The Lee Corporation office was a temple of glass, steel, and hushed efficiency. For Taemin, it was a special kind of hell.
He'd been trailing behind Daon all morning, a scowl permanently etched on his face. Everything was wrong. The suit was stifling, the shoes pinched, and the endless, monotonous drone of his brother's voice explaining corporate structure was like listening to a dial tone.
"I don't understand why I need to know this," Taemin whined, slumping into a plush chair in Daon's private office. He kicked petulantly at the leg of the massive oak desk. "Can't I just… sign things? That's what heirs do in dramas."
Daon, who was standing by the window and massaging his own temples, didn't bother to turn around. "This isn't a drama. And you are not an heir. You are an intern. Start acting like one."
"An intern?" Taemin shot up from the chair, his voice rising in pitch. "Do you know who I am? I'm Lee Taemin! I shouldn't be an intern! This is humiliating!"
"Right now, you are an embarrassment," Daon stated coldly, finally turning to face him. His expression was glacial, a mask of impatience stretched thin over a foundation of sheer pain from his wounds. "Sit down. Be quiet."
But Taemin was in full meltdown mode. He began pacing the expensive Persian rug. "I can't do this! I have a headache. I think I'm getting a fever. I need to go home. Right now."
"You're not going anywhere."
"This is illegal! This is forced labor! I'll call Father!"
"Father," Daon said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet level, "is the one who ordered this. Your every complaint is being noted. Do you think disabling your credit cards was an empty threat? That was the warning. Keep this up, and you will find yourself with nothing. No cards, no car, no access to your trust fund. You will be a Lee in name only, locked in your room until you learn to behave."
The reality of the threat finally pierced through Taemin's tantrum. He stopped pacing, his bravado crumbling into genuine fear. The color drained from his face. "You… you wouldn't."
Daon took a step forward, he tower over Taemin. The controlled fury in his eyes was more terrifying than any shout. "Try me."
The door to the office opened and a senior manager peeked in, his face pale. "Vice President Lee, the meeting with the Japanese clients is starting in five minutes. They're waiting…"
Daon's glare didn't leave Taemin's terrified face. "See? You've already made me late." He took a final, seething breath. "Stay. Here. Do not move. Do not touch anything. We are not finished."
He turned and swept out of the office, leaving Taemin alone in the oppressive silence. The tantrum was gone, completely extinguished. He sank back into the chair, utterly defeated.
The silence in Daon's office was thick and heavy, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioning and the frantic beat of Taemin's own heart. He could feel the assistant's presence just outside the door, a silent, watchful sentinel. His brother's threat echoed in his mind, a cold, sharp blade against his freedom. He couldn't stay here. He wouldn't.
An idea, desperate and brilliant, sparked in his mind. He let out a low groan, clutching his stomach. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, and walked towards the door with a pained expression.
He pulled it open, finding the assistant..a young, serious-looking man standing stiffly nearby. "I... I don't feel well," Taemin mumbled, his voice convincingly weak. "I need to use the bathroom. Now."
The assistant's eyes widened slightly, but he gave a curt nod. "Of course, Sir. The facilities are just.."
"No, no," Taemi interrupted, waving a hand toward the private ensuite connected to Daon's office. "In here. It's faster." He didn't wait for permission, stumbling toward the door.
The assistant followed, hovering uncertainly as Taemin disappeared inside. He positioned himself just outside the bathroom door, ready to report any issue to Vice President Lee.
Inside, Taemin didn't locked the door and just leaned against it, his mind racing. He had maybe a minute. He scanned the luxurious bathroom marble, chrome, expensive towels. Perfect. He took a deep breath, screwed his eyes shut, and let out a blood-curdling, agonized scream. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated torment, followed by a loud, crashing thud as he knocked a small, heavy soap dish from the counter onto the tiled floor.
The effect was instantaneous.
"Sir? Sir! Are you alright?!" The assistant's voice was panicked, his knocking on the door frantic. "Mr. Lee! Open the door!"
Taemin stayed silent, holding his breath.
"Mr. Lee, I'm coming in!" The assistant's voice was laced with genuine alarm.
The door swung open. The assistant rushed in, his eyes wide with fear, scanning the empty room for a collapsed body.
He never looked behind the door.
