It had been a week since that rooftop evening.
On the surface, nothing much had shifted. Minjae still clocked in at eight. Still wore the same muted ties. Still stood at the corner table by the vending machine with his first coffee. Still slipped out for lunch alone, more often than not.
But those who paid attention might have noticed.
The pause when he passed Seori in the hallway.
The longer glance at Yuri's reports.
The faint hesitation before replying to Yura's notes.
Not avoidance.
Not rejection.
Something softer. Careful distance.
---
That Friday, the air in the office felt oddly weightless.
Deadlines had passed. The usual noise softened. Clusters of coworkers leaned together, whispering gossip, laughing louder than necessary.
Someone had brought pastries. Someone else had turned on a forgotten playlist from the last team dinner.
Minjae stood near the tenth-floor windows, staring out over the blurred city. He wasn't working. He wasn't resting either. Just watching—the reflection of his own outline faint against the glass.
He heard his name mentioned once or twice from a nearby group. A few quiet chuckles followed.
It didn't bother him anymore.
It used to. Back when every whisper felt like a weight against his ribs. Now, he'd learned that silence carried its own kind of strength. Not indifference, but understanding—of where his limits ended and others' perceptions began.
He stayed there longer than he realized, until his reflection blurred with dusk shadows creeping in from the west.
---
Later, he found Seori in the HR lounge, flipping through papers with distracted fingers. She looked up when he entered.
"Hiding?" she asked.
"Not really."
"Thinking?"
He gave a small nod.
Seori set the papers aside, her voice soft. "You seem lighter lately."
"Maybe."
"You've been quiet though."
"I'm always quiet."
She gave a mock-sigh, shaking her head. "Fair. But this time, it feels like you're carrying less."
For a moment, Minjae didn't respond. His gaze drifted to the window before returning to her.
"Do you regret it?" he asked.
Seori tilted her head. "Being honest?"
He nodded.
"No," she replied right away. "I'd rather stay close to someone than act like it did not matter."
Those words stayed with him well after he left the lounge. The copy machine sounds faded. The fluorescent lights kept buzzing on. But her voice filled his thoughts. It felt solid yet kind. As if she now saw just how breakable her wants could be.
He thought about whether he might manage that too.
---
The afternoon slid by in quiet routine. Files. Emails. Documentation.
When he dropped off a report at Yuri's desk, she raised a brow.
"This early?"
"You asked for it before lunch."
She accepted it, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "Are you becoming responsible?"
"I've always been," he said.
"I meant emotionally responsible."
He gave her a look—half reproach, half reluctant humor.
"I'm trying," he admitted.
Yuri didn't push further. But when he walked away, her lips curved faintly, and she stared at her screen longer than necessary.
---
At five-thirty, the building's rhythm shifted. Chairs scraped. Computers clicked off. Someone called out for after-work drinks.
Minjae ignored the invitation, as always. But this time, the decision didn't feel defensive. It just felt… right.
He wasn't hiding anymore. He just didn't need the noise.
---
On the stairwell, he nearly collided with Yura. He was heading up. She was heading down. They paused midway.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
She leaned casually on the rail. "You're doing okay."
"I'm managing."
"I didn't mean work."
A quiet smile tugged at his mouth. "I know."
Yura studied him a second longer, then gave a simple nod before continuing down. No lecture. No questions. Just that.
Her perfume hung in the air just a bit after she walked away. It had this light clean smell. That somehow clashed with the concrete and dust all around. He ended up staying put longer than he should have. Just listening to her footsteps echo softer and softer down the stairs below.
---
Evening arrived. The office cleared out. Minjae lingered, not because he had to. It was just his routine. He sorted his papers. He handled the last emails. He tidied his workspace. Those steps felt routine. Comforting in a quiet way.
When he finally left the building, the city pulsed with its evening energy. Lights smeared against tall windows. Neon signs glowed softly. Traffic droned on without pause.
He strolled along at an easy pace. Hands tucked in his pockets. The sidewalks led him wherever.
He paused at that usual spot downtown. A modest eatery occupied the corner. Nothing flashy. Nothing recent. Simply known.
From the broad glass front, he spotted them.
Seori. Yuri. Yura.
They looked relaxed. Not showy. Not boisterous. Just sharing a meal. Chuckling together. Leaning in close.
Their expressions held no regret. No hints of frustration.
Just ease.
Like time had not shifted at all.
Like it had changed completely.
Minjae lingered a moment more. Then he walked on.
No smile crossed his face. No scowl formed either.
---
The walk home dragged on after that. A light chill hung in the air. It helped clear his thoughts a bit.
He went by a small convenience store. Bright fluorescent lights poured out onto the sidewalk. He stopped for a moment. Grabbed a canned coffee. Then he stood at the curb. The can hissed as he cracked it open.
That first sip hit bitter. Kind of metallic too. He did not care.
