The knock on the door was soft, hesitant. It cut through the intimate quiet that had settled between Daon and Eunjae. They pulled apart slightly, Eunjae wiping at his eyes one last time while Daon schooled his features back into a more neutral, though less severe, expression.
"Come in," Daon called, his voice still a bit rough.
The door creaked open to reveal Taemin, hovering on the threshold. He looked young and unsure, his bruised eye a stark reminder of the recent chaos. He shuffled inside, not meeting Daon's gaze, his own fixed on the floor.
An awkward, heavy silence descended upon the room. Taemin scuffed his shoe against the rug. Daon waited, his arms crossed, the stern older brother persona sliding back into place, though it was now tempered by the vulnerability he'd just shared.
"I…" Taemin began, then stopped. He took a breath. "I'm… sorry. For… you know. The… fighting. And the car." The words came out in a rushed mumble, more obligatory than sincere. It was an apology because he knew he had to give one, not because he truly felt it in his heart.
Daon watched him, seeing right through the half-hearted attempt. The anger, banked by Eunjae's tears, threatened to spark again. But then he looked at his brother's downcast face, the shame in his posture, and he remembered Rinwoo's words about family bonds. He thought of the peace he'd just found and knew he didn't want to shatter it again.
He uncrossed his arms. The movement made Taemin flinch, expecting a rebuke.
Instead, Daon's mouth quirked into a faint, dry smile. "An apology usually works better if you look at the person you're apologizing to, not the floor. Unless you're apologizing to my shoes. Did my shoes offend you?"
The joke was so unexpected, so utterly unlike the Daon he knew, that Taemin's head snapped up in shock. He saw the faint amusement in his brother's eyes, the lack of outright fury.
A surprised snort of laughter escaped Taemin before he could stop it. "Your shoes are ugly," he retorted automatically, the old habit of teasing surfacing through the tension.
"They're Italian leather," Daon deadpanned.
"Still ugly."
And just like that, the ice was broken. The tension didn't vanish, but it shifted, becoming something lighter, more familiar. They weren't Vice President and failed intern; they were just brothers again.
Daon's smile became a little more genuine. "Your apology is terrible. And you're still grounded. And you're studying those ledgers until your eyes cross."
Taemin nodded, the fight finally gone out of him. "I know."
"But," Daon added, his tone softening a fraction. "It's accepted. Don't mess with my car again. Or I'll make you detail every car in the garage with a toothbrush."
It was a threat, but it was also an olive branch. A return to their normal dynamic, albeit with clearer boundaries.
Taemin managed a small, relieved smile. "Noted."
The forgiveness was granted, not because the apology was perfect, but because Daon, for the first time, chose peace over punishment, and because Taemin, deep down, was finally ready to receive it. The war was over, for now.
Meanwhile..
The gentle rhythm of Taekyun's breathing had deepened, shifting from the quiet sighs of relaxation to the soft, even cadence of sleep. A faint, almost imperceptible snore escaped his lips with each exhale a tiny, unguarded sound that was utterly at odds with his waking persona.
Rinwoo's hands stilled their ministrations. He stood frozen for a moment, hardly daring to breathe himself. He peered around the side of the high-backed chair.
Taekyun was asleep.
His head had lolled slightly to the side, resting against the wing of the chair. The harsh lines of stress and control had completely vanished from his face, leaving behind a startlingly youthful and peaceful visage. His lips were parted just slightly, and another soft snore ruffled the air.
A wave of overwhelming tenderness washed over Rinwoo, so potent it made his chest ache. He brought a hand to his own mouth, but he couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled up. It was a silent, breathy sound, full of wonder and affection.
He snores, Rinwoo thought, his heart swelling. The mighty, cold Taekyun Lee actually snores.
It was the most human he had ever seen him. Vulnerable. Unaware. And trustingly asleep under Rinwoo's care.
He didn't dare move, afraid to shatter the precious moment. He simply stood there, his earlier nervousness completely forgotten, replaced by a serene, protective warmth. He watched the steady rise and fall of Taekyun's chest, memorizing the peaceful expression, storing away this rare glimpse of the man beneath the heir.
In the silent, lamplit study, with the world shut out, Rinwoo allowed himself this one secret joy admiring his husband, not with fear or longing, but with a heart full of fond, giggling adoration for the soft, sleeping man in the chair.
NEXT MORNING..