In that split second, Taemin, who had been pressed flat against the wall behind it, slipped out like a ghost. His heart hammered against his ribs, a wild, terrified drumbeat.
"I'm so sorry!" he yelled over his shoulder, his voice a mix of genuine apology and sheer panic.
He yanked the bathroom door shut behind him and locked it from outside, hearing the assistant's confused shout from within, now trapped. Taemin didn't look back. He sprinted across Daon's office, flung the main door open, and bolted down the sterile, corporate hallway, his dress shoes slipping on the polished floor as he ran for his life, for his freedom.
The Chairman's office was a monument to power and control. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the vast, polished desk where Taekyun sat. The merger documents were spread before him, but the words had long since blurred into meaningless shapes. The weight of his new, temporary title, the lingering exhaustion from his cursed insomnia, and the emotional drain of his morning with Yuna had finally pulled him under.
He didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep.
One moment he was staring at a column of numbers, the next he was seven years old again.
The world was darker, the air thick with the scent of fear and expensive perfume. He was small, curled into a tight ball behind the large four-poster bed in his parents' room. His hands were pressed over his ears, but he couldn't block out the sounds.
The sharp, sickening crack of leather on silk. A woman's sob, choked and desperate. "Please... I'm sorry... I won't again..." His father's voice, a roar that vibrated through the floorboards. "You shame this family! You defy me at every turn! Your weakness is a stain!"
Another crack. Another cry of pain. Peeking through the gap between the bedskirt and the floor, he saw his mother's hand, clutching at the rug, her knuckles white. And he saw his father's polished shoes, pacing like a predator.
Then, his mother's face turned, her eyes finding his hiding spot. They were wide, filled with tears, but in them was a desperate, silent plea for him to stay hidden, to not make a sound. It was a look of utter agony and profound love, all at once.
Taekyun jolted awake with a sharp, ragged gasp.
He was back in the Chairman's chair. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, panicked rhythm. A cold sweat coated his skin, making his expensive dress shirt cling to his back. He gripped the edge of the massive desk, his knuckles turning white as he fought to steady his breathing.
The sunlit office felt suffocating.
With a trembling hand, he reached for the crystal glass of water on his desk, taking a long, slow sip. The cold liquid did nothing to quell the heat of the memory burning behind his eyes.
He leaned back in the leather chair, the image of his mother's face seared into his mind. The tears. The pain. The helpless, pleading expression.
And then, another face superimposed itself over the memory.
Rinwoo.
The night he'd locked him in the basement. Rinwoo had looked up at him just before the door closed, his eyes wide, not with anger, but with a shocked, profound hurt. There were tears welling there. His expression had been one of utter agony and silent pleading.
He looked just like her.
The realization hit Taekyun like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. The glass slipped from his numb fingers, crashing onto the desk and spilling water across the merger documents, the water spreading like a dark, growing stain.
He wasn't his father. He refused to be that man. Yet, in that moment, with Rinwoo... he had seen the same terror in another's eyes that he had felt hiding behind that bed. He had become the source of that fear.
A deep, unsettling shame, cold and viscous, began to pool in his stomach. He stared at the spreading water, seeing not ruined papers, but the reflection of a man haunted by a ghost he was terrifyingly close to becoming.
At Lee Estate
The storage room was a world away from the opulent main halls of the Lee estate, filled with the dusty, sweet smell of old paper and memories. Sunlight streamed through a single high window, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the air. Rinwoo and Eunjae, sleeves rolled up, were tasked with sorting through decades of accumulated family history.
Eunjae's laughter echoed off the cardboard boxes. He was holding up a faded photograph, his body shaking with mirth. "Oh, my god. Look! Look at his grumpy little face! Even as a baby, he looked like he was judging everyone!"
He thrust the picture at a blushing Rinwoo. It was a photo of a very naked, very displeased-looking baby Daon having a bath, his tiny brows furrowed in a spectacular frown.
Rinwoo couldn't help but giggle, covering his mouth with his hand. "Eunjae-ah, you shouldn't laugh. He was just a baby."
"A baby who already knew how to file tax returns, probably," Eunjae snorted, wiping a tear from his eye. He rummaged through the box again, pulling out another album.
Meanwhile, Rinwoo had gently picked up a different photograph. His smile was softer, more tender. It showed a young boy, maybe five or six, with serious, dark eyes and a perfectly neat little suit. It was Taekyun, sitting stiffly for a formal portrait, a small wooden horse clutched tightly in his hand.
