Seheon and Yunshin, who had boarded the elevator side by side, exchanged no words. It was because another patient was riding with them. Seheon was dressed in a neat suit, just as he had been when he first came to pick Yunshin up from the general ward. His expression was stubbornly blank—the same as always. The only difference from a few hours ago was that he was wearing new clothes brought for work the next day. Beside him, Yunshin was in his usual hospital gown.
They waited until they were alone. Fortunately, the other patient got off first, so they were back to being just the two of them before reaching the parking garage. The moment the nuisance disappeared and the double doors closed, Yunshin immediately opened his mouth. His tone was deliberately crafted to sound nonchalant.
“You said you weren't going.”
“I went back to the bathroom, so it's not exactly a lie.”
“Can't you just discharge me? I'll give up on going to work. I can just rest at home.”
“If I drop you off at home, you won't stay put. Right?”
He wasn't wrong, so Yunshin had no retort. While his side fell silent, Seheon added:
“I can already picture the stress I'll get while you're running around outside with your reins loose. No. If you want to be discharged, recover completely—even your finger.”
“…This? Are you serious? Mr. Kang Seheon?”
Yunshin showed the cast on his right index finger, waving it left and right in front of his nose, asking with his eyes if he was serious. Seheon put on a shameless face and nodded.
It was overprotection. Both of them knew it, but the reason they didn't mention it was that Yunshin honestly didn't find the situation of Seheon fussing over him so unpleasant. Also, because Seheon seemed to have been quite shaken by his injury, Yunshin wanted to indulge him in most things until that was resolved.
Yunshin, not hiding his full disappointment, leaned slightly sideways and rested his head on Seheon's shoulder. As if he had been waiting, Seheon immediately reached out his hand. Through the gesture of caressing here and there on his neck, Yunshin felt it. Though he didn't explain it in words, this forced parting seemed to be regrettable for him too. So Yunshin's heart softened again.
Should he ask why Seheon had to return to the office not long after getting off work? After a moment of thought, Yunshin chose not to pry. He felt there must be a reason Seheon wasn't telling him. Most likely, even if he heard it, it would be something he couldn't do anything about.
While Seheon nudged Yunshin and Yunshin rubbed up against him, dawdling, the elevator steadily arrived at its destination. When the doors opened, a sticky breeze blew once. The inside of the ward had flowing cool air thanks to temperature control, but the parking garage was connected to the outside, so strangely sultry air lingered.
The two crossed the long corridor leading to the VVIP ward's exclusive parking garage. However, even though they had come all the way down here, there was no word that the driver had arrived. By now, Seheon personally holding the steering wheel to commute had become quite unfamiliar, so Yunshin tilted his head.
“What about the driver? Didn't you call him?”
“He's nearby, so why bother?”
“You're going to the firm. Didn't CEO Song beg you not to do that?”
“I never really listened to CEO Song anyway. Now I listen even less.”
As if to say that was true enough, Yunshin nodded and smiled, standing closely beside Seheon.
“When I'm discharged, shall I drive you to work? I'll give you a cheap price. One ‘darling’ per drive.”
He refused without a moment's consideration.
“I'll pass. CEO Song and Tak Bi are already going crazy pretending not to know about us; I don't want a scandal on top of that.”
“You're pushing me away.”
“I'm not pushing you away. I'm calculating. Driving for me is what you want, and calling you by that term is what you want—wouldn't I be at too much of a disadvantage?”
“One ‘darling’ per drive—how much of a bargain is that really? If I asked you to say you love me as payment, you wouldn't do it, right? I've compromised plenty.”
“Why do you think I wouldn't do it? Did you even ask?”
Huh?
Yunshin took a deep breath, pressing his palm against his heart that was pounding violently as if it were running amok, and stared intently at Seheon. It stung as if someone had poured a carbonated drink over it. That sensation was so strange that he stopped walking, and Seheon, who had been walking by momentum, also stopped and turned around to look at Yunshin, who was a step behind.
They stood facing each other, dumbfounded at one another.
“If I asked you to, you'd do it? Really?”
“Of course not.”
Having traveled between heaven and earth in mere seconds, Yunshin was flabbergasted.
“…What the hell. Are you playing with me?”
“I get extremely stressed when you hold the steering wheel.”
“Why? Everyone does it.”
“I worry. I already hated it, but after this incident it's become even more terrible. And I hate feeling that way. I'd rather you didn't do anything dangerous if possible, young master.”
“…”
“I'll consider, favorably, a way to let the driver rest occasionally. I also like increasing the time I spend with you. Of course, I'll be the one driving. Any further questions?”
“…A logical reason and an appropriate alternative. A very perfect answer.”
“I know.”