The first thing Daon registered was the unfamiliar warmth beside him. Then, the events of the previous night came flooding back the fight, the tears, the kiss, the overwhelming, confusing tenderness. He sat up slowly, careful of his back, which to his surprise, felt significantly better. The sharp, fiery pain had dulled to a manageable ache.
The movement, however slight, was enough. Eunjae jolted awake beside him, his eyes flying open in instant panic before he was even fully conscious.
"Daon?!" he blurted out, voice thick with sleep but laced with immediate concern. He pushed himself up on an elbow, his sleep-mussed hair falling into his eyes as he scanned Daon's face. "Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you need something? Water? Painkillers?"
The barrage of questions was delivered in a single, worried breath. Daon turned to look at him, and the sight stole the air from his lungs. Eunjae's face was soft with sleep, but his eyes were wide and earnest, filled with a protective anxiety that was entirely for him.
His heart gave a sudden, hard, and incredibly fast thump against his ribs. This fierce, bratty, dramatic man was looking at him like he was the most fragile and important thing in the world.
A low, surprised chuckle escaped Daon. The sound was so warm and genuine that it made Eunjae blink.
"I'm fine," Daon said, his voice softer than he intended. "Really. The pain is almost gone." He rotated his shoulders slightly to prove it, expecting a twinge that never came. "See?"
Eunjae studied him, his gaze intense and searching, as if looking for any sign Daon was lying to protect him. Finally, he seemed to believe it. He nodded, but his worried eyes remained fixed on Daon's face, as if he couldn't look away.
Daon felt that weird, warm feeling in his chest again, the one from last night. It spread, making the corners of his mouth lift into a small, unguarded smile. It wasn't a smirk or a cold expression. It was a real, warm smile, meant only for Eunjae.
Eunjae saw it. His eyes widened even further, and a deep, brilliant blush instantly spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He was utterly flustered. He cleared his throat loudly and quickly looked away, focusing very hard on a spot on the far wall. "G-Good. That's… that's good."
Daon's chuckle deepened, a rich, amused sound. He found Eunjae's flustered reaction incredibly endearing. "Be ready by seven," he said, his tone light, almost playful.
Eunjae, still refusing to look at him, gave a jerky nod. "Ready for what? More ledgers?" he mumbled, still embarrassed.
"No," Daon said, swinging his legs out of bed. "There's a banquet tonight. A charity gala. Your father will be there." He stood up, testing his back again and finding it steady. "He's been asking a lot about you. He wants to see you."
The mention of his father finally made Eunjae look back. He thought for a moment, a flicker of his usual defiance in his eyes, but it was quickly banked by something else a sense of duty, or perhaps a desire to show Daon he could do this. He could be the partner he was supposed to be.
"Okay," Eunjae agreed, his voice quieter now, more serious. "I'll be ready."
Daon gave him one last, small smile before heading towards the bathroom, leaving Eunjae sitting in the rumpled bedsheets, his heart racing for an entirely new set of reasons, the memory of Daon's warm smile etched brightly in his mind.
The breakfast table was a study in contrasts. Taemin pushed a piece of fruit around his plate with a sullen expression, already dreading the ledger-filled day that awaited him as his punishment. Daon, true to his word, was technically present but mentally at the office, his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard, a faint, unconscious smile playing on his lips as he recalled the morning's events.
"Yah! Are you going to eat or just let it get cold?" Eunjae scolded, snatching a piece of toast from Daon's plate and holding it to his lips. "Open up. You need to eat to heal, you idiot."
Daon, without looking away from his screen, obediently took a bite, the action so natural it surprised even himself. Eunjae nodded in satisfaction, continuing his task of hand-feeding his distracted husband while simultaneously stealing glances at his own phone.
Rinwoo, already finished with his simple meal, watched them with a soft, hopeful smile. The change in their dynamic, however slight, was a beautiful thing to see.
The peaceful moment was interrupted by a servant entering the dining room, holding a massive, extravagant bouquet of blood-red roses. The blooms were perfect, ostentatious, and utterly out of place in the subdued morning atmosphere.
"A delivery, Sir," the servant said, bowing slightly. "For Master Taekyun."
All activity at the table stopped. Taemin stopped pouting. Daon's fingers stilled over the keyboard. Eunjae lowered the piece of toast.
Rinwoo looked at the bouquet with curious, wide eyes. It was rare for anyone to send Taekyun personal gifts, especially something so… romantic.
