The case Seheon had taken on was a corporate lawsuit—a suit seeking damages from a company executive. Representing the corporate plaintiff, he had brought the action against an executive who had violated the articles of incorporation. Beside him sat the executive director, the company’s representative elected at the general meeting in accordance with the Commercial Act.
The presiding judge, seated squarely at the center of the courtroom, gestured toward the bailiff. After the bailiff called the witness’s name, a man took his place on the witness stand. In the meantime, defense counsel stole a glance at Seheon, who was preparing documents, then averted his eyes when their gazes met.
From the gallery, Yoonshin and Secretary Tak were watching the entire scene.
They had once stood on opposite sides of a courtroom, and now, with Seheon’s permission, Yoonshin had come to observe his trial. It felt like an entirely different world.
The first trial of Seheon’s that Yoonshin witnessed was like watching someone walk on ice. It was incredibly smooth, yet at the same time, the atmosphere was quite frigid. It felt like an invisible battle being fought in the dead of winter. Seheon appeared to have seized the upper hand.
“Plaintiff’s counsel, you may examine the witness.”
At the judge’s direction, Seheon, impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, stepped before the witness. His cold gaze, almost haughty in its bearing, fixed distinctly on the other man.
With his tall stature and sharp features planted firmly in the center of attention, the room’s focus naturally shifted to him. And when his well-shaped lips slowly parted, every eye in the courtroom converged solely upon him.
“Witness. Have you ever heard of Article 399, Paragraph 1 of the Commercial Act?”
The man, who had been reading Seheon’s cue, nodded.
“Yes.”
“When a director of a stock company violates laws or the articles of incorporation, or neglects his duties, he is liable for damages to the company. Is this a provision you are aware of?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you most recently hear the term ‘Commercial Act Article 399’?”
“Well, it’s a statute I already knew, and it’s fairly basic common knowledge among corporate executives.”
“I asked where you recently heard this term.”
Seheon repeated the question, as if correcting a mistake. His voice was low, yet his tone was quite soft. The witness glanced at defense counsel, lips moving reluctantly before he answered.
“Director Jeong mentioned there was such a law when we were smoking together in the conference room. He said that directors and auditors who violate the articles bear joint and several liability for damages.”
“And by Director Jeong, you are referring to the defendant, correct?”
“Yes.”
“When did this conversation take place?”
“Early this year… not long after the holidays.”
“That coincides with when the defendant caused significant damage to your company. To be frank, no matter how versed one is as a corporate executive, unless there is a special incident, it is not common to chat by citing specific articles and paragraphs of the Commercial Act. Perhaps if speaking in vague terms, but this is the kind of conversation normally had by in-house legal team heads, or those already involved in litigation. Did the defendant have something weighing on his mind?”
The moment Seheon finished, defense counsel sprang to his feet.
“Objection. Counsel is engaging in speculative leading.”
The judge shot Seheon a stern look.
“Sustained. Examine the witness based on facts.”
Seheon offered a slight bow and continued his examination.
“Now, please look here. Audio evidence proving that factual relationship.”
A senior attorney under Seheon submitted the evidence screen. It was a video filmed inside the company conference room. Filmed with the consent of the attending executives to record the general proceedings, it appeared that due to a staff error, the recording had continued even during a brief recess.
Having clearly shown everyone the defendant’s noticeably anxious demeanor as he recited Commercial Act articles, Seheon approached the witness stand again.
“Witness. You and the defendant joined the company in the same year. Just the two of you. It was right after the foreign exchange crisis, when the country was experiencing severe hardship. After fiercely preparing during such difficult times, you must have thrown yourselves into your work, dedicating body and soul to the company. That is likely how you rose to your current positions.”
“That is correct.”
“However, the salaries of the defendant and the witness, who hold the same rank, are different. The witness earns approximately twice as much. Is that correct?”
“Yes. As far as I am aware.”
“If the company you dedicated your body and soul to gave your peer alone a substantially higher salary while yours was frozen time and again, and if that were due simply to academic background rather than work performance… by the natural laws of human psychology, intentional neglect of duty…”
“Objection!”