Whether Yunshin had grown accustomed to it, or whether Seheon was just naturally affectionate, he was surprisingly adept at comforting him.
He really was sly in some ways. Making it so hard to let him go….
Yunshin put on an indescribably complicated expression, his cheeks slightly reddening, and started walking again. This time too, Seheon quietly matched his stride. They walked through the lobby as if dancing slowly. The silence was not awkward between them, so both enjoyed that moment's stillness.
Seheon might feel differently, but Yunshin knew the end of this peaceful time would come soon. So he felt both a desire to prolong the silence and a desire to say something more. In the end, Yunshin chose the latter, lifting the veil of silence and filling it with sound.
“You'll call me when work is done, right?”
If he left like this tonight, they wouldn't be able to meet until at least around this time tomorrow.
Seheon was not someone who handled trivial matters. It must be a grave reason requiring him to retrace his steps, and judging by his reaction after the phone call earlier, it didn't seem to be a welcome situation.
He seemed to be someone who understood exactly what Yunshin was thinking when he said it.
There were some people passing by as they walked side by side. Guiding Yunshin down a path with as few people as possible so they wouldn't be seen, Seheon stopped in front of a glass double door. He occasionally gathered and lifted the bangs that Yunshin found bothersome, as if pinning them back with his fingers, then gently pressed his lips to the smooth forehead that was shyly revealed.
“Is that enough?”
“Uh… video call me.”
“Is that really enough?”
“Uh… will you call me twice? Once in the morning, once at lunch.”
Seheon's eyes narrowed as if asking, *Is that all?*
“Is that really all? Actually, I was going to let you come to work if you poked my side a few more times.”
With his eyes and expression, he conveyed his puzzlement that Yunshin had given up so easily and wasn't pleading more.
Yunshin, who already had large eyes, opened them round as if verifying the facts, questioning several times with his facial muscles. Seheon flashed a grin, as if showing off all kinds of funny expressions. There was no sign that he would retract his statement. Yunshin's complexion immediately brightened.
“You're not joking, right?”
“Complete your discharge procedures and come back to work next week. In exchange, your attending physician must prove to me with evidence once a week that your condition is perfectly fine, and your condition must be the same as before the accident. And above all, for the time being, you'll have security attached during commute hours. Can you endure that?”
“Don't worry. I'll take good care of my body. Will you tell the team leader to give me my cases back? Huh? Will you?”
“I'm on my way to the firm anyway, so I'll leave word.”
Delighted, Yunshin grinned widely, checked that there was no one around, and planted kisses all over Seheon's cheek.
*Smooch-smooch-smooch. Smack. Smack-smack.* He kissed his entire face messily without rhythm, then smiled brightly.
Bright smile and wet lips, impatient eyes and flushed cheeks. Always, at any time, the most amazing thing about Do Yunshin was that he faced Seheon looking no different from when they had first fallen in love.
Feeling an indescribable emotion, Seheon was about to speak when some people happened to be walking by. Yunshin, catching the sound of their approach, smoothly pulled away at once. Seheon, who usually handled these situations with composure, made a disappointed expression, and Yunshin, feeling upset along with him, felt the corners of his mouth droop slightly.
Sharing a subtle message of understanding that pierced through each other, they walked again.
When they eventually emerged into the parking garage, they heard another sound of presence from afar. It sounded like something falling. The two stared in that direction side by side, but it soon went quiet as a dead mouse, so they soon lost interest.
They had hoped this moment would not come, or if it had to, that it would come as late as possible, but time was not so generous to them. Eventually, the two arrived in front of Seheon's car and stopped walking.
Seheon opened the driver's side door and stared at Yunshin with a complicated gaze, as if his feet wouldn't move.
“I'm not used to this feeling.”
“What feeling?”
“I don't want to go to work.”
In the end, Yunshin, who had been holding back and holding back, burst into a tearful face.
“Why are you like this today? Making it so hard to send you off….”
Yunshin, pleading desperately with his eyes not to make him a childish lover, pushed his shoulder. Seheon, yielding easily, was about to get in the car when he pointed clearly in the direction of the elevator with his hand.
“You go in first.”
“I want to see you leave.”
“It's because I don't want to show you that.”
Seheon was generally someone who showed people his back. But with Yunshin, he strangely hated doing so. It might simply be that he didn't want to show his back and leave. But Yunshin thought it wasn't just that. Perhaps it was because Yunshin alone got to see a different side of him. Not his authority, ability, power, or honor, but because Yunshin was desperate to find, draw out, and caress the things he had compressed and hidden deep inside his heart.
