The storm didn't calm.
It spread.
The Living Room Battlefield
Yoo-Na tilted her head, eyes gleaming like she'd just found her favorite toy—
and that toy was Min-Ji's patience.
"Oh," Yoo-Na said lightly, tapping her chin. "Let me get this straight."
She paced slowly.
Circle. Circle.
Like a cat deciding where to strike.
"You wanted to be the perfect fiancée… the perfect daughter… the perfect everything."
Her gaze snapped to Min-Ji.
"…and yet the man ran through rain, broke a wedding, fought half a building…"
A small smile curled.
"…for her."
Min-Ji's fingers tightened in her dress.
"That girl," Yoo-Na continued, voice soft but sharp, "who you keep calling a problem."
A beat.
"…seems to be the only thing worth solving."
Silence cracked—
then—
A small chuckle.
Everyone turned.
Arisoo.
"…She's not wrong," Arisoo said, shrugging slightly. "For once."
Min-Ji blinked.
"For once?" Yoo-Na repeated, placing a hand over her chest dramatically. "I feel honored."
"Don't get used to it," Arisoo shot back.
"Never," Yoo-Na grinned.
Then—
Min-Hyuk leaned against the wall.
"I mean…" he started, scratching the back of his neck. "She kinda has a point."
Min-Ji turned sharply.
"You too?"
Min-Hyuk shrugged.
"If someone fought like that for me, I'd at least admit I lost."
That stung.
Deep.
Seo-Yeon hesitated—
then nodded softly.
"…Ji-Ah didn't choose this," she said. "But he chose her."
That was it.
Min-Ji's composure—
cracked.
And then—
A laugh.
Slow.
Amused.
Halmoni.
"Ah," she said, leaning back. "This is getting interesting."
Yoo-Na turned toward her, delighted.
"Right?" she said. "It's like watching someone audition for a role they'll never get."
Her eyes slid back to Min-Ji.
"You want to be the villain in Ji-Ah's story?" she asked, voice dropping.
A step closer.
"You can't."
Another step.
"I already took that role."
A small, wicked smile.
"There's no space for you."
Min-Ji stood abruptly.
"Enough!"
Her hand raised—
fast—
aimed—
SLAP—
—or it would have been.
Yoo-Na caught her wrist mid-air.
The room froze.
"…Careful," Yoo-Na murmured.
Then—
she twisted.
"Ah—!"
Min-Ji gasped, pain shooting through her arm as Yoo-Na pulled it behind her back.
"Let go—!"
Yoo-Na leaned closer, voice low, almost playful—
but dangerous underneath.
"You're not built for this," she whispered. "Stay in your lane."
Min-Ji struggled.
"Yoo-Na!"
Madam rushed forward, yanking Yoo-Na's arm away.
"Have you lost your mind?!"
Yoo-Na blinked.
"…Maybe a little."
Madam grabbed Min-Ji.
"Come with me."
Min-Ji, shaken, furious, humiliated—
followed.
They disappeared down the hallway.
Silence.
Then—
Yoo-Na straightened.
Blink.
"…I can't believe I just defended that girl," she muttered.
She clicked her tongue.
"Tch."
Arisoo snorted.
Min-Hyuk chuckled.
Even Seo-Yeon smiled slightly.
And Halmoni?
She looked thrilled.
Meanwhile — Ji-Ah's Apartment
The rain softened here.
Less violent.
More… tired.
The door clicked open.
Ha-Joon stepped in first—
still damp, hair slightly messy, sleeves clinging to his arms.
Behind him—
Ji-Ah.
Her dress rustled softly as she walked in—
then immediately—
"…I hate this dress."
She kicked off her shoes.
He glanced at her.
"Change."
She turned.
"You too."
"I'm fine."
"You're dripping on my floor."
"I'll survive."
She crossed her arms.
"My floor won't."
A stare-off.
Silent.
Then—
she sighed dramatically.
"I only have a few pajamas."
"…And?"
"…And you're wearing one."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"…Ji-Ah."
"…Ha-Joon."
A pause.
Then she pointed at him.
"You fought ten people today. You can survive cute pajamas."
He blinked.
"…Cute?"
"Very."
Another pause.
"…No."
Twenty minutes later—
He was wearing them.
Soft cotton.
Light grey.
Tiny cartoon kittens printed all over.
The sleeves slightly short on his arms.
The pants just a bit too… friendly.
He stood there—
looking like someone had accidentally turned a storm into a house cat.
Ji-Ah stared.
Then—
smiled.
Wide.
Bright.
"…Yeah," she said, nodding proudly. "That's more like it."
He looked down at himself.
"…This is ridiculous."
"You look approachable."
"I don't want to be approachable."
"Well, too late."
She disappeared into the bathroom—
and came out a few minutes later in her own matching set.
Soft.
Comfortable.
Hair slightly damp.
Face finally… relaxed.
A different kind of beautiful.
She stretched—
then paused.
"…I'm hungry."
He sighed.
Of course she was.
Kitchen — Midnight Peace Treaty
He moved first.