Before Seheon could finish, defense counsel interjected. Seheon narrowed his eyes and stared quietly at his opponent.
“I have not finished speaking.”
“Cross-examine! A courtroom is not a place for speculation.”
“I am examining the witness based on facts. The disparity in your salaries is fact. The defendant’s neglect of his duties is fact. That he caused damages in the hundreds of billions to the company and was sued by the company—all of it is fact. Where, exactly, lies my speculation? I am curious as well.”
As the two lawyers appeared poised to argue, the judge intervened at once. An indescribably uncomfortable atmosphere settled over the room.
Watching the entire process unfold, Yoonshin sensed that Seheon was deliberately, ever so gradually, driving the initially frigid courtroom atmosphere in an emotional direction.
The case itself was already a lopsided contest between the powerful and the weak; there had been no need to grab the defendant by his weakness and shake him. That was likely why it had been described as a simple lawsuit. However, the broad narrative that the discriminated-against defendant had intentionally inflicted massive damage upon the company—Seheon was attempting to lead the court and the observers to accept this by appealing to universal emotions.
For the moment, the defendant, who had received unfair treatment, might appear pitiable. Yet Yoonshin had learned that the world did not operate so simply. Surprisingly, as time passed, people frequently found themselves sympathizing with the obvious stronger party. The weak did not band together to fight. Seheon would likely exploit even that as the trial progressed.
*They must have worked hard their whole life, only to make one mistake… I feel for them.*
While Yoonshin harbored such thoughts, Seheon—standing in perfect form at the center—swept his gaze once across the gallery. There, in the corner, his eyes locked with Yoonshin’s. When Yoonshin greeted him with a look, Seheon averted his gaze as if to ask when he had started looking this way, then skillfully resumed his examination.
For some reason, Yoonshin felt wronged, as though he had been rejected despite doing nothing. He bit his lower lip. Just then, his phone rang.
After checking the screen, Yoonshin briefly wore a complicated expression. He signaled to Secretary Tak that he would step out for a moment, then quietly exited the courtroom.
Only after walking through the empty corridor and rounding a corner did he answer.
“Yes. This is Attorney Do Yoonshin of Law Firm Doguk.”
As he listened quietly, his brow furrowed in perplexity. Yet he did his utmost to mold his voice into one of courtesy.
“Of course. I heard about it from my sister previously. However, I have plans this weekend, so that is difficult. Next week, or the week after… Yes, that would be fine. Yes. Yes. Let us do that. Taesan Hotel. The first Sunday of next month, at six o’clock. I understand.”
His strength drained, and he leaned his back against the wall, pressing one hand to his forehead. He was not particularly feverish, yet strangely, wherever his skin touched felt hot and tingly. But he could not let the other party sense this, so he deliberately laced his voice with brightness.
“No, probably not. My sister will likely be unable to attend. I will go alone. It is not even a formal family meeting, merely our first time meeting face to face. I have already received a photograph, so I will be able to recognize them. Yes, I will see you then.”
After ending the brief call, Yoonshin drew a deep breath.
He held no illusions about marriage. He had no expectations. It was not that he distrusted or avoided it—he simply did not yet know what it was.
He had vaguely assumed that, like others, he would meet a suitable person at a suitable time and marry. Perhaps, like his sister, he might one day be swept up in a sudden, fiery love, and matters would proceed from there. Anything was fine. He was open to either. He believed that his destined bond would come someday, in some form. Just not like this.
He had been fine with going on a blind date for marriage. If it was true fate, there was no need to be constrained by the opportunity. Yet the knowledge that it was his brother-in-law who wished for this meeting sat heavily and uncomfortably in his chest, like something lodged against his breastbone. Even with talk of divorce swirling about, his sister had come personally and even delivered a photograph, which meant she was investing considerable effort into this.
*I have to meet them, at least.*
But whether the meeting went well or poorly, he was worried. If it was the former and the marriage proceeded smoothly, his position could become awkward when his sister eventually separated. If it was the latter and his heart was not moved, it would be agonizing to force the acquaintance when things were already uncomfortable.
He felt like a child unable to do either this or that. The adults were proceeding with matters while keeping secrets tightly hidden, and he was merely being swept along aimlessly in the midst of it.