Some things about himself still puzzled him. Parts that pulled back from affection. He wondered if he could even give it back. Still, one thing finally clicked for him.
They were not hanging around for him to fix everything. They just picked staying with him.
In their quiet way, they had pulled him into their circle. Not to hold him down. But to keep watch over him.
---
That night sleep did not come easy. He stayed awake for a while. He just stared up at the dim lines on the ceiling over his bed. His eyes followed their even patterns back and forth.
He started thinking about those three. Each one saw him in her own way.
Seori stayed patient. She did not get rattled at all. She was like a still mirror that showed his doubts right back. No judgment in it.
Yuri had that sharp edge. She teased a bit. But her straight talk felt like some sort of shield. Hidden that way.
Yura watched quietly. She never pushed or dug in. Still she seemed to sense things. She knew when to come nearer. Or when to pull away.
Each had seen him at his worst in small ways. Each had chosen to stay anyway.
He didn't know what that meant yet. Not fully.
But it was enough for now.
---
The following week unfolded with the same rhythm, yet something imperceptible had shifted beneath it.
In the elevator, Seori would occasionally meet his eyes—just briefly, just enough to acknowledge him without words.
During meetings, Yuri's remarks softened, her sarcasm carrying an edge of care rather than critique.
And Yura—Yura's notes came with small, thoughtful comments that made him pause before replying.
None of it was dramatic.
But it felt like the quiet rebuilding of something he thought he'd lost.
---
On Wednesday, the department head called him into a strategy session.
"Senior Analyst Yoo," she said, tapping her pen against the folder, "you've been consistent lately. You're steady. But you can't disappear into your work forever."
Minjae blinked. "I wasn't aware I had."
She smiled thinly. "You hide well, that's all."
He didn't argue.
By the end of the meeting, he had been assigned to lead an internal review—something that would require coordination with multiple departments, including HR and PR.
Which meant Seori.
And Yuri.
And, eventually, Yura.
He wasn't sure if that was coincidence or intent.
---
The project began quietly. Meetings, follow-ups, reports. Minjae handled them methodically, as always. But beneath that precision, something warmer pulsed—a sense of connection threading through the work.
During one late afternoon review, Yuri leaned over his shoulder, scanning the draft on his screen.
"You could simplify this section," she murmured. "You overthink when you explain things."
"Habit," he said.
"From before?"
He didn't answer.
She didn't press. Just reached over, highlighted a line, and said softly, "You're better when you trust your own clarity."
The words shouldn't have mattered. But they did.
---
Two days later, he caught Seori and Yura discussing travel reimbursements near the printer. They didn't notice him at first.
"He's changing," Seori said.
"Minjae?" Yura asked.
Seori nodded. "Not a lot. Just enough that it feels like he's breathing again."
Yura smiled faintly. "He's learning. Slowly, but he is."
Minjae lingered by the door, unseen. The quiet pride in their tone made something unfamiliar stir in his chest. He wasn't used to being spoken about that way—without expectation or disappointment.
Just quiet belief.
---
That Friday evening, the city was washed in soft rain. Most stayed inside. Minjae didn't.
He walked again, this time with purpose. Past the station, across the bridge, toward the narrow alley where the restaurant stood.
The same three were there again—this time joined by two coworkers. The table was louder, laughter spilling through the rain-streaked glass.
He almost turned away. But Yura noticed him first.
Her gaze met his through the window. She lifted a hand—not waving, not beckoning. Just acknowledging.
That was enough.
He didn't go inside. But he lingered longer this time. Long enough for Seori to glance up and smile, faint but certain. Long enough for Yuri to notice and nudge the others.
They didn't call him over.
They didn't need to.
The warmth reached him anyway, carried through rain and glass and distance.
---
He got home that night. He set the umbrella by the door. His shoes sat wet on the mat. The jacket hung over the chair.
He settled at his desk. He switched on the little lamp. He grabbed a blank piece of paper.
Nothing specific in mind. No real job for it. Just empty space there.
Rain kept knocking on the window. He jotted one line down. Did not think too hard about it.
They stayed.
He looked at those words for quite a while. Then he put in another one.
And so did I.
He could not say exactly why it hit him that way. Truth is, for the first time in ages, it seemed like a start that asked nothing of him. Just being there was enough.
The next Monday rolled around. He showed up at the office way before dawn. The hallways stayed hushed. The machines had not stirred yet.
He brewed some coffee. Took his spot at that corner table again. Watched the city out there come alive bit by bit.
This time around, rushing did not pull at him.
The first team members trickled in. Seori walked with her steady calm. Yuri had her headphones on. Yura gave a quiet nod. He met each one with a small smile. Barely there, but real.
Nobody said a word about it. Still, they picked up on the change.
They picked up on things like that.
In those quiet moments, the looks they traded, the little gestures. Something solid started to grow there.
Not some fresh start exactly.
Just carrying on.
The sort that slips in without fanfare.
The sort that hangs around.