Though Yunshin couldn't fully grasp that feeling, he had some idea, so he didn't insist. Answering by carefully straightening Seheon's collar, he slowly stepped backward. What Seheon had just said was so unlike him that Yunshin was quite worried. Feeling there was something he absolutely had to say at this moment, he added:
“If something difficult happens, talk to me. I'm always by your side, senior. You look like your heart has been very weary lately doing things you don't want to do.”
Yunshin knew Kang Seheon, who was always steadfast.
He had never once seen him make awkward excuses in the face of any difficulty.
But that didn't mean everything was as simple as turning over the palm of his hand.
From Seheon's position, Yunshin might not seem very reliable, but Yunshin believed he could at least pull his own weight. So he wished Seheon would lean on him sometimes. That's what he meant by those words. Even without lengthy explanations, Seheon would surely understand all the words hidden beneath the surface. Sure enough. His gently smiling face proved it. Facing that, Yunshin gained strength and added to his answer.
“You trust me, right?”
“Walk straight. You'll get hurt.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Since Seheon told him to go up, Yunshin did take a step, but leaving him alone didn't sit well at all. Yunshin walked backward, then faced forward at his words, but then turned around again and again before even taking a few steps. Seheon, who had been watching him the whole time, only slowly withdrew his smiling face after confirming that his lover in hospital garb, waving his hand, had disappeared into the lobby.
Checking his wristwatch, he realized he was somewhat behind schedule because he had gone back up to wash Yunshin, and he tried to get into the car in a hurry. But something strangely bothered him, so he cast his gaze in the direction where he had heard the sound earlier. The spot was still as calm as the sea before a storm, as if it had never made any noise.
He had very good instincts. Something felt off. It would be better to check. If there had been a sound, a figure should soon appear, and the fact that it didn't was suspicious. It might simply be ordinary noise, but if something nagged at him inside, it was right to check.
Just as he was about to close the car door and walk over there, his phone vibrated loudly. Seheon stopped walking and answered the phone, grinding his teeth.
“What. What is it now.”
—CEO, it's Tak Bi. Have you left? You need to come quickly. They say it's critical.
“Haah.” Sighing, he furrowed his brow and gripped the phone tightly in his hand.
“What's Lawyer Song doing. Has he moved? Don't go yet. Tell him to wait because we're going to put together a scrum and move.”
—Yes, not yet. But he's in complete panic. He's just waiting for CEO Kang here. I think the reporters have already caught wind—what should we do? What kind of curse has befallen our firm this year?
“Watch your mouth. Tell Lawyer Song to get his head on straight too. I'll be there soon.”
After ending the call, he glanced behind the pillar. Confirming with his eyes that there was still no sign of movement, as calm as the sea before a storm, he opened the car door irritably. He got into the car and drove with fluid skill, slipping out of the parking garage. *Screech.* The sound of tires scraping against the floor gradually faded.
Tick, tock.
A few seconds passed—short for some, agonizingly long for others.
At that moment.
In one corner of the quiet VVIP exclusive parking garage, the sound of someone collapsing with a thud resounded small but clear.
It was the very spot Seheon had tried to check when he noticed the noise.
Igyeong, back against the pillar and one hand covering her mouth, sank helplessly to the ground. Her collapsed face was flushed bright red, with no leeway to compose herself. She, who had never lost her elegance, wore an expression as if she were about to scream at any moment.
Fumbling, she picked up the thermos containing the soup she had boiled herself for Yunshin, constantly striving to close the Pandora's box that had opened unintentionally.
And at the same time, she despaired at the uncomfortable truth that in reality, she could no longer do so.
* * *
Seheon sat perched on a desk piled with documents, staring at Mihee, who was sitting on the armrest of the reception sofa. She had been frantically trying to grasp the situation and was only now getting some rest in his office. Feeling his rather persistent gaze, she slowly raised her head; her complexion was haggard. Perhaps because she was extremely uncomfortable, she folded her hands and busily picked at nonexistent cuticles around her nails. In the end, unable to hold back her pent-up emotions, she lashed out at him with a voice verging on hysterical.
“Don't look at me like that. I know I need to calm down! What can I do when I can't?”
Seheon responded cynically.
“What do you mean what to do. If it won't work, make it work.”
“Why now of all times! Do you know how important this moment is for us? Why of all times is he grabbing my ankles now! And he calls himself a junior…. The joint CEO system is just starting to settle. What more was I supposed to do? Did I ostracize him? We're right on the verge of reclaiming first place in the industry, and this bastard pulls this insane stunt!”
Seheon, who had been listening calmly, crossed his arms and shook his head. He agreed to a certain extent.
“I'm not asking what you should do. With how many years of experience as a lawyer, did he do this without knowing what would happen? He's telling us to be humiliated and eat dirt, and we're the ones who got hit. We've got dirt in our mouths right now, so get a grip.”
“I want to too!”