He wished someone would hold him so he would not collapse.
And the moment that thought took shape, the handsome face of a certain someone inside that courtroom rose clearly in his mind.
“Why am I like this lately. Are there really so few people I can rely on. Of all people……”
Face flushing bright red with bewilderment, Yoonshin looked furtively around. It was then that Secretary Tak appeared. His heart pounded as if he had been caught doing something wrong. Yoonshin pressed his flushed cheek firmly with the back of his hand and approached him.
“Oh, Secretary Tak. Why are you out here?”
“Why don’t you have anyone to rely on? Is something wrong?”
“No, it’s nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“I’ll do it. Me.”
“Thank you so much, even just for saying that.”
Yoonshin finally managed a genuine smile of gratitude, and Tak smiled back at him. Then he continued.
“The atmosphere in there seems like this session will end soon. It’s not even a contest.”
“That’s how it looked.”
“By the way. Senior Attorney Song said earlier that since we’re heading out, we should have dinner together. I asked Senior Attorney Kang but forgot to tell you. Is your schedule free? If it is, I’ll make a reservation.”
“Wouldn’t it be tactless of me to insert myself into a gathering of three alumni?”
“Well, maybe in my case, but Senior Kang doesn’t feel that camaraderie at all anyway. Besides, if we start drawing lines, I’m the intruder. Three attorneys and only one secretary. Is there anything you’d like to eat?”
“I eat anything well.”
“That answer is really the hardest.”
Apparently dissatisfied with the response, Tak lightly furrowed his brow. Then he turned away as if to say he understood. Yoonshin returned to the courtroom, leaving Tak to his phone call, and took his seat. He gazed at Seheon, who was conversing with his client at the plaintiff’s table.
Perhaps sensing a rather persistent gaze, opposing counsel glanced over while examining the witness. But upon facing Yoonshin, drooping like soaked seaweed with only his eyes shining brightly, he immediately narrowed the space between his brows.
Emotion mixed into his mathematically rational expression like an impurity. Written plainly across his smooth face was a single, unspoken question.
*What’s your problem now?*
Yoonshin could not respond to that silent question and averted his eyes first.
* * *
The gathering, which had been expected to end after the first meal, continued on to a second round. In the middle, Attorney Song had called the firm and invited a few other lawyers who were still in the office, making the affair much larger. The private room of the upscale bar was filled with a boisterous atmosphere.
Yoonshin was inwardly somewhat surprised, as it was his first time attending something akin to a company dinner. He had watched people who were always buried in work, wearing stiff suits, now enjoying themselves with surprising vigor. Regardless of age or status, they lost themselves in the drinking without reserve.
In the midst of this, Seheon had tolerated quiet conversation with Mihi, but anything beyond that seemed far too tiresome. He slipped out midway and lit a cigarette in a terrace-like smoking area. While searching his jacket pockets, Yoonshin—who had quietly followed after him—quickly lit a disposable lighter for him.
“Here. A light.”
Seheon glanced sidelong at Yoonshin, who had appeared beside him, and seemed to simply stare at him for a moment before tilting his head to light his cigarette. The lips precariously holding the filter were red.
“If you have something to say, say it.”
“Do you always endure company dinners like this? I thought you would leave quickly, so I’m a bit surprised.”
“If you’re asking why I don’t do whatever the fuck I want like usual.”
“I didn’t ask that crudely. What exactly do you take me for.”
Perhaps because he was quite drunk. Strangely, he let out a chuckle and answered readily.
“It’s written in the attached contract.”
“Wow, must be Attorney Song’s handiwork? Either he has foresight, or he knows you well.”
Seheon did not answer, but Yoonshin sensed that his silence was an affirmation of one or the other. A cold wind enveloped them. For a moment, they closed their mouths and enjoyed that cool air. Seheon stood with his back to the railing, resting both arms upon it. Each time he exhaled with a huff, the white smoke saw the light of day before fading away. Yoonshin’s eyes narrowed as he watched it rather wistfully.
This very moment of being with him felt like a scene from a novel.
