoung went off to clear her head and hopefully gain insight about her plight. The breeze danced gently across the retreat lodge’s patio, where Nakyoung sat alone at a wooden bench, lunch mostly untouched. Her phone was pressed to her ear, her voice softer than usual.

“Unnie… can I ask you something kind of weird?”

On the other end, Hyeong-seo’s familiar voice crackled with energy. “Weird like ‘should I bleach my eyebrows,’ or weird like ‘am I catching feelings for someone at work’?”

Nakyoung rolled her eyes, but her silence was telling.

Hyeong-seo gasped. “Oh my little sis is falling for someone! Oh my god, it’s a boy!”

“It’s not a boy,” Nakyoung grumbled. “It’s a coworker.”

“Mmhmm. Let me guess… tall? Wears hoodies like they’re designer suits? Kinda quiet unless he’s joking around?”

Nakyoung paused. “How…?”

“You’re talking about Jio, aren’t you?” Hyeong-seo said smugly.

Nakyoung’s stomach flipped. “Unnie, I didn’t say that. Wait how do you know Jio”

“You didn’t have to. Plus Jio is totally your vibe, I’ve known him forever but I digress. You always get stiff when you like someone. Do you remember how you acted around that barista in high school? You nearly karate-chopped him when he asked if you wanted soy milk.”

Nakyoung groaned. “This is different. Jio is warm. And annoying. And competent. And… I think I’m starting to like him. Which is why I hate it.”

“Why hate it?” Hyeong-seo asked, tone shifting to something gentler. “Jio’s amazing.”

Nakyoung blinked. “You… know him well?”

“Know him? Jio basically carried my team during my first year under Sohyee. I was drowning in reports and he—quietly—cleaned them up without taking credit. He saved my ass more times than I can count. And he never made me feel small for it.”

Nakyoung sat in stunned silence, the image of him carefully pressing a warm towel to her forehead the night before flashing in her mind.

“He’s that guy, Naky,” her sister continued. “The one who doesn’t say he cares—he shows it. The one who doesn’t steal the spotlight even when he deserves it.”

Nakyoung pressed her palm to her chest, trying to calm the strange tightness there.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “He makes me feel… safer. And seen. But it scares me.”

“That’s how you know it’s real,” Hyeong-seo said. “You’ve spent so long putting up armor that the second someone makes you feel something, you think it’s a threat.”

Nakyoung looked toward the woods lining the retreat path, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose control.”

“You won’t. You’re not losing anything—you’re opening up. And if it’s Jio? I trust him. He’s good, Naky. Really good.”

There was a long pause before Nakyoung finally muttered, “I think I want to see where it goes.”

A warm smile bloomed in Hyeong-seo’s voice. “Then flirt with him a little, baby sis. He’s probably just as terrified as you are.”

Nakyoung exhaled a small laugh, surprising even herself. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good. And hey,” Hyeong-seo added, teasing, “if he breaks your heart, I will fly down there and fight him.”

“Noted,” Nakyoung said, finally smiling as she hung up, a strange lightness settling in her chest. So she decided to get up and test her flirting skills (officially) with Jio

The team had scattered for a moment of rest after the last set of workshops. Jio was perched on a log near the fire pit, sipping iced coffee and scribbling ideas in a battered notebook. He looked peaceful—maybe even a little too peaceful.

Nakyoung stood a few feet away, arms crossed, internally screaming.

Okay. Just go over there. Say something flirty. Just like Minju said. Be casual. Be… breezy.

She walked over stiffly, like someone approaching a wild animal, and stood over him. Jio glanced up with a warm smile that immediately put her on edge.

“Hey, Nakyoung,” he said, using her name like he usually did, his voice gentle. “Surprised you’re not still dominating the competitive games section.”

Nakyoung stared at him for a second too long before blurting out, “Do you… work out?”

Jio blinked. “Uh. Sometimes?”

She panicked. “Because you look like you lift chairs a lot. Like, emotionally.”

He raised a brow, amused and confused. “I… what?”

Nakyoung exhaled. This wasn’t going as she planned. “Forget it. I was trying to flirt.”

Jio chuckled, setting down his coffee. “That was flirting?”

“I got advice,” she said defensively, plopping down beside him. “Minju said I should test if you’d push things when pushed.”

“Oh,” he said, a little stunned. “Well… did I pass?”

“You haven’t done anything,” she grumbled. “Which is annoying.”

Jio turned toward her slightly, a small smile curving his lips. “Would it help if I said you’re kind of adorable when you’re flustered?”