Eunjae, still flipping pages, let out another burst of laughter. "Wow! Look at this one! It's a two-for-one!" He held up a picture of a slightly older Taekyun and Daon. Daon was mid-tantrum, his face scrunched up and crying, while Taekyun stood next to him looking utterly bored. But it was the third boy in the photo that made Eunjae pause.
A young boy, with a mop of dark, messy hair and a bright, sunny smile, was laughing openly at the crying Daon, his arm slung around a stoic Taekyun's shoulders.
"Who's that?" Eunjae asked, pointing at the cheerful boy. "He's cute. And he's brave for laughing at the mighty Daon."
Rinwoo leaned closer to look. His breath caught in his throat. A slow, wistful smile touched his lips. "That… that's me."
Eunjae's head whipped around, his eyes wide. "You? You've been living with them since you were that young?"
Rinwoo nodded, taking the photograph gently. He traced the edge of it with his finger, his gaze distant. "My mother… she left her home to marry a man. She thought he loved her. She got pregnant and found out he was already married to someone else. He threw her out." His voice was quiet, soft with the old pain of a story he'd heard many times. "She had nowhere to go. No family. She was on the streets, pregnant and alone."
He looked up at Eunjae. "Mrs. Lee found her. She brought her here. Gave her a roof, food, clothes. She even paid for her doctor visits. To pay her back, my mother swore to work for the family for free. They still gave her a small salary. They… they gave us everything when we had nothing." He smiled, a genuine expression of gratitude. "When my mother died, she made me promise to always serve this family. To be loyal. It's a debt I can never fully repay."
Eunjae listened, his usual teasing demeanor completely gone, replaced by a rare, quiet respect. He understood loyalty born from gratitude. It made a new kind of sense.
"Is that…" Eunjae began softly, "is that the only reason you're so loyal to Taekyun? Even when he treats you so badly? Because of a promise to your mother?"
The question was too direct. It pierced the careful narrative Rinwoo had built around his heart. A faint, tell-tale blush instantly spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He looked down, unable to meet Eunjae's perceptive gaze.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "That… that is why. That's why I don't leave. Even when they treat me like I'm nobody."
The silence that followed was thick. Eunjae didn't say a word. He just watched the blush deepen on Rinwoo's face, watched the way his fingers nervously fiddled with the photograph.
A slow, knowing smirk finally broke through Eunjae's serious expression. He leaned in close, his voice a singsong whisper.
"Rinwoo-yah… I didn't know you could lie." He poked the older man's flaming cheek. "But you are so, so bad at it."
Rinwoo's eyes went wide with panic before he buried his face in his hands, a groan of utter embarrassment escaping him. He'd been caught. His secret, fragile feelings for Taekyun, carefully hidden behind a veil of duty and debt, had been seen right through by the one person who wouldn't let him get away with it.
Eunjae's smirk widened into a triumphant grin. He poked Rinwoo's side again, relentless. "Aigoo~ So it's not just about loyalty! Our pure Rinwoo has a crush! You blush every time he looks at you, don't you?"
Rinwoo shook his head, still hiding his face, his ears a brilliant shade of red. "No, I don't! Stop it, Eunjae-ah!"
Their playful squabbling had attracted the attention of a few other servants who were sorting through linens nearby. An older maid, Mrs. Kim, who had known Rinwoo since he was the little boy in the photograph, chuckled warmly.
"Oh, but you do, dear," she chimed in, her eyes crinkling. "Just the other day, when the Young Master Taekyun dropped his pen and you picked it up, your hands brushed. I thought you were going to faint! Your face was as red as the peppers in the kitchen garden!"
Another younger maid, giggling behind her hand, added, "And remember last week? When Master Taekyun told you the soup was seasoned well? You smiled for an entire hour after that! You were humming while you polished the silver!"
Rinwoo finally peeked through his fingers, his expression one of utter horror and betrayal. "You… you all saw that?"
A groundskeeper, an older man with dirt on his knees from the garden, leaned on his broom. "It's hard to miss, son. You wear your heart on your sleeve. When the Young Master comes home, your whole face lights up before you even realize it. Then you try to hide it and look at the floor. We have a betting pool on how long it takes him to finally notice."