While Yoonshin was immersed in that tranquil mood, Seheon unexpectedly pulled him out of it.
“Why did you follow me again. We were together all day. Let’s get a divorce now. I’m tired of this.”
“I’m refreshed. You’re a type I’ve never met before, Senior.”
It was like having the conversation he’d had with Secretary Tak thrown back at him verbatim by the person in question. After hearing the answer, Seheon exclaimed in disbelief and let out a hollow laugh. Then he poked Yoonshin’s chest with the hand not holding his cigarette. Long fingers pressed against his clothes as if an arrow had lodged there, then slowly withdrew.
Just as it seemed the contact had ended, Seheon touched Yoonshin’s chest again with his fingertip. This time, he did not remove it, but slowly dragged it upward, tracing his prominent Adam’s apple. And that was not all. As if reversing his path, he changed the course of his hand and slowly, slowly descended again. Passing the solar plexus and gradually continuing toward his belt buckle, that languid movement was terribly erotic.
It was the first time Yoonshin had felt this kind of crisis from another man, and it came from him. And every time they met, Seheon gifted him with this sensation.
Barely swallowing his dry saliva, Yoonshin grabbed Seheon’s hand the moment it reached his flat stomach.
Even though their skin touched, Seheon did not get angry. Rather, looking amused, cigarette in mouth, he grabbed Yoonshin by the nape and pulled him close with a sharp tug.
“Senior.”
Though a flustered Yoonshin called out to him, it was futile. Seheon pulled his thin body even closer, and once their positions were quite near, he stubbed out the cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke directly into his face. Coughing with his eyes squeezed shut, then opening them, Yoonshin found his vision filled with nothing but Seheon.
“Are you trying to kill me with secondhand smoke?”
“That takes too long. The risk is too high. It’s a method I would never use.”
“Are you drunk? It seemed like you were drinking endlessly.”
“I did drink more than usual today.”
“Why? Today’s argument was good, and……”
Seheon abruptly cut off his words.
“My head hurts because of you.”
“What do you mean by that all of a sudden. Did I cause some trouble?”
“You annoy me.”
“…….”
“My headaches and insomnia have been severe lately. It’s all because of you.”
He had no memory of doing anything that would particularly offend Seheon, whether publicly or privately. In other words, Seheon was picking a fight for no reason.
Yet strangely, Yoonshin was not displeased at all. It was likely because the underlying emotions hidden beneath that clumsy expression—by someone always so adept and skilled—were being transmitted to him. He could not say exactly what they were, but he could sense they definitely existed.
The palm wrapped around his neck twitched. As if caressing tender flesh, he traced the soft skin. Heat naturally rose at the friction. Yoonshin’s body temperature rose along with it.
Still so close, the pungent scent of nicotine mixed with alcohol wafted from him. Layered atop that was the fragrance of the perfume he often wore.
Dizzy, Yoonshin pushed his hand away. Then he extended both arms toward the railing as if to bind Seheon’s body, literally blocking him in from all directions. With his elbows resting on the railing, Seheon’s cool pupils watched Yoonshin.
“Is this insubordination? I believe I told you not to touch my body.”
“You touched me enough to make me feel a sense of crisis. So it’s not insubordination. It’s my own defense.”
He could not understand him at all. Like a negotiation, like a tug-of-war, Seheon would approach on his own, ask something, and then always play dumb. So when Yoonshin concluded this was not it and tried to rid himself of the delusion, Seheon would come close again as if nothing had happened and stir him up.
This was none other than Kang Seheon. He had absolutely no need to raise his own value in a relationship with a mere associate attorney. Therefore, the accumulating misunderstandings were his fault, or strict liability.
Was he truly not interested? He denied it, but no matter how much he thought about it, Yoonshin’s suspicion that he was right filled his mind.
After hesitating for a moment, Yoonshin borrowed liquid courage.
“André Gide said that if one does not have the courage to lose sight of the shore, one can never discover a new ocean.”
Surprisingly, Seheon received this properly.
“What sea does a fourth-year want to find?”
“A sea that will save me from crisis.”
Upon hearing this, Seheon seemed to grasp something, for he asked back in a much softened register.
“What danger are you in?”