Nakyoung frowned. “I don’t do adorable.”

He tilted his head. “Sure you do. Just… in a ‘might-stab-you’ kind of way.”

Nakyoung narrowed her eyes—but there was no heat behind them. “If you ever tell Tsuki or Minju about this, I will body slam you through a conference table.”

“Understood,” he said, holding up both hands in surrender. “This is just between you and me.”

A quiet settled between them as she stared at the fire, face flushed from the inside out. Her fingers toyed with a stick, poking the embers.

“Do you like me?” she asked finally, eyes still on the flame.

Jio didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

The fire popped. Her heart did too.

“Okay,” she said simply, standing. “I’m gonna go walk this off.”

“Want company?”

She turned halfway, lips twitching in what might’ve been the start of a smile. “Only if you promise not to flirt back.”

Jio stood, sliding his notebook into his back pocket. “No promises.”

They walked off together into the woods trail, side by side. The space between them crackled with something new, something fragile—but real.

After another round of activities, they arrived back at the cabin tired and ready to go to bed. The rain had rolled in just after dinner, tapping softly against the cabin windows and muting the world outside. Inside, the lights were dim, casting everything in warm gold. Jio was fiddling with the projector setup while Nakyoung emerged from the bathroom in a hoodie, hair damp from a shower.

“What horror movie tonight will it be, Tiger?” she asked, voice softer than usual.

Jio looked up at her, his heart stuttering for just a second at how effortlessly beautiful she looked in that moment—hair messy, sleeves too long, eyes already a little sleepy.

“I was thinking Hereditary,” he said. “You know, psychological and messed up. Like us.”

She huffed. “That movie is depressing. Put on The Descent. Caves and monsters sound better.”

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the movie played, Nakyoung slowly made her way to his bed again. No warning this time—just a quiet decision to be close. She curled up beside him, claiming her place against his side, arms folding under the blanket they shared.

Jio barely breathed. “You cold?”

“Yes and you’re Warm,” she murmured, head finding his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, letting the silence wrap around them as the sound of characters screaming in claustrophobic caves filled the room. She flinched once—just a twitch—and he instinctively shifted to wrap an arm around her.

Instead of elbowing him or pulling away, Nakyoung sighed, settling deeper against his chest. Her hand rested lightly over his heart, which was beating faster than he wanted to admit.

“You always do this,” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“Make everything feel easy.”

He blinked. “Is that… bad?”

“No,” she said. “It’s terrifying.”

Jio wanted to say something profound, something that would reassure her—but the moment was already slipping into quiet, and before he could answer, her breathing slowed.

She was asleep.

He looked down at her, eyes tracing the lines of her face, the small furrow in her brow that never seemed to fully disappear. His hand moved on instinct, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.

“I think I’m falling for you, Nakyoung,” he whispered, barely audible.

Outside, thunder rolled far in the distance, but inside their shared quiet, the storm passed unnoticed.

He pulled the blanket a little higher, settled deeper into the bed, and let himself fall asleep beside her—no walls, no fears, just the strange, overwhelming calm she’d brought into his life.

The next morning Jio got up early to get some food for Nakyoung who was still sleeping.

The sun had barely begun to paint the sky when Jio slipped out of the cabin, hoodie over his head, trying not to wake Nakyoung. She was still wrapped in blankets, peaceful, for once not on edge or glaring at the world.

He made his way to the lodge kitchen, where a few staff were already moving quietly, setting out trays of breakfast and coffee. Jio greeted them politely and began fixing a tray—fruit, toast, soft-boiled eggs, a tiny bottle of hot sauce Nakyoung secretly liked, and a thermos of black coffee.

“She likes her coffee as she talks,” he muttered with a smirk, “no sugar, no mercy.”

A voice came from behind him, smooth and amused.

“I see you and Nakyoung are getting close.”

Jio turned to find Sohyee leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, sipping her tea. She was still in her silk robe, perfectly composed as always.

“I… think so,” Jio said slowly, eyes flicking down to the tray. “But I’m even more lost than before. I feel guilty about everything. The last guy who liked her? He was a bad dude. And I shouldn’t… I know I shouldn’t like the whole ‘Ice Witch’ act but—damn it, it’s so hot.”

Sohyee laughed—not mocking, just understanding. “Of course it is. She’s formidable. That’s part of her charm.”

Jio exhaled, voice low. “What should I do?”