Eunjae threw his head back and laughed, delighted by this new information. "A betting pool?! How did I not know about this? What's the current wager?"
"Most of us think it'll take another year," Mrs. Kim confided, wiping her hands on her apron. "But I say he's already noticed. He's just too stubborn to admit it."
Rinwoo let out a mortified groan, wanting the dusty floor to swallow him whole. He was surrounded by traitors. "Please, everyone, stop…"
But Eunjae was having far too much fun. He snatched the baby picture of Daon and waved it like a flag. "See? Even baby Daon knows! He's frowning because he knew his brother would be oblivious!"
This sent everyone into another round of laughter. The storage room, usually a place of quiet work, was filled with a joyful, teasing energy. Rinwoo was the heart of it, blushing and protesting, but a small, secret part of him felt warm.
He finally gave up, dropping his hands to reveal his fully flushed face, a helpless, shy smile finally breaking through. "You're all terrible," he mumbled, but there was no real heat in it.
Eunjae slung an arm around his shoulders, still grinning. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with us. We're all rooting for you." He then stage-whispered to the others, "Even if he's the worst liar in the world."
The servants nodded and chuckled in agreement, returning to their work with smiles still on their faces, leaving Rinwoo to bury his face in Eunjae's shoulder, a laughing, blushing mess of embarrassment and secret hope.
Meanwhile
The conference room was a bubble of tense, focused energy. Daon, despite the fire in his back, was commanding the room, his voice cool and authoritative as he addressed the board of directors. The Japanese clients nodded along, impressed by his sharp analysis. For a moment, the pain and the frustration with his brother were distant things.
The moment shattered when his personal assistant, the one he'd left to guard Taemin, slipped into the room. His face was pale, his suit jacket slightly askew. He didn't dare approach the table, instead hovering by the door, his eyes wide with pure panic.
A cold dread, entirely separate from his physical pain, coiled in Daon's gut. He held up a hand, cutting off the head of finance mid-sentence. "A moment, please," he said, his voice dangerously calm.
He strode to the door, his every step measured, each movement sending a fresh jolt of agony up his spine that he refused to show. He grabbed the assistant's elbow and pulled him into the hallway, closing the door firmly on the curious stares of the board.
"What." The word was not a question. It was a demand, low and icy.
The assistant flinched. "V-Vice President Lee… Sir… he… he's gone."
Daon's expression didn't change, but the air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. "Explain."
"He said he was ill… went to the ensuite bathroom in your office… then I heard a scream, a crash… I used my key, I went in to help him, and he… he was gone! He must have slipped out behind me! He shut the door and… and he ran!"
The assistant was babbling, on the verge of tears, knowing the magnitude of his failure.
Daon's jaw was so tight it ached. He turned on his heel without another word, leaving the terrified assistant in the hallway. He pulled out his phone, his thumb jabbing the screen to call security.
"This is Vice President Lee. Locate my brother, Lee Taemin, on the premises immediately. He is not to leave the building." He listened for a beat, his eyes closing as he fought for control. "What do you mean, he already has?"
He ended the call, his hand shaking with a fury so potent it was a physical tremor. He dialed another number, the one for the family's head of security at the estate.
"Check the garage. Is my car there?" He listened, and the last shred of his control vanished. "He what?"
The security chief's voice was apologetic over the line. "The Aston Martin, Sir. Young Master Taemin just drove through the main gate. He… he waved at the guards, Sir. He said you told him to take it for a… spin."
Daon didn't speak. He simply lowered the phone, his knuckles white around it. He stood there in the sterile, silent hallway, the hum of the conference room behind him a distant mockery of his authority.
His brother had not only escaped a crucial day of training, not only humiliated him in front of his assistant and the entire security team, but he had also stolen his most expensive car and was now joyriding around the city.
The image of Taemin's smug face waving at the guards was the final straw. The carefully constructed wall of Daon's composure cracked. He drew back his arm and, with a guttural sound of pure rage, slammed his phone against the concrete wall. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass, the metal casing clattering to the floor.
He stood there, breathing heavily, the pain in his back a dull roar matching the one in his head. He had a boardroom full of important clients waiting, and his brother was God-knows-where in a quarter-million-dollar car.
Far from the sterile, pressurized environment of Lee Corporation, the world was soft and golden. In a sun-dappled park, on a weathered wooden bench, Taemin and Juwon were in their own private universe.