“Please make one thing clear first, Senior. Do you have some ulterior motive toward me? I am not drunk right now. I am asking very seriously.”
Remarkably, Seheon did not sneer. He merely faced Yoonshin, very deeply. And so Yoonshin had to fill the space with his own voice, pushing past his embarrassment.
“I am asking if you do.”
Sending a stubborn gaze as if stripping a man bare, Seheon eventually answered, chewing each syllable.
That voice was low, and lower still.
“If I do.”
Seheon’s deeply submerged, monotonous voice pierced Yoonshin’s ear distinctly.
Yoonshin flinched for a moment and swallowed his dry saliva.
What Seheon had returned was a terse reply of three syllables, yet Yoonshin’s mind, repeating it, felt as though it would burst. That calm voice made his thin body tense far more than if he had raised his voice. He had asked like a madman, yet he had never imagined such an answer emerging from the mouth of someone as cold and dogmatic as Seheon.
“If I do……”
Yoonshin’s complexion flushed subtly as he mouthed the response aloud. Today of all days, it was difficult to look directly at that graceful face he had always been able to meet head-on.
His lips went dry, and his heart pounded.
“If you do… can’t you just give it to me instead of holding onto it? I am in something of a hurry.”
After carefully chewing over these words, Seheon asked back.
“Are you gay?”
“I have never worried about such things. So I vaguely assumed I am heterosexual.”
“You’re not even homosexual yourself, and in your eyes there is not even overt interest toward me, affection, or even sexual curiosity. Yet ulterior motives are permitted. You’re in a hurry. This is interesting.”
Feeling his cheeks burn, Yoonshin bit his innocent lips. Yet he remained acutely conscious of Seheon’s gaze. There was no way he, with his wild animal-like intuition and judgment, would overlook even the subtle shifts in Yoonshin’s complexion at this moment.
Taking a deep breath internally to calm himself, Yoonshin answered one beat late.
“At least in the professional domain, I feel awe. How do you live thinking only of yourself and winning in the end. Can I not learn that? I am envious, at times.”
Along with that, he sometimes seemed a little lonely; he had good qualities that others failed to see; he occasionally made Yoonshin’s heart race. Such thoughts crossed his mind, but Yoonshin hid his cards and held his tongue for now.
In truth, he felt ambivalent toward Seheon. He was someone worth respecting, while simultaneously someone deserving of contempt. Though he thought Seheon a bad person, he wanted to draw nearer. And above all, Yoonshin needed him.
Even if he did not physically help Yoonshin and his sister, Yoonshin wanted to lean his heart against him when he was lonely. They say love does not put food on the table. Yoonshin knew this. What put food on the table was, for the most part, money and substantive power. Love, friendship, any form of heart had no strength. Yet in life, there were moments when such spiritual comfort and support were necessary.
Now was one of those times.
In recent years, Yoonshin had felt that impulse, that desire, for the first time—and it was directed at Seheon. But because Seheon kept confusing him, he was uncertain whether he could cross that first boundary.
“There must be a reason you keep cornering and touching me like this. Still haven’t found it? That’s absurd. You’ve already found it. You simply don’t want to admit it.”
After a silent pause, Seheon replied indifferently.
“Who’s touching you. I probably just brushed past you.”
Even after coming this far together, Seheon was still covering his eyes and playing dumb, and Yoonshin finally snapped.
“Who brushes past someone while rubbing their chest and nape?”
“Do you have evidence?”
Of course he did not. Even if a nearby CCTV had captured footage, if Seheon claimed he had merely been dusting something off his clothes, anyone would believe him. But as Seheon himself had once said, there existed a subtle atmosphere that only the person subjected to one-sided physical contact could perceive. And every time Seheon did this, Yoonshin felt a strange sensation.
“Fine. Let’s say none of that happened. Then why do you keep testing the waters?”
“There is too much poison to pick up and eat right away.”
“So you’re boiling it? Is it cooked through?”
“Don’t be so curious. If I start getting curious too, we’ll never reach an answer. Just burying it would be far better for you as well.”