A junior lawyer affiliated with Doguk had attempted suicide. He had been discovered at his home only a few hours ago. In a critical situation where his life was hanging by a thread, the police contacted the Doguk office, and before the firm could even attempt any measures, the patient failed to pull through and died in the emergency room.
Such cases were somewhat unusual, but not uniquely special. People who took their own lives were everywhere, and Doguk, being a workplace with many employees, could not be an exception. It was an incident that would have merited a brief article in the press before being passed over.
However, there was a variable in this incident. The fact that the deceased lawyer had publicly left a will online using every provocative word possible.
Characteristically verbose for a lawyer, the will contained various complaints. That he was suffering from murderous workloads; that he had joined Doguk admiring CEO Kang Seheon but was so neglected he couldn't exchange a word with him for months; that he was being ostracized by colleagues and when he had mustered the courage to seek out CEO Song Mihee, rather than saving him she had fanned the flames; it was a parade of sentences from which Doguk could not possibly escape responsibility. The timing was especially bad because the press was already hounding the firm over the attack on Yunshin.
“Did he ever request a meeting with Lawyer Song saying he was being ostracized?”
“He did.”
“What did you say? Is there a record?”
“No. But I remember. I cared for him so much that people started talking about favoritism. When he was alone, I'd call him over; I even subtly ordered his team leader to look after him. Is it common for a CEO to meet with a junior? Even though there was no reason to talk except at team-leader level meetings, I deliberately called him in and taught him from time to time.”
“You did everything you could.”
“That's what I'm saying. What more could I do? Am I his mother? This isn't a school; I can't gather all his peers and colleagues and yell at them not to ostracize him. I'll concede a hundred times that my method might have been wrong. But I didn't do so badly that I deserved to be stabbed in the back like this. Lawyer Do…!”
Mihee, who had been shouting, soon caught her breath. Through the window without blinds, she saw several secretaries who had been forced to pull an all-nighter from Thursday night to Friday morning busily working. Feeling she needed to calm down just as Seheon said, she took a deep breath and answered the rest seriously.
“…Lawyer Do knew he was struggling alone but didn't look after him even half as much. You're not someone who does that kind of thing, so I should have, but I didn't because I was watching how things looked.”
“…”
“Wow, earlier when the reporters were shoving cameras in my face, I couldn't manage my expression in front of them. You make sure to put on a sad face in front of the cameras later.”
Seheon, who had been silently mulling over her words, was puzzled.
“I'm not sad, so how am I supposed to make a sad face?”
“Both CEOs can't be treated like psychopaths!”
“It's nothing. It was just bad timing—something that can happen. He's not the first lawyer in the industry to commit suicide, and we're not social workers. If you make a fuss, you'll look like someone who did something wrong and is shooting themselves in the foot. Just do what needs to be done. Don't overstep.”
She, usually composed, was rampaging around, seemingly unable to calm down at all.
“Then tell me what you're going to do. I'm so furious right now my head is blank!”
“I checked the medical records—there was one instance of medication for depression. He was also fond of alcohol, so link the two. Anxiety, depression, delusional disorder, suicide—they're all side effects of alcoholism. Emphasize as much as possible that he had chronic depression. Shift the cause of death onto himself.”
Seheon looked nonchalant with his usual attitude. Mihee, who had been listening carefully to his plan with caution, was momentarily dumbfounded. The co-CEO standing firmly beside her seemed quite reliable, yet at the same time she seemed fearful that the man's cold gun barrel might be pointed at her at any moment.
“How does taking medication once become chronic? How does liking something become an addiction?”
“Why? Does your conscience sting when you try to inflate something that isn't there? You know better than anyone that there's no other answer. If you don't like it, just sink. In the meantime, I'll swallow Doguk whole by myself. Thank you.”
“The way you talk.”
“We'll go to the funeral separately. I'll go in the morning, so Lawyer Song, you go later. For now, I'll draw attention away, and you go around evening when our reporters are set up to show yourself comforting the bereaved family.”
For now, the method Seheon presented was the best. In such matters, how public opinion flowed was the most important issue. There was no legal liability, but moral censure was possible. It wasn't very important to sort out the facts now. People already immune to the provocative language in the will obviously wouldn't believe Doguk's polished explanations.
Though she knew it in her head, Mihee's reason, which had been immersed in anger leaning toward the emotional side, regained its proper function. She looked at Seheon with an expression that was, in a sense, awestruck.
“What on earth would it take to make you lose it? If Lawyer Do ran away from home? Then even the great Kang Seheon would lose it, right?”
Seheon hadn't liked how she had subtly inserted Yunshin into this conversation. He had been about to point that out, staring at her sensitively, when he suddenly burst into a hollow laugh. He answered with a confident tone.
“He won't run away from home.”