Taemin was a whirlwind of dramatic gestures, his half-eaten ice cream cone waving precariously as he recounted the horrors of his morning. "...and the tie, Juwon-ah! It was like a noose! And Daon hyung, he just kept talking about equity shares and mergers and acquisitions like any of it matters! I thought my brain was going to melt and leak out of my ears!"
Juwon listened, but he wasn't really hearing the words. He was too busy admiring the speaker. The way Taemin's nose scrunched up when he pouted, the way his eyes flashed with indignant energy, the way his now-messy hair fell across his forehead after his great escape. He wasn't seeing a failed corporate intern he was seeing the vibrant, beautiful man who had chosen him.
A low chuckle escaped Juwon, which quickly grew into full, unreserved laughter. It was a rich, warm sound that made Taemin stop mid-rant.
"Yah! It's not funny!" Taemin glared, his lower lip jutting out in an magnificent, exaggerated pout. "My life is over! I'm destined to die of boredom in a gray cubicle!"
But Juwon just kept laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You," he managed to get out between laughs, "you escaped by faking a stomach ache and trapping the assistant in the bathroom? And then you stole your brother's Aston Martin?" He shook his head, utterly captivated. "You're incredible."
Taemin's glare intensified, but there was a flicker of pride beneath it. "He deserved it! He was being a tyrant!" He leaned forward, poking Juwon's chest. "Stop laughing at me!"
Juwon's laughter finally subsided into a warm, adoring smile. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because you're you. And I love you."
The words, as they always did, softened Taemin's feigned anger. But he wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. With a sudden, mischievous glint in his eyes, Taemin launched himself forward.
"Yah!"
He tackled Juwon, pinning him down on the park bench. Their forgotten ice cream cones tumbled to the grass below, sacrificed to the cause. Juwon let out a surprised "oof!" but made no move to resist, his hands instinctively coming up to rest on Taemin's hips.
Taemin loomed over him, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Now who's laughing?"
Juwon just smiled up at him, his heart swelling with so much affection it felt like it might burst. "You are."
And he was. Taemin's laughter was light and free now, the frustrations of the morning completely forgotten. He leaned down, his smirk softening into something infinitely sweeter, and captured Juwon's lips in a deep, lingering kiss.
It was a kiss of rebellion, of freedom, of a secret successfully kept for now.
Juwon's protests were weak, his hands pushing half-heartedly against Taemin's chest as he finally came up for air, gasping. "Taemin-ah… I can't… breathe…" he managed between gulps of air, his face flushed a deep, adorable pink.
Taemin just laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that echoed their freedom. He caught Juwon's wrists, easily subduing his flailing, and pulled him closer instead of letting him go. In one smooth motion, he maneuvered Juwon onto his lap, making the older man yelp in surprise.
"Yah! Lee Taemin! Put me down!" Juwon insisted, his blush deepening as he became acutely aware of their very public position. He started hitting Taemin's shoulder, but the blows had no force behind them, more like the pattering of a light rain.
Taemin ignored him completely, his earlier frustration melting away into pure contentment. He simply wrapped his arms around Juwon's waist, holding him securely in place, and buried his face in the crook of Juwon's neck. He inhaled deeply, the scent of Juwon's cologne and sunshine calming the last of his rebellious energy.
"I don't want to be a robot in a suit," he mumbled against Juwon's skin, his voice suddenly soft and vulnerable. "I don't want to talk about mergers. I want… a free life. In a small town. With a small café we can go to every morning. A small apartment that's just… ours." He nuzzled closer. "We'll have a dog. I'll name him… Brat."
Juwon's fighting stilled. The image painted by Taemin's words was so far from their current reality, so perfectly simple and warm, that it disarmed him completely. He rolled his eyes, but a small smile played on his lips. "Brat? That's a weird name for a pet. Let's name him Ice Cream. Since you sacrificed yours to attack me."
Taemin chuckled, the vibration rumbling through Juwon. "Fine. Ice Cream." He tightened his hold. "And we'll have a garden. A big one. You love flowers. You can fill it with those ugly, spiky orange ones you like."
"They're called lilies, you philistine," Juwon corrected, but there was no heat in it. He relaxed fully into Taemin's embrace, his head coming to rest against Taemin's. "And we'll need a fence. So Ice Cream doesn't dig up your… my lilies."