Upon hearing this, Yoonshin felt hazy things slowly taking on clear form. Seheon seemed to be forgetting, but Yoonshin was a decent attorney—someone Seheon had once described as “passable.” Perhaps because it was his own affair, he had been less objective than usual, but he possessed the basic insight and judgment to analyze a situation.
“Are you scared I’ll end up liking you?”
Whether because it hit the mark or because it was too absurd, Seheon—who had been relaxed until then—hardened his expression and sealed his lips. Facing that, Yoonshin felt his stomach churn, and his hands trembled. Not missing that opening, Seheon immediately reversed their positions, leaning Yoonshin’s thin body back against the railing.
Thud. Yoonshin’s back collided with the hard surface. Now standing where Yoonshin had been a moment before, Seheon stared down at him with a hint of resentment.
“Ugh! That hurts. Even if I am a man, I feel pain.”
“Why did you cry that day?”
It was a topic so unexpected at this juncture that Yoonshin stammered.
“Cr- who, who cried?”
“Shall I recite your date of birth?”
“Senior, what exactly did you see?”
“Who knows. My associate cornered at night, eating instant noodles?”
“How did you……”
He had reflexively tried to deny it, but it ended in failure.
It seemed Seheon had known his clumsy lies from the very beginning. Placing the fact that Seheon had seen him into context, the events of the day after his sister’s visit all made sense. Yoonshin concluded that Seheon had turned his car around in that parking lot because he had been worried about him crying.
He had suspected that Seheon might wonder if something upsetting had happened, judging by his swollen eyelids and bloodshot eyes, or perhaps suspect that he had been crying. But upon learning that Seheon had truly known, his emotions were unusual. He found himself wondering if Kang Seheon was capable of such things.
“You were curled up in a corner crying your eyes out, just like when your father died. Do you know how annoyed I was because of you that day? I lost all night’s sleep.”
The story that slipped through his red lips was clearly spoken in the past tense, not the present. Yunshin, who had been wondering what Seheon was talking about, belatedly opened his eyes wide.
It had happened so long ago, and the moment had been so brief, that Yunshin had never been sure whether he would remember it or not.
“Did you remember that too, Senior?”
“You kept catching my eye. No, I kept stealing glances at you because I was afraid you’d be holed up somewhere crying again.”
“…….”
“Having something other than work stuck in my head is extremely uncomfortable. I feel like I’m going crazy.”
Yunshin felt as if several puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. Seheon had remembered everything, too. That must have been why their eyes had kept meeting when he came to watch Yunshin’s trial with Mihui. He had recognized him.
Their fierce gazes traveled back and forth, directed solely at each other. After staring at Yunshin’s pale face for a long while, Seheon suddenly bit his lips as if unable to bear it and slightly mussed his own tie. His breathing seemed quick, his face somewhat flushed. Then he pulled the soft fabric at the end of his tie and held it out in front of Yunshin.
“Kiss it.”
Yunshin’s eyes opened wide in surprise. A red hue spread slowly across his face like spreading ink.
“What—what are you doing, all of a sudden?”
“Kiss this. Right here.”
“Why on earth would I… it’s not even your lips. Isn’t this a bit cowardly?”
“Shut up and do it. That’s an order.”
He felt somehow frustrated, but that was all. Even if Seheon didn’t want to, he couldn’t ask why he wouldn’t express his feelings more clearly. Besides, Yunshin’s own heart was likely far more uncertain and ill-defined than whatever Seheon felt—if he felt anything at all—so he had no right to complain.
Hesitating, Yunshin soon seemed to make up his mind and took a deep breath. Because Seheon’s persistent gaze kept landing on his lips, his slightly flushed cheeks trembled before he finally grabbed the end of the tie and brushed his lips against it as if wiping his mouth.
Seheon watched the entire scene with utmost seriousness from beginning to end, and the moment Yunshin pulled away, he rubbed his own red lips over the same spot. Not satisfied with that, he extended the tip of his tongue and licked it lengthily. Throughout it all, Yunshin offered no resistance, no reaction, and simply watched him endlessly like a captured prisoner.
He who had been tilting his head to kiss the tie soon subtly raised his gaze. The moment their eyes met, Yunshin, who had grown dizzy, felt his jaw quiver.