“What, are you living together or something?”
“I'm thinking about it. I'm going to smoke. Open the window?”
Mihee, who seemed to have many things to say, momentarily let out a “Huh” and swallowed. Knowing well that Seheon smoked when things were troublesome, she waved her hands as if to say it didn't matter and cautiously asked back.
“…Oh my, what's this. Are you serious? The two company residences aren't even that far apart now. Why so sudden?”
Seheon put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it.
*Huu.* The long exhale was mixed with the acrid, hazy aroma of tobacco leaves.
It might have been sudden from the listener's perspective, but from the speaker's perspective, it wasn't. He had agonized over it for a very long time, yet had been unable to make a decision until now. He had weighed it constantly.
He trusted Yunshin, but he didn't believe in love's permanence. He was too worn down, having seen too much of humanity's bottom to believe in it naively. So he had been conflicted. If a crisis came in their relationship later, could Do Yunshin overcome it? Could he wait quietly for such a Yunshin without restraining him?
For now, independent spaces for each of them existed, and since they freely crossed between them, there was somewhere to escape. But if they lived under the same roof, that wouldn't be possible. He had wanted to leave Yunshin that very leeway. He had been trying to create a place where he could at least catch his breath.
Now, he had no intention of ever letting Yunshin go.
So even if the moment came when Yunshin could no longer endure him, he wanted to ensure that Do Yunshin, who still had a place to breathe, wouldn't even dream of thinking about breaking up.
It was a selfishness pretending to be a kind of consideration.
But after this incident, he had realized that if he didn't keep Do Yunshin tightly bound in the safest place he knew, he might go crazy immediately. Because Yunshin mustn't disappear thoughtlessly like foam.
“It's not sudden. Anyway. Both company residences will be left empty in a row, so keep that in mind. We'd better coordinate our stories.”
For Mihee, the fact that Seheon was finding stability in his private life was proof that he would stay at Doguk longer. She had never let go of the assumption that he might leave at any time even after giving him the co-CEO position, so she smiled in satisfaction. She momentarily brightened at the pleasant thought, then realizing it wasn't the time to be interested in such things, she hardened her face in frustration.
“You're telling me this now on purpose, aren't you? So I can't nitpick about this and that?”
“No matter what you ask me to let go of, I only let go of what I want to let go of, Lawyer Song. And yes, I am telling you this now on purpose.”
“I'm a bit happy even in the midst of this. I've become complete trash too. I wonder if the position makes the person, or if I was originally that kind of human.”
This time, he was the one dumbfounded. Even the white cigarette pinched between his long, straight fingers looked absurd.
“…Even me?”
“Isn't it? In the past I wouldn't have understood you, but now I understand. I hate that I'm not sad, just annoyed. I hate that I'm more worried about my leadership being questioned than upset that a junior lawyer targeted me and died. How did I become like this? At least I used to have more humanity than Kang Seheon.”
A law firm is originally a prison with its doors wide open. One can always escape on one's own, but the label of having fled follows one for life in the industry. It wasn't just Doguk. Most large law firms competing for industry rankings had one or two lawyers who had committed suicide among their alumni.
A crisis could come at any time. Watching Seheon, who was clearly going to resolve the situation calmly, Mihee pulled herself together and regained her usual pace for the first time since hearing the news. She slowly rose from the armrest and straightened her posture. Adjusting the hem of her blouse, she watched him stub out the cigarette.
“Thank you. Sorry for making you play the villain. When I hear it from your mouth, Attorney Kang, I feel like I'm a slightly better person.”
“Good thing you stopped whining. I was going to kick you out if you kept at it.”
“Since I’ve come to my senses, I’ll leave on my own two feet. See you at the meeting. Ah, the partners will definitely bring up using Attorney Do for the public opinion battle. How are you planning to play it? Let’s coordinate.”
Just as she seemed about to leave, Seheon, who had likewise risen from his desk, paused. Instead of returning to his seat, he stood stock-still and fixed Mihee with a rather obstinate stare.
It was entirely predictable that the executives would propose a preemptive move with Yunshin as their leverage before any meaningful wave of criticism could erupt. Since the attack incident, Yunshin had remained quietly in the hospital without even issuing a minimal statement, so there was no shortage of yellow journalists eager to connect the incident to her ex-husband, wondering if this were not a revenge plot involving Do Igyeong.
Given Yunshin’s already positive public image, the suggestion that he appropriately cultivate a victim persona for Doguk would undoubtedly land on the table. Building public opinion took time; for now, using Yunshin was the fastest and simplest method. Perhaps Mihee had anticipated that Seheon would react defensively when the time came and had broached the subject in advance.
“Attorney Song, I don’t want to make Do Yunshin clean up my mess.”