Sohyee stepped closer, her expression turning gentle. “Quit.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Quit,” she repeated. “You’ve been my left hand for far too long. You were never meant to stay here forever, Jio. This job—it’s a waste of your talents. You keep holding the pieces together for everyone else, but when are you going to build something for yourself?”

He stared at her, stunned and silent.

“Go find something else you love,” she said. “Then hand in your two weeks.”

Jio clenched his jaw. The tray in his hands suddenly felt heavy. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“No one ever is,” Sohyee replied. “But you deserve joy. And so does Nakyoung. She’s finally starting to believe she’s worth being treated right. Don’t half-love her just because you’re scared.”

He looked down, overwhelmed by the weight of that truth.

Sohyee touched his shoulder. “You both deserve happiness, Jio. I trust you to do what’s right—with her, and for yourself.”

Jio nodded slowly, his throat tight. “Thanks, boss.”

“Not for much longer,” she said with a wink, then left him standing in the soft morning light, tray in hand and heart full of questions, hopes, and something terrifyingly close to love.

Jio pushed the door open with his shoulder, careful not to spill the tray of breakfast in his hands. The light had changed—warmer now, just touching the edges of the bunk with gold. Nakyoung was sitting up, blanket around her shoulders like a cape, hair tousled in sleepy disarray. She blinked at him slowly, then rubbed her eyes.

“You… left?” she murmured.

“Relax,” he said with a small grin, setting the tray down on the small desk near her bed. “Didn’t go far. Just got breakfast.”

She squinted at the food, then at him, then mumbled, “Are you trying to poison me with kindness?”

Jio laughed. “No, I’m trying to bribe you into not stabbing me later.”

“Smart,” she said, yawning. “Efficient. Dangerous, even. You really are a tiger.”

As he handed her the thermos of black coffee, their fingers brushed. Her hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary.

“Thanks,” she said. Not coldly. Not curt. Just… thanks.

Jio sat down on the edge of the other bed and watched her inspect the tray. She perked up slightly when she found the bottle of hot sauce.

“Wait—you remembered I like this?”

“I’ve watched you put it on literally everything for the past three months.”

“That’s called observational bonding,” she deadpanned, pouring it generously over her eggs.

He smiled, but didn’t reply. Watching her eat—really eat, relaxed and unguarded—was something new. She kicked her legs under the blanket and murmured something about the toast being “perfectly mid, but acceptable,” then gave him a side-eye when she caught him watching.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jio said, heart thudding. “You’re… kinda funny when you’re not threatening to end my bloodline.”

Nakyoung raised a brow, then grinned—actually grinned—and stuffed a bite of egg in her mouth before responding. “I have layers, Jio, like a discontinued PSP game.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” he said, chuckling.

They sat in a comfortable quiet after that. No tension. No armor. Nakyoung was curled into her blanket like a cat in sunbeams, making quiet commentary about how the coffee was “only slightly better than garbage,” and Jio just watched her.

This was her—clever, offbeat, and finally, finally not holding herself tight with fear or pain.

And something inside him—something scared and soft and stupid—just gave up trying to resist.

He was in love with her.

Fully.

Dangerously.

Unavoidably.

The sunlight had shifted again, spilling across the floor in long golden strips. Nakyoung was halfway through her eggs, still nestled in the blanket like some fierce but sleepy queen. Jio had barely taken a sip of his coffee, too wrapped in watching her just be—unguarded, drowsy, dry-humored, and utterly herself.

And maybe it was the way she looked at him without suspicion for the first time. Or maybe it was the echo of Sohyee’s words still bouncing around in his chest—“You both deserve happiness.”

But whatever it was, it snapped something loose in him.

“I’m quitting,” Jio blurted out.

The fork froze midair in Nakyoung’s hand. Her whole body stilled, brows tightening—not in anger, but in something far softer. Confusion. Concern. A little heartbreak.

“Why?” she asked, the word barely above a whisper.

Her tone was careful, but her eyes searched his—wide, vulnerable, holding something unspeakable just beneath the surface. Something like hope… and fear.

Jio exhaled, shaky. Then he said it—not slick or practiced, but raw and trembling.

“Because I love you,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to become another Mr. Kim—someone who uses his power to get close. I can’t risk that. Not with you.”

Silence.

Not awkward. Not icy.

Heavy.

Nakyoung stared at him. The words had clearly cracked something open inside her, too. She blinked slowly, lips parting, and for a moment she didn’t even breathe. She was watching him like he was a storm rolling in—beautiful, overwhelming, and just a little dangerous.