*Haah.* They hadn’t even touched each other’s sensitive skin, yet a rough sigh burst from both of them simultaneously.
Yunshin didn’t think he had ever been this embarrassed in his life. No other words came to mind. While Yunshin merely tried to steady his ragged breathing, Seheon called his name in a voice that had sunk dangerously low.
“Do Yunshin.”
It was the first time he had called him by his full name.
He didn’t know why. It was his own name that he heard and saw every day, yet simply because it was delivered at the frequency Seheon produced, an intensely thrilling feeling struck him with bizarre force. It was enough to send chills down his spine. Unable to pinpoint the exact reason himself, he could only move his lips slightly.
While he was still flustered, Seheon slowly tilted his head. Yunshin, who had been fiercely torn between closing his eyes or pushing him away, unknowingly lowered his eyelids.
Soon, a moist tongue touched sensitive skin for the briefest instant.
It was right at that moment.
A presence was heard from behind.
“Attorney Kang! I told the kids not to get spooked, and partners should slip out quietly now… Oh my. Did I interrupt?”
Mihui, who had come out toward the terrace, stopped upon seeing the two figures nearly overlapping. Seheon turned his head to check on her and finally released Yunshin, whom he had been holding as if trapping him in his arms. The two naturally separated. Yunshin, his face burning red, repeatedly ran his hands over his face.
Perhaps because the air here looked quite obscene, Mihui hesitated to approach further. At that, Seheon explained in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. Nothing happened.”
“Who said anything? It’s just an unfamiliar sight, that’s all. Do you think just anyone sees you trapping someone in your arms? Attorney Do, if you were uncomfortable, report it to the police. I’ll be your witness.”
Yunshin, who had been quietly gauging the two of them, immediately waved his hand.
“No, I liked it.”
At that moment, two sets of cryptic gazes fixed on Yunshin. Seheon furrowed his brow and looked at him as if asking what nonsense he was speaking, while Mihui sent him a highly amused glance. He had chosen ordinary words out of consideration, but belatedly realizing they could be interpreted differently depending on one’s perspective, Yunshin added an explanation.
“I meant I wasn’t uncomfortable. Senior Kang does this sort of thing often, so I’m used to it.”
“Goodness, Seheon, you do this to him often? This evening is full of surprises.”
“Fourth-year. If you’re going to spout nonsense, keeping your mouth shut is also an option.”
As if unable to listen anymore, Seheon grabbed Yunshin’s shoulder, pushed him to the back, and stood facing Mihui. Just moments ago he had called Yunshin by name, but now it was back to the same old refrain. Yunshin looked at the back of Seheon’s haughty head, positioned at a slanted height, and pressed his lips together. A sudden urge to mess up that well-groomed hair arose, and he clenched his own hand in frustration.
Whether he knew this or not, Seheon approached Mihui as if forgetting there was someone behind him.
“Go. Take the car.”
“Secretary Tak has a chauffeur ready. You can take your car home. Anyway, looking at the atmosphere, I think I came to the wrong place… Are you really going to cut it off like this? I’d feel bad.”
“That’s not it.”
“Even if it’s not. Leaving like this is rude to Attorney Do. Sort things out. I’ll head home first. Rest well over the weekend and see you Monday, gentlemen.”
With an apologetic expression, she smiled awkwardly, waved at both men, and rushed out. Seheon seemed to watch her for a moment, then soon shook his head and quietly began walking away. After having pressed him so persistently just moments ago, he didn’t even show a hint of turning back, which was rather disappointing.
Just before Seheon’s figure disappeared completely around the corner, Yunshin came to his senses and urgently chased after him. Then, after exiting the building and heading toward the parking lot, he abruptly grabbed Seheon’s wrist. Normally, he would have been startled and let go the moment he touched him like this, but Yunshin didn’t. Because he had grabbed it on purpose.
“Wait, Senior Kang. I have something to tell you.”
Seheon stared down at his grabbed wrist, then frowned.
“Do my words not sound like words to you?”
“Did our lips touch?”
Seheon retorted sharply.
“They didn’t.”
“But clearly, your tongue…”
“I said they didn’t.”