“I don’t want to use Attorney Do as a shield either. That’s why I’m asking. The old timers will kick up a fuss, going on about how much we’ve done for him.”
“What has the firm actually done for him? Did you give him a loan behind my back or something?”
“If you don’t have a sharp move right now, I brought it up because I was thinking I’d just play the villain myself. So you won’t feel uneasy, I’ll tell you—this is pro bono. Not for you, but for Attorney Do.”
“What are you to him that you’d voluntarily play the villain for Do Yunshin?”
“Your old friend.”
He faltered for a moment, then let out a hollow laugh.
“What the hell is wrong with your algorithm?”
“I’ll take that as a yes. See you later.”
Had she sent her clothes out for cleaning? Muttering to herself as she tried to remember where she’d put the black garments she occasionally wore for mourning, she slipped out of the office. The owner of the now-empty room exhaled a breath that seemed to deflate him.
It might have seemed like a small change, but Do Yunshin had truly altered so many things in his life. Just moments ago, he had wanted to tell Mihee, “Her death isn’t your fault.” It was painfully obvious that her anger was a way to assuage her guilt. He felt oddly bashful at the fact that he, who had never been able to trust anyone, was now maintaining a junior-senior relationship built on friendship and mutual goodwill.
Clicking his tongue quietly, he turned from where he stood and picked up the intercom on his desk. As if he had been waiting all along, Secretary Tak answered almost instantly.
— Yes, Chief. Chief Song is leaving now. Did you finish your talk? What should we do?
“I’ll let you know after the executive meeting later. For now, set the tone so the firm doesn’t show any rash moves. Tell all employees, especially the clueless juniors, to watch their mouths. Issue strict warnings to the direct perpetrators of any ostracism and the bystanders who enabled it.”
— You mean no one is to mention this incident outside the officially designated channels, correct?
“Exactly. The day anyone gives an interview pretending to be a colleague of the dead employee, I’ll snap all their necks. Lawyers are a dime a dozen, and cheap replacements are even easier to find. Make that absolutely clear.”
— Yes, understood. I’ll deliver the warning forcefully.
“And discreetly get me a copy of the CCTV footage from the guest parking lot of the VVIP ward at Korea University Hospital. The time is 11:38 p.m. last night, and I need about… ten minutes from then.”
This order had little to do with the incident that had erupted at the firm today, so Secretary Tak was puzzled.
— Video footage? Maybe if it were the VIP ward, but the VVIP ward is for real heavyweights only. They manage it strictly and won’t want to show it. If word gets out that someone accessed it, there’ll be an uproar about privacy invasion and whatnot. What if I get sued?
“That’s why I said bring it discreetly. This is a personal matter, so don’t involve the firm. The area is…”
Seheon visualized the place where he had noticed the noise earlier and calculated the coordinates.
“B19. Fourth space. Behind the pillar. If I remember correctly, there’s a camera facing that direction. It’s the spot where you can see the lobby’s glass center door from the side. If something happened, it definitely got caught on camera.”
— *Sigh.* If I get sued, will you be my lawyer?
“I don’t need a secretary who can’t manage people well enough to let that leak. If the chief’s secretary of a law firm gets entangled in a lawsuit because of poor judgment, you’re fired. I promoted you to the youngest chief of the secretariat despite the old-timers’ opposition. The least you can do is repay that debt.”
Before Secretary Tak could reply, Seheon hung up abruptly.
The chief secretary in question, who had answered the phone beyond the window, shrugged and sent a hand signal asking if he should call back. As if to say no, Seheon snapped the blinds shut, refusing him.
Since returning to the office building last night, he had been with someone constantly; now, for the first time, he was alone. Only now did he comfortably return to his seat and lean his head back against his chair. A sigh escaped him involuntarily.
“Hah.”
Not long ago, when something like this happened, Seheon’s role had been to observe from a comfortable distance like the other partners. If Mihee needed help, he’d provide it, but he never went out of his way. He hadn’t been free enough to fuss over such petty external image issues. If he had time for that, he’d rather work. But now, despite being busier than before, he had ended up in charge of all sorts of the firm’s internal and external affairs.
It felt like he was being put to the test every single day. Like he was walking a precarious tightrope between work and politics.
Yunshin, who was watching him most closely from the nearest vantage point, must surely be feeling equally precarious. That was why he had told him to lean on him earlier, seeing how exhausted he looked.
He turned Yunshin’s consolation over in his mind, swallowing each syllable one by one.
The meeting in an hour would likely take a long while. He took out his phone and found a familiar number in his recent call history. He considered calling just to hear his voice, but conceding that it was very late, he set the device back down.
“He’ll come charging into work soon enough anyway.”