And then something shifted in her.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

She dropped the blanket. Stood. Crossed the room in three quick steps. And pounced—grabbing his shirt, pulling him forward, and kissing him with a kind of urgency that stole the air from his lungs.

For a heartbeat, Jio was stunned. His eyes flew open, then fluttered closed as his hands instinctively found her waist. He kissed her back, unsure of who was leading anymore—only that he didn’t want it to stop.

Her fingers curled in his hair, breath heavy against his lips between kisses, and all the walls she’d built seemed to be crumbling in her hands.

There was no hesitation now. No biting sarcasm. No barriers.

Just Nakyoung—desperate, hungry, and heartbreakingly real.

When she finally broke the kiss, she didn’t move far. Just rested her forehead against his, breath mingling with his in the quiet morning.

“You idiot,” she whispered, voice shaking.

He smiled, dazed. “You kiss all your coworkers when they resign?”

She let out a short, breathless laugh. “Only the ones who bring me hot sauce and hot towels.”

They sat there, tangled in each other’s arms, breath slowly evening out. The weight of the confession—the choice—still hung in the air, but it didn’t feel heavy anymore. It felt right.

And for the first time in a long, long time, both of them felt safe enough to fall.

The retreat was in full swing now—games were being organized, snacks passed around, and a few overeager junior associates were already on their third iced coffee of the day. The energy in the lodge buzzed with a kind of chaotic productivity only team-building events could manufacture.

Jio and Nakyoung entered quietly, side by side.

They didn’t say anything to each other as they walked in, but everything about them had shifted. It wasn’t just the way their hands brushed and lingered—or how Jio’s body instinctively angled toward hers. It was the calm in Nakyoung’s expression, the softness in her usually sharp eyes. She didn’t flinch when their coworkers looked her way. She didn’t armor up.

She simply… stood beside him.

Jio grabbed two coffees and passed one to her with practiced ease. She accepted it, nodded her thanks, then—without thinking—slid her pinky around his.

They stood like that, leaning against the back wall, the world bustling around them. Not quite hiding. Not quite announcing themselves either.

Until Sohyee spotted them.

She was mid-conversation with Tsuki and Mark when her gaze landed on the pair—and her eyes narrowed with a knowing smirk.

Sohyee excused herself gently, drifting through the crowd with the elegance of a businesswoman who had once negotiated a merger while in labor.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just sipped from her tea and observed them with a raised brow.

Nakyoung noticed her first. Her shoulders tensed—just slightly—but Jio didn’t flinch. He even met Sohyee’s gaze, eyes steady, face unreadable.

Sohyee finally spoke.

“I see holding hands is part of the new productivity initiative.”

Nakyoung immediately pulled her hand away, cheeks coloring slightly, but Jio chuckled and leaned into it.

“We’re workshopping something less HR-violating.”

Sohyee gave a half-laugh, half-sigh, clearly amused but unsurprised.

“You two better be careful,” she said, more affection than warning in her voice. “You think you’re being subtle. You’re not.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” Jio replied.

Nakyoung shot him a look, but there was no heat behind it. Just quiet admiration—and maybe a little wonder at how easy he made this look.

Sohyee, satisfied, turned to leave but added over her shoulder:

“If either of you gets weird about this, I will make you both do a trust fall in front of the whole company.”

Jio laughed.

Nakyoung groaned.

And just like that, the moment dissolved into something almost normal.

But as they returned to mingling with the group—sharing quiet jokes, passing snacks to each other, and trading subtle touches—it became clear to everyone watching:

Something between them had changed. And neither of them seemed particularly interested in hiding it anymore.

Sohyee returned to where Tsuki stood near the snack table, where the strategist was casually sipping a cucumber soda and watching Jio and Nakyoung from a distance. The two younger coworkers were no longer trying to hide how close they’d become—at this point, it was just part of the room’s ambience.

Sohyee gave a small chuckle as she rejoined Tsuki.

“The love sharks are circling,” Tsuki said with a mischievous smile, nudging her head toward the new couple. “Never thought I’d see Ice Witch Nakyoung melt for anybody, let alone him.”

Sohyee snorted. “Correction. Love bear and shark.”

Tsuki blinked. “Bear?”

Sohyee nodded, folding her arms. Her voice dropped into that calm, measured tone she always used when she’d already planned five moves.

“Jio’s the one who’s going to quit.”

“How do you know?” Tsuki asked, genuinely intrigued.