"Shall I take it to his study?" the servant asked.
Rinwoo hesitated for a second before standing up. "I… I'll take it." He felt it was his duty, as the spouse, to handle such things.
He approached the bouquet, his hand reaching out for the vase. But as he did, his eyes, against his will, dropped to the small, elegant card nestled among the thorny stems.
The name written there in a looping, feminine script struck him like a physical blow.
Yuna.
He froze. The world seemed to narrow to that one name. The blood drained from his face, his gentle smile vanishing completely. The hopeful feeling from moments before evaporated, replaced by a cold, familiar dread.
Eunjae, ever perceptive, saw the immediate change. "Rinwoo-yah? What is it?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "Who is it from?"
Rinwoo's head snapped up. He clutched the vase tightly, his knuckles turning white. He tried to speak, but his voice was a trapped, stuttering whisper. "I-It's… it's nothing."
The denial was weak and transparent. His entire body was trembling slightly.
Before anyone could question him further, he turned on his heel, clutching the bouquet like it was a poisonous snake, and practically fled the dining room.
The three men left behind stared at the empty doorway, a heavy, curious silence hanging in the air. Taemin and Daon exchanged a brief, puzzled look. But Eunjae's expression was one of dawning understanding and deep concern.
The door to his bedroom clicked shut, a feeble barrier against the world that had just tilted on its axis. Rinwoo stood frozen for a moment, the extravagant bouquet of red roses feeling like a lead weight in his arms. Their cloying, sweet scent, so different from his own, filled the room, making him feel sick.
With trembling hands, he set the vase down on his dresser with a clumsy thud, his fingers fumbling for the small, stiff card tucked among the blooms. His heart was already beginning to drum a frantic, panicked rhythm against his ribs, a primal warning.
He sank onto the edge of his bed, the card feeling like a shard of ice in his hand. He took a shaky breath and opened it.
The looping, elegant script seemed to dance mockingly before his eyes.
My Dearest Taekyun,
Last night was… disappointing. But I know it's not your fault. You're trapped by your obligations to that person. I miss you. I ache for you. I can't stop thinking about the future we'll have, the family we'll start, once you're finally free of him.
All my love, always. Yuna
The words didn't just sting; they eviscerated. They confirmed every hidden fear, every whispered doubt. That person. Obligations. Free of him.
A sharp, painful gasp tore from Rinwoo's throat. The card fluttered from his numb fingers, landing silently on the carpet.
It was happening again.
His heart wasn't just beating fast; it was hammering, a wild, runaway drum against his sternum, painful and terrifying. His breath hitched, coming in short, useless gasps that couldn't seem to find any air. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, beading on his forehead and soaking through his shirt in an instant. The room began to spin, the walls closing in.
He clutched at his chest, his vision blurring. This was more than heartbreak. This was a physical reaction, a tidal wave of panic and betrayal that was pulling him under. The careful world of quiet service and hidden hope he had built for two years crumbled in an instant, revealed to be a pathetic fantasy.
He was the obligation. The chain. The person Taekyun was forced to be kind to at the shrine, the husband he needed to be "free of" to be with the woman he truly loved.
The elegant script on the card burned behind his eyelids. Each word was a lash, each endearment a cruel joke. The air in the room grew thin, and a dizzying nausea washed over him. He doubled over, his body trembling violently, completely overwhelmed by the devastating truth delivered by a dozen blood-red roses.
The world in Taekyun's office shuddered.
It was a subtle vibration at first, a faint tremble in the surface of the coffee on his desk, creating tiny, frantic ripples. Then the polished glass of the windowpanes began to hum, a low, threatening frequency. The framed degrees on the wall rattled against the plaster.
Taekyun's head snapped up from the contract he was reviewing, his instincts on high alert. Not again.
Before the thought could fully form, a warm, pulsating light emanated from beneath his shirt. He yanked the protective locket out, holding it in his palm. It was glowing with a fierce, golden intensity, its light beating in a steady rhythm like a second heart. The ancient symbols etched onto its surface seemed to swirl with inner fire.
He watched, mesmerized and unnerved, as the locket's glow intensified, and as it did, the trembling in the room began to subside. The ripples in his coffee stilled. The humming in the windows faded to silence. The protective charm was doing its job, shielding him from the curse's violent warning, absorbing the metaphysical shockwave meant for him.