He had clearly advised him to come in starting next week, but since he had left like that last night, there was no way Do Yunshin would listen. He would keep warnings about not coming to work as steadfastly as an iron rule, yet the moment permission was granted, it was obvious he’d do exactly as he pleased. Honestly, his algorithm was a complete mystery. He simply accepted it as one accepts falling in love. Yunshin probably felt the same.
It was still unfamiliar to have someone’s face come to mind when he was mentally exhausted. As always, it wasn’t a bad feeling.
I miss him.
He had just seen him—how embarrassing to think such a thing so soon. Feeling awkward, he ran a hand over his face and tilted his head back.
* * *
The meeting that began at dawn continued into the early morning. There weren’t many agenda items, but the prolonged debate took its toll. At one point, as two of the chiefs had predicted, Yunshin’s name came to the fore. Mihee admirably blocked every attack with all manner of defensive plays. Thinking back on it, Song Mihee’s defensive capabilities were truly astounding. Shaking his head at the memory of what had transpired earlier, Seheon walked down the corridor.
Employees who had arrived early were standing in rigid formation, as though they had heard the news of the death. Secretary Tak, who had been waiting, quickly opened the office door and rushed to follow behind him. Both were dressed in black suits. Secretary Tak wore a black tie, while Seheon was still without one.
“Chief, your car is ready. I’ve just received the minutes, and the secretariat’s planning team is organizing them for internal distribution.”
“Are the partners ready?”
“Yes, I was thinking of splitting the headcount evenly between your side and Chief Song’s.”
“No. Everyone follows me. Attorney Song will go alone. Sincerity looks more genuine when you go quietly by yourself. I’ll field any complaints that she’s making a noisy show since morning to save face, and Attorney Song must console the bereaved family and promise ample support and generous compensation.”
“A good-cop-bad-cop strategy? Then the press…”
“They’ll be hounding us all day anyway. Set things up meticulously for Attorney Song’s visit. She couldn’t manage her expression during the interview earlier, so this needs to be handled properly. Drown everything out with photos of her steeped in grief while visiting. Ah. And make sure to switch her car to a domestic mid-size sedan. Absolutely.”
“But as the head of the nation’s largest law firm, wouldn’t it be better for her to go in her own car? It’s a matter of dignity.”
Because he stopped walking, Secretary Tak halted behind him as well. Meanwhile, the nearby executives and employees who had been maintaining their tension until he entered the office all froze in place.
“Tak, do you know how much the car Attorney Song always drives costs?”
“I’m not sure? It’s managed by Chief Song’s secretariat… I know it’s very expensive. You gifted it to her, didn’t you, Chief Gang? As compensation for helping with the last acquisition.”
“As I thought, you don’t know. If she drives it to the funeral, the articles will make sure everyone finds out. They’ll all be talking about the price of that shiny new car. How many of that model were imported into the country, who gifted it, and how much gift tax I paid on it.”
“…We have a spare domestic sedan. When should we depart?”
Checking his wristwatch, Seheon finally entered his office and glanced out the window. The blinds he had lowered earlier were drawn back up, likely because the room had been cleaned while he was away. Inevitably, the silhouette of the man in the room across was clearly visible.
The truth was, despite Mihee’s strong urging, he had refused to change or rearrange his office because he liked this view. He knew better than anyone that the excuse of preferring the furniture layout was a lie.
Yunshin looked like he was comforting someone over the phone. He would rise slightly, then sit back down, then rummage through documents as if trying to do anything more to help. It was during such gestures that Yunshin’s eyes shone brightest. Having watched that busy figure intently, Seheon lowered the blinds again and asked Tak off-handedly,
“How early did he get in?”
“It’s been about forty minutes since he arrived.”
He must have had a sleepless night after all. He’d suspected as much. Still, he had hoped Yunshin would sleep well and have good dreams. At times, Do Yunshin moved exactly as expected while simultaneously defying prediction.
“I shot myself in the foot. Departure is in thirty minutes. When Do Yunshin finishes that call, tell him to come to my room.”
“Yes, understood.”
Click.
The sound of Tak turning to leave and closing the door rang out. Seheon walked with heavy steps toward a tall wardrobe on one side of the office. Most employees who worked in this building kept suits for formal occasions in an office wardrobe. He pulled out a black tie, dark as pitch, and placed it on his desk, gazing down at it quietly.
How much time had passed?
A knock came from outside. When he answered lowly, the door opened, and Yunshin poked his face through the half-open gap. The timing was apt; the call seemed to have ended quickly.
“Chief, you were looking for me?”
“You’ve come to work, Attorney Do Yunshin. Coming from the hospital, I presume?”
Seheon asked with a bright smile, and Yunshin showed an awkward smile. His words faltered, just a little.