Sohyee didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on the way Jio handed Nakyoung a drink, his whole body attuned to her even as they laughed with the others. It wasn’t just affection. It was devotion, carefully controlled but unmistakable.

“Because I’m promoting Nakyoung when we get back,” Sohyee finally said, as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world.

Tsuki nearly choked on her soda. “You serious?”

Sohyee gave a slow nod. “She’s ready. And she’s better than she gives herself credit for. Jio knows that. Always has. He’s the reason I could mold her like this in the first place.”

“So you’re letting him go?” Tsuki asked.

“He’s been my left hand for almost two years. He’s saved this company more times than people know. But this place was never his dream. It was just a stepping stone.” Sohyee’s gaze softened. “He stuck around because I asked him to. But I’m not going to be the reason he holds himself back now.”

Tsuki looked toward Jio and Nakyoung, now engaged in some quiet, whispered exchange that made Nakyoung laugh—genuinely, no edges, no tension.

“You think she’ll let him go?”

Sohyee tilted her head. “Not without a fight. But that’s what makes them interesting.” She took another sip of her tea. “Besides… sometimes letting someone fly is the most powerful kind of love.”

Tsuki looked at her, impressed. “You should write fortune cookies.”

“I have. They’re very popular in Gangnam.”

They both laughed.

Across the room, Jio rested his hand lightly at the small of Nakyoung’s back, instinctively guiding her as they moved to another group activity. She leaned in closer than necessary, pretending not to notice the warmth in her cheeks.

Tsuki smiled. “They’re gonna wreck each other in the best way.”

Sohyee nodded once. “Let’s just hope they figure that out before I run out of team-building budget.”

Most of the team had dispersed into small groups to eat, nap, or gossip. The sun was warm but not oppressive, the breeze tugging at loose sleeves and tousled hair. Nakyoung and Jio sat across from each other, an untouched sandwich between them and silence stretching just a bit too long.

Nakyoung finally broke it.

“So…” she said, poking at her rice ball. “Which one of us is going to quit?”

Jio exhaled slowly, like he’d been rehearsing this answer since dawn.

“Me,” he said simply, looking her straight in the eyes.

Nakyoung froze. Her eyebrows knitted, lips pulling into a tight, uncertain line.

“What?” Her voice cracked just slightly. “Why? That’s—no. That’s not fair. You’re good at this job. People like you. I—”

He held up a hand and pulled out his phone, shooting her a soft smile as he dialed a number. “Watch.”

It rang once.

“JiOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” came Hanni’s voice, nearly bursting through the speaker. **“Are you saying yes?!”

“Make me into a movie villain,” Jio said, calm but with the barest grin twitching at his lips.

“YESSSSS!” Hanni squealed, a shriek of victory. “I knew it! I knew it! You have at least three roles just sitting there with your name on them—come see me the moment we get back! I’m clearing your schedule myself!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckled, ending the call before she could start planning his entire life. He turned back to Nakyoung.

She was smiling, but not in the triumphant way she expected. It was quieter, almost wistful. “So… it’s really happening.”

“You like the office more than me,” Jio teased, nudging her shin under the table. “And I think you’re about to get promoted anyway.”

Nakyoung scoffed. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” He shrugged, then leaned in a little, voice low. “I’ve seen the way Sohyee watches you. The only reason she hasn’t said anything yet is that she’s waiting to see how you handle this retreat.”

Nakyoung sat back, blinking, then slowly smirked. But it faded just as quickly, replaced with a subtle pout.

“Still doesn’t mean you get to leave me behind.”

Jio reached across the table and gently took her hand. No theatrics. Just warmth.

“I’m not leaving you. Just the job. We’re still figuring us out, remember?”

She curled her fingers around his, studying their joined hands. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “This… us… It feels real. Too real.”

He nodded. “I know. That’s why we’re going to take it slow, even if every part of me is telling me to kiss you until your brain melts.”

Nakyoung let out a breathy laugh, cheeks flushing. “Don’t say stuff like that unless you’re going to do something about it.”

Jio’s smile was wolfish now. “One more week and I’m free from HR policies.”

They both laughed—too loud, too breathless—and the tension buzzed between them like a live wire. Under the table, her foot found his again. Neither moved it.

“So we’re really doing this?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, thumb brushing her knuckle. “We’re really doing this.”

The retreat had slowed to a gentle lull. Coworkers had gone to bed or were out stargazing. Inside the cabin, low conversation and the occasional sound of footsteps on wood were the only reminders of life outside their little bubble.