But the fact that it had been triggered at all sent a chill down his spine. The curse was stirring, angry. Something had happened. Something had deeply violated the bonds of fate it was designed to protect. He stood up, the locket still glowing warmly in his hand, his mind racing. What had he done? Or what had been done?
Meanwhile, in the confines of his room, Rinwoo was fighting his own battle.
He was on his knees on the floor, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of the panic attack. The gaudy bouquet of roses sat on the dresser like a malevolent monument. The card lay where it had fallen.
"Breathe," he whispered to himself, the word a ragged plea. "Just… breathe."
He forced air into his lungs, holding it for a count of four, then let it out slowly, mimicking the calming techniques he'd unconsciously used on Taekyun. The frantic hammering of his heart began to slow to a dull, heavy ache.
"It's nothing," he chanted, a desperate mantra. "It could be a mistake. Maybe… maybe she wants him back, and he… he doesn't love her anymore." The thought was a fragile lifeline. "He didn't push me away last night. He let me… he let me touch him. He fell asleep."
He clung to the memory of Taekyun's peaceful, sleeping face, using it as a shield against the poisonous words on the card. He rebuilt his world, brick by fragile brick, around the possibility that the kindness at the shrine was real, and the flowers were just the desperate act of a woman being left behind.
He repeated the assurances to himself, over and over, until his breathing evened out and the cold sweat began to dry on his skin. He was calming down, forcing the devastating truth back into a box, choosing to believe in the faintest glimmer of hope rather than face the crushing weight of evidence.
He didn't know that his pain, his moment of utter heartbreak and betrayal, had been so profound it had shaken the very foundations of the curse, a shockwave strong enough to trigger the protection around the man who had caused it. In his room, Rinwoo chose to believe a lie to survive. In his office, Taekyun held a glowing locket, a silent alarm he couldn't understand, warning him that the fragile peace he'd started to enjoy was built on a fault line that had just cracked wide open.
A knot of concern tightened in Eunjae's stomach throughout the rest of the morning. The image of Rinwoo's pale, frozen face as he fled with the bouquet wouldn't leave him. After ensuring a grumbling Taemin was set up in the library with his ledgers and extracting a promise from a still-distracted Daon to actually rest, Eunjae made his way to Rinwoo's room.
He knocked softly. "Rinwoo-yah? It's me."
There was no answer.
Frowning, Eunjae slowly pushed the door open. The room was dim, the curtains still half-drawn. Rinwoo was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the opposite wall. His lips were moving, forming silent, frantic words Eunjae couldn't hear.
"...a mistake… has to be… he wouldn't…"
"Rinwoo?" Eunjae said, his voice firmer now. He walked over and knelt in front of him, placing his hands on Rinwoo's knees. "Hey. Talk to me. What's going on?"
Rinwoo didn't seem to see him. His eyes were wide and glassy, lost in a private storm of anguish.
Eunjae gave him a gentle shake. "Rinwoo! Look at me."
The touch and the raised voice finally broke through. Rinwoo flinched, his gaze snapping to Eunjae's. For a split second, raw, unvarnished pain was visible in his eyes before he quickly shuttered it away. He forced his lips into a tremulous, utterly unconvincing smile.
"Eunjae-ah.... I'm… I'm fine. I just… I'm not feeling very well. I think I need some sleep. That's all." His voice was thin and reedy.
Eunjae studied him. He saw the tremor in his hands, the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his smile didn't reach his eyes. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Rinwoo was lying. Something was very, very wrong.
But he also saw the desperate plea in Rinwoo's eyes a plea to be left alone, to not be questioned. Pushing him now would only make him retreat further.
"Okay," Eunjae said softly, his own heart aching for his friend. He didn't believe him for a second, but he respected his silence. "Okay, get some rest then." He helped Rinwoo lie back against the pillows, pulling the covers up over him like he would for a child. "I'll check on you later, alright?"
Rinwoo just nodded, closing his eyes, effectively shutting Eunjae out.
Eunjae lingered for a moment longer before sighing and leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He stood in the hallway, his concern now mixed with a protective fury. Whatever was in that card had shattered Rinwoo. And Eunjae intended to find out what it was.
Inside the room, the moment the door closed, Rinwoo's eyes flew open. He threw the covers back and got out of bed. His movements were swift and decisive now, fueled by a quiet despair. He walked to the dresser, grabbed the ostentatious vase of blood-red roses, and without a second glance, shoved the entire arrangement deep into the trash can. The glass vase clinked against the bin's metal interior.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the flowers now lying amidst discarded tissues and other rubbish. They looked cheap and tawdry there, their cruel message nullified by the garbage.