Opening cabinets.
Checking what she had.
She followed right behind him.
"You cook?" she asked.
"Yes."
"…Impressive."
"You talk too much."
"Also impressive."
A small pause.
Then—
he almost smiled.
They worked side by side.
Simple food.
Nothing fancy.
But warm.
Comforting.
She leaned against the counter, watching him.
"…You really came fast."
"I drove."
"In the rain."
"Yes."
She looked down.
"…Thank you."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't look away either.
She bumped his shoulder lightly.
"Next time," she said, "try not to fight an entire wedding."
"No promises."
She laughed.
Soft.
Real.
And for the first time that night—
everything felt quiet.
Not empty.
Just… safe.
The rain had softened into a quiet whisper against the windows.
Dinner was done.
Plates stacked.
The kitchen carried that warm, sleepy smell of something simple and shared.
Ji-Ah stretched, letting out a small sigh.
"…Okay," Ji-Ah said, patting the couch. "I'll sleep here. You take the bed."
Ha-Joon didn't even look at her.
"No."
She blinked.
"…No?"
"I'll sleep on the couch. You take your bed."
She scoffed.
"You're my boss."
"And?"
"And that means you get the bed."
"And that means you should listen."
A pause.
They stared at each other.
The air shifted—
from calm…
to sparkly-chaotic.
"No," Ji-Ah said firmly.
"No," Ha-Joon replied.
"No."
"No."
"…You're impossible."
"You're stubborn."
"I'm right."
"I'm not moving."
"…Fine, we both sleep on the couch."
"…That's worse."
They argued like two people fighting over the last slice of pizza—
except neither actually wanted it.
Then—
"Cough—"
Ji-Ah turned away slightly.
"Cough—cough—"
Ha-Joon's expression changed instantly.
"…You're sick?"
"I'm fine—cough—"
She was not fine.
He stood up immediately, scanning the room like it had personally offended him.
"Where's the medicine?"
"In the—cough—the cabinet… first aid box…"
He moved quickly, opening drawers, checking shelves—
then found it.
A small bottle.
He poured it carefully, walked back, and handed it to her.
"Drink."
She took it—
grimaced—
then drank.
A second passed.
She exhaled.
"…Better."
She sniffed lightly, rubbing her nose.
Ha-Joon sat down across from her, watching.
"…Why do you get sick so easily?"
She shrugged.
"That's just how I am."
A small pause.
"Nothing really changes it."
He looked at her—
quiet for a moment.
"…Do you remember," he said slowly, "that time you were sick and I still made you come to work?"
She let out a small laugh.
"…Yes," she nodded. "Of course I remember."
"You complained all day."
"I was dying."
"You were dramatic."
"I was committed."
A tiny flicker of amusement crossed his face.
Then—
she leaned back slightly.
"…You know," she said, voice softer now, "this is kind of the perfect time."
He glanced at her.
"For what?"
She tilted her head.
"…To tell me about her."
A pause.
"The woman in the picture."
Silence settled.
Different this time.
Heavier.
Ha-Joon didn't answer immediately.
He looked away.
Then—
sighed.
"…Her name was Han Ji-Ah."
Ji-Ah blinked.
Same name.
But she didn't interrupt.
"She was…" he paused, searching for the right words.
"…simple."
A faint, distant softness touched his voice.
"Not in a bad way. Just… she minded her own world."
His fingers rested loosely on his knee.
"She laughed easily. Over nothing. At things that weren't even funny."
A small breath left him.
"She liked quiet places. Didn't like crowds. Said they were too loud… too heavy."
Ji-Ah listened.
Carefully.
"I could be myself around her," he continued. "No expectations. No… pressure."
His voice lowered.
"We were close."
A pause.
"Really close."
The rain tapped gently against the window.
Like it didn't want to interrupt.
"Then one day…" he stopped.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"…there was an accident."
Silence.
"And she was gone."
Just like that.
No drama.
No build-up.
Just—
gone.
He didn't cry.
But his eyes—
held something fragile.
Glossy.
Like glass that might crack if touched wrong.
Ji-Ah shifted.
Slowly—
she moved closer.
Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
Then—
gently—
she took his hand.
Warm.
Careful.
"It's okay," she said softly.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… steady.
"I'm here."
He didn't pull away.
Didn't react much—
but his hand didn't move either.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"She loved playing the piano."
Ji-Ah smiled faintly.
"…That small studio," she said quietly, "was hers, right?"
He nodded.
"That's why the piano looked like that," she added. "Polished… but worn."
A soft exhale.
"…Loved."
He looked at her briefly.
She squeezed his hand lightly.
"Some things don't disappear," she murmured. "They just… stay differently."
Another quiet moment passed.
Then—
she leaned back slightly.
"…You're really getting married," she said.
He nodded.
No hesitation.
"Yes."
She looked at him—
searching.
Then—
he added—
"I knew you."
She blinked.
"…What?"
"Before you even applied to my company."
Silence.
Ji-Ah stared at him.
"…Really?"
He nodded.