The office was quiet.
Too quiet.
Rin stared up at the ceiling, body still aching in places he didn't want to name. The city outside pulsed on as if nothing had changed—but everything had. His fingers curled against the edge of Than's leather couch, grounding himself as reality seeped in.
Across the room, Than was already dressed, buttoning his cuffs with clinical precision. Each movement clean. Controlled.
That bothered Rin more than he wanted to admit.
"I didn't realize you'd turn into a stranger this fast," Rin said, his voice soft but sharp.
Than didn't flinch. Didn't look at him. "I have a 10 a.m. board call."
"Of course you do."
Rin sat up, letting the sheet fall from his waist. He didn't reach for it again. Let Than look. Let him see the bruises he'd left, the fingerprints, the quiet wreckage of what they'd done.
"You want me gone before your assistant walks in?"
Than turned slowly, his face blank. "Rin—"
"No." Rin cut him off. "It's fine. You were always good at pretending this meant nothing."
Something flickered in Than's expression, quickly buried.
"I don't regret it," he said.
Rin raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you look like you do?"
Than crossed the room, crouching in front of him. His hand hovered near Rin's knee but didn't land.
"Because this complicates everything."
"It was never simple."
Than's jaw worked. "You make me forget how much I have to lose."
Rin leaned in, close enough to catch the tremble in Than's breath. "Then maybe you never had it in the first place."
The silence stretched—fragile, frayed.
"I don't want to hurt you," Than said finally.
Rin gave a bitter smile. "That's the thing about wanting. It doesn't stop you."
Later that day, Rin sat alone at a rooftop bar Kieran had once recommended. Not because he expected Kieran—but because it was far from the towers, far from the surveillance, far from him.
His neck still burned from Than's mouth.
His chest still ached from everything he hadn't said.
"You look like shit," a voice said.
Kieran. Of course.
Rin didn't glance up. "I feel worse."
Kieran slid into the seat beside him. No invitation needed.
"Was it him?"
Rin didn't answer.
"I've seen Than dismantle people," Kieran continued, swirling the drink he hadn't touched. "Quietly. Elegantly. Like pulling threads from a tapestry until it collapses. And yet you—you look like someone who'd crawl back into the fire just to feel something."
Rin's lips curved without humor. "Maybe I'm already ash."
Kieran was quiet for a moment. Then: "Do you want out?"
Rin turned to face him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I have something. Proof. About Jun. About the cover-up. But if I give it to you, there's no going back. You don't get to be neutral anymore. You don't get to stay on the sidelines."
Rin's fingers curled tighter around his glass. "I was never on the sidelines."
Kieran leaned in, voice dropping. "Then you should see what Than's been hiding. In his father's archive."
Rin's blood ran cold. "That archive is sealed."
"Not to me."
Rin blinked. "And you're just... giving it to me?"
Kieran's gaze sharpened. "No. I'm giving you a choice. You either burn the man who still owns half your soul—or you stay. And become him."
Rin didn't answer.
Because he didn't know which scared him more.
That night, Than sat alone in his office.
The couch was still rumpled.
The scent of Rin still clung to the air—salt, sweat, something heartbreakingly human.
He poured himself a drink he didn't want. Loosened his tie. Tried not to remember how Rin had looked beneath him—unguarded, open, ruined.
He should've felt powerful.
Instead, he felt like he'd lost something he couldn't name.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
You think you own him?
Let's see what happens when he knows everything you've hidden.
Than stared at the message.
His reflection in the glass—the tight jaw, the tired eyes—told him what he didn't want to admit.
He was no longer in control.