Then, with a weary sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he turned away. He went back to his bed, curled onto his side, and closed his eyes, seeking an escape in sleep that he knew would not come. The room felt colder, emptier, the faint, sweet scent of the roses now a sickening reminder of a love that was never his to begin with.
The library was a tomb of silence, broken only by the tedious scratch of Taemin's pen and the oppressive weight of his boredom. The ledgers were a blur of meaningless numbers, a punishment designed to torture his very soul. He slumped in the high-backed leather chair, spinning a pencil between his fingers and staring daggers at a column of expenses.
Then, his phone vibrated on the polished wood of the desk.
He snatched it up, his heart leaping at the sight of Juwon's name. A wide, relieved grin spread across his face as he answered, immediately falling into his familiar, whining persona.
"Juwon-ahhh," he drawled, his voice dripping with exaggerated misery. "You won't believe the torture I'm enduring. It's inhumane. I think my brain is actually melting."
On the other end, Juwon chuckled, a warm, rich sound that made Taemin's stomach flutter. "That bad, my love? What did you do this time?"
"It doesn't matter what I did!" Taemin pouted, even though Juwon couldn't see it. "The punishment is cruel and unusual! I'm trapped in this dusty old library with books that are probably older than Master Hwang."
He could practically hear Juwon's smile through the phone. "Well, it sounds like you deserve it. And I know you wouldn't dare sneak out this time."
It was a challenge. A tease. And then Juwon's voice changed. It dropped, becoming lower, smoother, laced with a intimate warmth that was for Taemin's ears only.
"But it's a shame," Juwon purred, his voice a soft caress through the receiver. "I was just thinking about you, Taemin-ah."
The way he said his name, drawn out and full of unspoken promise, made Taemin's breath catch. He leaned back in his chair, the ledgers completely forgotten. He held the phone closer, as if he could pull Juwon right through it.
"Oh?" Taemin managed, his own voice dropping to a whisper.
"Mmm," Juwon hummed, the sound vibrating pleasantly in Taemin's ear. "Thinking about how much I'd rather have you here with me. How much I miss hearing your voice for real, not just through a phone. Don't you miss me, Taemin-ah?"
Taemin's eyes fluttered closed. Juwon was using his "sexy pleading" voice, the one he knew Taemin was utterly powerless against. It was a weapon of mass distraction, deployed with perfect precision.
A slow, lazy smile spread across Taemin's face. The library, the punishment, his brother's scowls it all faded away. There was only Juwon's voice, weaving a spell of intimacy and want that was far more captivating than any column of numbers could ever be. He was still grounded, still imprisoned, but for the moment, Juwon had made the prison walls dissolve into nothing.
The library, once a prison of boredom, was now a crucible of heat and whispered sin. The only light was the dull glow from the desk lamp, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse in time with Juwon's voice.
"Juwon-ah..." Taemin breathed, the name a ragged plea. It was no longer a whine, but a raw sound of need.
Juwon's laugh was a low, dark thrill on the other end of the line. "What is it, Taemin-ah? Does it feel good when I talk to you like this?" His voice dropped even lower, a husky whisper that felt like a physical touch. "When I tell you what I want to do to you? How I want to taste you?"
A low growl rumbled in Taemin's chest, a mix of frustration and pure arousal. "You know it does," he gritted out, his free hand clenching into a fist on the leather armrest. "Don't stop."
The soft, unmistakable sound of a zipper being drawn down was loud in the quiet room, a direct answer to Juwon's question. Juwon heard it, and a satisfied hum was his response.
"Tell me what you're doing," Juwon commanded, his own voice growing thicker.
Taemin's eyes slid shut, his head falling back against the chair. He could barely form words, lost in the sensation and the sound of Juwon's voice painting filthy pictures in his mind. His hand slid beneath the waistband of his boxers, his breath hitching as he wrapped his fingers around himself.
"Touching myself," he admitted, the words a broken whisper. "Thinking... thinking about it being you."
"Taemin-ah," Juwon purred, drawing his name out like a caress, making Taemin's hips jerk involuntarily. "That's it. Move your hand for me. Imagine it's mine."