"Deal," Taemin whispered.
And just like that, sitting on a public park bench, with grass stains on their pants and melted ice cream at their feet, they built their future. They wove dreams of a small apartment with a noisy dog and a garden full of flowers, their voices hushed and hopeful, creating a perfect, fragile world where the only thing that mattered was the man in their arms.
Taemin watched him, his heart feeling so full it might burst. The stress of the morning was a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of the man in his arms and the beautiful future they were painting together.
In a moment of pure, unadulterated affection and mischief, Taemin peeked at Juwon's profile and whispered, his voice low and intimate, "I also want to see you pregnant."
The effect was instantaneous. Juwon's serene expression shattered into wide-eyed, flustered shock. A deep, crimson blush exploded across his cheeks and down his neck. "Yah! Lee Taemin!" he sputtered, swatting at Taemin's chest with renewed vigor. "How could I possibly get pregnant, you idiot! Are you insane?!"
Taemin just smirked, a proud, cocky grin that made Juwon want to both kiss him and strangle him. He ducked his head closer, his lips brushing against Juwon's ear. "I'll work very hard to make it happen," he whispered, his voice a husky promise.
That was the final straw. Juwon's embarrassment morphed into playful fury. He clenched his fist and brought it down in a light, thumping knock on the top of Taemin's head. "Dumbo! Pervert! Stop saying such ridiculous things!"
But the fight was gone from his blows, replaced by a flustered laugh he couldn't suppress. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure, to steer them back to their safe, dreamy future. "A-Anyway," he stammered, "the garden… we'll need good soil. Maybe we can grow some vegetables too? Tomatoes? You… you like tomatoes…"
He began to talk again, his words a little rushed, trying to cover his lingering embarrassment. He talked about the type of fence that would be best, about a little patio where they could have morning coffee, his hands gesturing animatedly as he built their dream world back up.
Taemin didn't interrupt. He just listened, his smirk softening into a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. He didn't hear a word about soil or tomatoes. He was too busy memorizing the way Juwon's eyes lit up when he was passionate, the way his nose scrunched slightly when he was thinking, the way his hands moved with such elegant precision even when talking about something as simple as a garden fence.
He held Juwon a little tighter, pulling him just a fraction closer. In this moment, with the sun warming them and the love of his life building them a future in the air between them, Taemin knew with absolute certainty that he would burn down the whole Lee Corporation and walk away without a single regret if it meant he could have this. He would endure a thousand boring days in a suit if it led him back to this park bench, to this man, every time.
The grand living room of the Lee estate, usually a space of imposing quiet, was crackling with a different, darker energy. Daon paced like a caged tiger, the elegant Persian rug doing little to muffle the angry stamp of his footsteps. The low hum of the security system tracking his stolen Aston Martin was a constant, infuriating reminder of his brother's rebellion.
Taekyun had arrived home moments before, looking drained from his own haunting day. He barely had time to shed his jacket before Daon was on him, his voice a low, controlled fury as he relayed the events the escape, the trapped assistant, the stolen car.
"...and he told the guards I said he could take it for a spin," Daon finished, the words dripping with icy rage.
Taekyun's expression, already grim, darkened further. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant. "Block all of Lee Taemin's credit cards and bank accounts. Effective immediately. Yes, all of them." He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, his actions swift and merciless. "He'll come crawling back when he can't buy a cup of coffee."
Daon let out a sharp, frustrated sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, a rare sign of his unraveling composure. This was when Eunjae descended.
"Will you stop pacing? You're going to wear a hole in the floor and then you'll have another thing to be angry about," Eunjae scolded, planting himself directly in Daon's path. His eyes, however, weren't angry. They were sharp with concern, scanning Daon's rigid posture, the tightness around his eyes that spoke of more than just fury. "And stand up straight! You're going to make your scar worse on your back. Let me see."
He reached for the buttons of Daon's shirt, his fingers nimble and determined.
Daon batted his hand away, his annoyance flaring. "Eunjae, not here. Not now."
"Then when? When you collapse from pain and pride?" Eunjae shot back, undeterred. He went for the buttons again. "Stop being a baby and let me check. What if it's bleeding again?"