“You’re not lying to me just because I had my eyes closed, are you? Surely. Then you really wouldn’t be human.”
“I’m not even human. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Look. They touched, didn’t they?”
Yunshin, who had snapped, belatedly realized that this wasn’t the urgent matter at hand. He quickly composed his expression and continued.
“This is just… I’m saying this just in case. If you think it has nothing to do with you, you can just listen and forget it—it’s actually nothing significant in your life either, Attorney.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I have an arranged date next Sunday.”
For an instant, Seheon couldn’t hide his turmoil, and his eyebrows twitched.
Because they were facing each other directly, that sight came clearly into Yunshin’s view. However, Seheon himself neither affirmed nor denied, maintaining silence like quietly flowing water. Anxious, Yunshin continued, struggling to maintain his composure.
“If nothing unusual happens and she isn’t a bad person, I’ll probably get engaged and married as a matter of course. My sister proposed it, saying it’s a match my brother-in-law wants, and that this is something necessary for everyone. Besides, I listen to my sister very well. In other words, I don’t have much time.”
His probing tone was full of caution. Yunshin, who had never thought of another man as a romantic interest until now, had mustered the maximum courage based on the mere possibility of advancement. The only foothold he had was the small fact that he was often conscious of Seheon, and that Seheon sometimes felt confused because of him.
His true intention was to ask Seheon to hold on to him, but since the two were nothing to each other yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak so directly. However, if there was even the slightest desire to hold on, if there was still room to move forward though nothing proper had yet formed in each other’s hearts, it had to be now. He had no time. There was clearly leeway to advance, but if he missed this moment while weighing the pros and cons, the opportunity might never come again. He conveyed all of this earnestly with his eyes.
Seheon stared at Yunshin for quite a while. But soon he responded casually.
“Why are you telling me that you don’t have time?”
Yunshin’s thin shoulders, which had been taut with tension, loosened and went limp in an instant.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Should there be more?”
“If you didn’t understand, then forget it.”
“Excuse me, but I understood perfectly well.”
Yunshin flinched at his clear, cold tone and blinked calmly. As if proving that this feeling was not a misconception, Seheon added dryly.
“Get a grip and do well on your blind date. If it’s a match your brother-in-law wants, it will surely help your mediocre fourth-year career. Of course, it will also help our firm. Good luck.”
*Swat*—Seheon shook off Yunshin’s hand and walked past him. Leaving behind a response that was impossible to tell whether it was encouragement, a greeting, or mockery, he disappeared from sight before Yunshin knew it. Belatedly, Yunshin bowed politely as if to see him off, but Seheon didn’t see it.
Having exited the passage and come completely outside, Seheon walked with heavy steps.
His car was visible in a corner of the parking lot. A firm-affiliated chauffeur was waiting outside and opened the rear door. Meanwhile, Seheon approached the car, then glanced back at the bar entrance instead of getting in the back seat. Naturally, Yunshin was not there.
Only then did he strike the car body with a loud *bang*, his hand full of nerves.
“Fucking hell.”
*“I have an arranged date next Sunday.”*
He couldn’t deny that the moment he heard those words, his blood had boiled far more than when he saw that face smiling with swollen eyes.
But Seheon was extremely vulnerable to such sensations. Having never felt possessiveness toward anyone before, he couldn’t figure out how to control it. And situations he couldn’t control himself were among the things he hated most in the world. So his defense mechanisms kicked in.
He got into the car belatedly. While the chauffeur who had closed the door from outside walked to the driver’s seat, Seheon leaned back comfortably against the car seat and fell into thought. Inevitably, he mulled over Yunshin’s words.
*“Are you scared you’ll end up liking me?”*
Glancing down at his tie, where their lips had overlapped, he gritted his teeth. Then, with an extremely sharp motion, he loosened his tie. After throwing it onto the passenger seat as if tossing it aside, he tightly closed his eyes to push away distracting thoughts.
But no matter what he did, Yunshin’s voice wouldn’t leave and tormented him.
Ever since running into Do Yunshin again, everything in his life was getting twisted into a complete mess.
To be continued in Volume 2.