Jio sat propped up against the headboard of his bed, flipping through his phone when Nakyoung emerged from the bathroom. Her face was washed, a faint lavender-scented lotion clinging to her skin, and she’d changed into soft lounge clothes—oversized hoodie, shorts that didn’t quite reach mid-thigh. Casual armor.

“Hey,” she said, crawling onto the edge of his bed like she was inspecting the scene for traps.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, still watching her even after he turned his screen off.

She gave him a look. “No movie tonight?”

“Only if you pick. I’m scared I’ll end up choosing something that makes you think I have some kind of death wish again.”

Nakyoung smirked. “You’re lucky I didn’t strangle you after Candyman.”

“You cuddled into me like a cat, I figured I was in the clear.”

“Shut up.”

But she was smiling. And after a beat, she leaned in, careful and deliberate, settling into the side of his bed. Not quite on him. Not quite away. Just close enough that their arms touched.

They sat there, the silence not awkward, but charged—like air before a summer storm.

“You know what I realized today?” she asked, voice hushed, not looking at him.

“What?”

“You make me less tired.”

He blinked, unsure how to respond.

“Everyone else drains me, even when I like them,” she continued. “But you… You don’t take anything. You just… let me be.”

That got him. It hit deep—because he knew what that felt like. To exist without having to armor up.

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he murmured.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

She turned, her cheek now resting on his shoulder. A beat passed. Then another.

“You can hold me,” she said softly.

Jio swallowed, lifting an arm and wrapping it gently around her shoulders. She exhaled slowly like she’d been holding her breath for weeks.

She tucked herself closer.

“Just holding, okay?” she added.

“Of course,” he said, even as his heart thudded against his ribs like a drum. “Just holding.”

They sat like that for a long while. The world outside disappeared. Her fingers toyed with the hem of his sleeve. His hand rested loosely on her waist. Nothing urgent. Just contact.

But then—she tilted her head up, just a little, and whispered:

“If you weren’t quitting, I’d never let myself do this.”

“I know,” he said.

Her lips brushed the edge of his jaw—not quite a kiss. Just… a promise.

And then she nestled back in, still tucked into his side, and he tightened his hold a fraction.

They fell asleep like that.

No movie. No pretense. Just the quiet gravity of two people finally unguarded.

The next morning they woke early enough to pack their bags and get ready to go home. After finishing up Nakyoung smiles at Dio and kisses his cheek.

“You ready?” she asks, and Jio smiles before saying “Absolutely” They head to the bus and hop on together while several pairs of eyes watch them excitedly.

The bus hummed gently along the tree-lined roads, sun streaking in through wide windows. Most of the team was in various states of exhaustion—some chatting softly, others dozing, headphones in, shoes off. The warm kind of tired that came from fresh air, overeating, and just enough emotional upheaval to leave everyone raw in a good way.

Jio sat by the window again, and Nakyoung was tucked against him as she’d always belonged there. Her fingers loosely laced with his, resting in his lap. This time, no one was pretending to nap to avoid looking at them—they weren’t exactly subtle anymore.

Across the aisle, Sohyee was practically glowing.

“You know,” she said suddenly, voice pitched just loud enough to carry, “people will talk with you two like this. But this choice makes everything fall into place.”

Jio looked over. “We’re doing this now?”

“I’m thrilled, don’t ruin it,” Sohyee beamed. “Ladies and gentlemen, just so you all know—Jio is retiring from his office career to pursue something bigger and sexier—acting. So make sure to get autographs now before he starts charging.”

A few heads turned, half-asleep cheers breaking out among their coworkers. Someone tossed a balled-up napkin at Jio. Nakyoung squeezed his hand.

“But,” Sohyee said, standing and turning to face the group a bit more formally, “this means I get to announce something else I’ve been dying to say.”

Her eyes flicked to Nakyoung, and Nakyoung immediately sat up straighter, guarded.

“Starting next quarter, Nakyoung will be stepping up as our new division executive.”

Gasps, applause, surprised murmurs—especially from those who’d seen her claw her way up from pure competency and ice-queen boundaries to someone a little more open, a little more known.

Jio leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Told you you were getting promoted.”

She glared playfully. “You’re still annoying.”

“But you’re my boss now. Legally obligated to tolerate me.”

Sohyee smirked as she sat back down next to Tsuki, who was shaking her head in quiet amazement. “He really did it,” she murmured.

“I told you,” Sohyee whispered, watching the couple out of the corner of her eye. “Love bear and love shark. They’re unstoppable.”