A strange standoff ensued. Daon, the formidable Vice President, glared down at his bratty husband, who glared right back, utterly fearless. With a grunt of exasperated defeat, Daon stopped fighting. He stood stiffly, allowing Eunjae to fuss over him, to carefully peer down the back of his collar to check the bandages, all while continuing to mutter a stream of complaints and scoldings. Daon refused to take the shirt off in the middle of the living room, but he tolerated the inspection, his jaw clenched tight against both the pain and the unfamiliar, unwelcome comfort.
Across the room, the contrast was stark and painful.
Rinwoo stood near the drinks cart, a cold glass of water trembling slightly in his hand. His eyes were fixed on Taekyun, who had sunk into an armchair, his eyes closed, looking pale and exhausted. Rinwoo's heart ached with a familiar urge to go to him, to offer him the water, to ask if he was alright.
But his feet felt rooted to the floor. His courage, which felt so strong in the dusty storage room with Eunjae, evaporated under the cold, heavy atmosphere of the main hall. He saw how naturally Eunjae touched Daon, how Daon, despite his protests, allowed it.
He took a hesitant step forward, the glass shaking in his grip.
Before he could take another, a maid, sensing the tension and the need, glided smoothly past him. She picked up a fresh glass, filled it with water, and placed it on a coaster on the side table next to Taekyun with a quiet, "Your water, Young Master."
Taekyun didn't open his eyes, just gave a slight, weary nod of acknowledgment.
Rinwoo looked down at the glass in his own hand, now useless. He slowly retreated, placing it back on the cart, his shoulders slumping. He watched Eunjae continue to fret over a visibly annoyed but permitting Daon, and he watched Taekyun, isolated and untouchable in his chair.
The distance between the two couples, in the very same room, felt like an impossible chasm. One was building something new, however contentious. The other remained frozen, a prisoner of debt, fear, and unspoken longing, with a simple glass of water serving as a symbol of everything he couldn't quite bring himself to bridge.
The impulse was a physical ache in Rinwoo's chest. Seeing Taekyun so pale and withdrawn. He took a steadying breath, picked up the glass of water again, and began to walk across the vast living room. Each step felt monumental.
His focus was entirely on Taekyun's slumped form, on finding the right words. 'Are you unwell? Can I get you anything? Please, just look at me.' He was almost there, his hand slightly outstretched, the words forming on his lips.
Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.
The harsh, insistent vibration of a phone on the marble side table shattered the moment.
Taekyun's eyes snapped open. He looked at the screen, and a fresh wave of irritation tinged with something else, something like guilt crossed his face. He snatched up the phone, cutting off the ringtone.
Rinwoo froze mid-step, the glass feeling suddenly like a block of ice in his hand. He watched, his fragile courage evaporating, as Taekyun stood up without a single glance in his direction and strode out of the living room, already bringing the phone to his ear.
Rinwoo stood alone, useless, the offered glass of water now a symbol of his failed attempt.
Outside on the manicured lawn, away from prying ears, Taekyun's voice was a low, impatient growl. "What?"
"Tae!" Yuna's voice was a whine, sharp and demanding through the speaker. "Where are you? You said you'd come to talk to my mother. We've been waiting! You haven't even texted!"
Taekyun closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. The meeting, the stress with Taemin, his own exhaustion it had all pushed the promise from his mind. A different kind of guilt, one he was more familiar with, settled in. The guilt of failing Yuna.
"Something came up at the company," he said, his tone shifting, becoming slightly placating.
"Something always comes up! Is it more important than me? Than our future?" she shot back, her voice rising.
"No. Of course not. Just… wait there," he said, making a split-second decision. The mess inside the house, the tension with his brother it was suffocating. Yuna's demands, as exhausting as they were, were a problem he knew how to handle. A distraction he knew how to manage.
"I'm on my way."
He ended the call, turned on his heel, and walked straight past the living room windows without looking inside. Within moments, the sound of a car engine roared to life and then faded quickly into the distance.
Back in the living room, Rinwoo finally forced his feet to move. He walked slowly to the side table and set the now-warm glass of water down next to the untouched one the maid had brought. He stared at the two identical glasses.
He had been so close. And yet, once again, he was left behind, an afterthought, while Taekyun sped away to answer a call that was clearly more important. The chasm between them hadn't just remained it had widened, and Rinwoo was left standing alone on his side, holding a silence that was heavier than any glass of water.