And Taemin did. He lost himself completely, his movements becoming faster, more frantic, guided by the illicit, whispered promises pouring from his phone. The dusty ledgers were forgotten. The threat of punishment was meaningless. The only thing that existed was the slick, frantic friction of his own hand and Juwon's voice in his ear, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge, calling his name like a prayer and a curse all at once. The heir to the Lee fortune was brought to his knees by desire alone, right there in his father's study, utterly at the mercy of the man he loved.
The air in the library was thick and still, heavy with the scent of old books and the sharp, musky scent of release. Taemin's cry echoed off the high ceilings, a raw, unfiltered sound of pure ecstasy that was utterly unlike anything Juwon had ever heard from him before.
It wasn't the low, deep, husky groan that often accompanied their lovemaking. This was something else entirely a high, breathy, almost surprised cry that was ripped from the very core of him. It was a sound of complete surrender, of being overwhelmed by sensation, and it was punctuated by ragged, panting breaths as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him.
On the other end of the phone, Juwon froze. A brilliant, scorching blush spread from his cheeks all the way down his neck. He was sitting in his own office, the phone pressed to his ear, and he felt his own body react viscerally to the sound. His grip on the phone tightened.
He had heard that. He had heard the exact moment Taemin fell apart because of him, because of his words, his voice, hundreds of meters away. The clarity of it, the sheer, unadulterated want in that cry, was staggering. It laid bare a level of desperation and need that was usually hidden beneath Taemin's playful whining and confident teasing.
There was a long moment of silence, broken only by Taemin's heavy, slowing breaths as he came down from the high.
"J-Juwon?" Taemin's voice was hoarse, wrecked, and laced with a vulnerability that was equally new and devastating.
The sound of his name, spoken in that spent, shaky tone, made Juwon's heart clench with a powerful, possessive ache. He had to clear his own throat before he could speak, his voice coming out softer than he intended.
"I'm here," Juwon whispered, the teasing, seductive tone completely gone, replaced by something far more tender and awestruck. "I'm right here, Taemin-ah."
The silence that followed was intimate, charged with the aftermath of what had just transpired. It was no longer just a dirty phone call. It had become a revelation. Juwon, sitting in his sterile office, blushed furiously, completely undone by the profound and unexpected intimacy of the moment, and the crystal-clear knowledge of just how much he was wanted.
The knock on Juwon's office door was like a bucket of ice water.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It was firm, professional, and utterly world-shattering.
Juwon jolted, fumbling wildly with his phone. Taemin's soft, post-orgasmic breathing was still a live wire in his ear.
"S-Sir?" His assistant's voice called through the door. "The quarterly reports you requested?"
"J-Just a moment!" Juwon's voice came out an octave too high, strangled and tight. He desperately hit the mute button on his phone, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could only hope Taemin understood.
He took a frantic, steadying breath, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie. It was no use. His cheeks were on fire, a deep, tell-tale blush that felt like it covered his entire face. He could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"C-Come in," he managed, trying to inject some semblance of authority into his tone.
The door opened and his assistant, a serious young man in a crisp suit, walked in, holding a thick file. He stopped short, his professional demeanor faltering for a split second as he took in Juwon's appearance.
Juwon was sitting ramrod straight, his posture unnaturally stiff. His face was flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, and he was refusing to make eye contact, staring intently at a paperweight on his desk as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"The, uh, the reports, Sir," the assistant said, his voice laced with barely concealed curiosity. He placed the file on the desk.
"Th-Thank you. That will be all," Juwon said, the words rushing out in a stuttering jumble. He still couldn't look up.
The assistant paused for a beat too long. "Are you… feeling quite alright, Sir? You look a bit warm."
"FINE!" Juwon practically barked, then cringed at his own volume. "I'm perfectly fine. Just… a bit stuffy in here. You may go."
"Of course, Sir." The assistant left, closing the door softly behind him. Juwon could have sworn he heard a faint, muffled chuckle from the hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut, all the air left Juwon's lungs in a massive, defeated whoosh. His entire body went slack. With a low groan of utter humiliation, he let his forehead fall forward onto the cool, polished surface of his desk with a soft thud.
He stayed like that for a full minute, the cool wood doing little to soothe the burning embarrassment on his face. He, Park Juwon, usually the picture of composed executive control, had been reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess because of a phone call. And his assistant had seen the whole thing.
He unmuted his phone, his voice a mortified mumble against the desk. "Taemin-ah… I am going to die of embarrassment."