“Uh… since you gave permission… yesterday…”
“Why are you stammering? Feeling guilty?”
“Your honorifics laced with sarcasm are quite a blow…”
“I told you next week. Are you confusing this week with next week? Do I need to make you retake vocabulary, or retake verb tenses?”
“…Because I was worried.”
“Right, I underestimated you. Come in.”
As if he hadn’t expected a normal reaction, Seheon flicked his fingers arrogantly and turned his gaze away. Yunshin quickly closed the door and came in, spotting the tie draped over the desk. Reading the room, he picked it up. There was little conversation between them. Like people who both knew this would happen, they moved quietly without a word.
Yunshin squeezed between Seheon’s chair and his desk, perching Seheon on the desktop. Thanks to Seheon docilely complying, their sightlines were reversed. Yunshin’s hands were tender as he tied the tie around Seheon’s neck in a much more comfortable posture. His eyes were solemn as he diligently moved both arms to knot the fine fabric. His voice was cautious, as if broaching a difficult subject.
“The firm atmosphere is uneasy. I understood right away why you left without a word.”
“You were going to hear about it anyway. I told you to get proper sleep tonight. But it seems you couldn’t.”
“It’s nothing special. I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Because you’re not beside me…”
“Do Yunshin, want to know a secret?”
“What is it?”
“These days, I sometimes wake up and find myself touching the empty space beside me in bed for no reason.”
A grave gaze pierced into Yunshin’s face, searching. Thanks to that, it was naturally felt, without needing explanation, that his words were earnest truth of the highest purity.
Who would have thought he could make the simple words *me too* sound so romantic.
Excitement lent strength to Yunshin’s hands involuntarily. Though he was always in a position of yearning for Seheon’s displays of affection, when Seheon actually came out with something like this, he sometimes felt at a loss. Instead of hiding his surprise, he tugged the innocent tie toward himself. A shy smile was a bonus. Like a spreading seed, the smile blossomed into an affectionate fruit at the corner of Seheon’s mouth as well. Lifting the edges of his lips to smile back, he leaned forward and planted a peck on Yunshin’s lips.
Yunshin, regretting the parting of skin, leaned his head down this time and kissed him. As he did so, he skillfully finished the tie knot and straightened his posture.
“It seems our teams are planning to pay condolence calls separately. Those who can’t go will collect condolence money, and those who will go will deliver it—the policy was unified. I read it in the minutes a short while ago.”
“Seeing as those who can’t go are paying their respects with money and those who are going are paying them in person, I suppose you’re going?”
“Is that odd? The truth is, I’ve never even met the deceased.”
Given the firm’s immense scale and systematized workload, it was true that if you were on a different team and not working on the same project, you almost never ran into each other.
“Who would dare stop your busybody ways? Do as you like.”
Yunshin’s face became fully brightened with joy as he held back the corners of his mouth that were struggling to rise, and asked,
“Are you going to pay condolences this morning, sunbae? With the other partners?”
“Yeah, I think so. They seem to think a chief has to show up with a crowd to pay respects.”
“Then there won’t be a chance later.”
“Chance for what?”
“I was worried because I just let you go earlier.”
Though he was conveying it to the other person, his tone was somehow like he was talking to himself. Before Seheon could voice his question, Yunshin took out the answer from his pocket and placed it on his palm. A rectangular bandage was wrapped in transparent packaging. The design on the blue background was presumably a cat illustration.
As if foreseeing what was about to happen, Seheon extended one arm. As if to say *exactly this,* Yunshin quickly pulled his hand over, rolled up his sleeve, and held it fixed in the air. Unwrapping the bandage, he quietly stuck it over the trace on Seheon’s wrist—a wound Seheon had inflicted himself last night because he couldn’t bear to hurt him.
Tap, tap. As he lightly patted it to signal that the treatment was complete, Seheon examined the bandage’s design up close and was dumbfounded.
“Did you sneak off to a pediatrician without me? Must you always choose such grotesque designs…”
“Does it remind you of something?”
“Well. For example, the day I first saw you?”
The mere act of recalling the memory seemed to make heat rise in him. Yunshin, smoothing Seheon’s quickly furrowed brow with his fingertip, quietly shook his head—not because it was wrong, but because it wasn’t the perfect answer.
“It would be the day I precisely informed you of when our first kiss took place.”
“Wasn’t our first kiss there? The company housing arcade.”
“There you go again. It was the company dinner venue.”
“My memory differs. I’m telling you, our lips didn’t touch then.”
Thwack!
Yunshin, who had tried to strike Seheon’s abdomen with his palm, belatedly realized that his own waist injury hadn’t completely healed and released his gathered strength. That sent his whole body swaying. If Seheon hadn’t reflexively reached out and caught him around the back, he would have stumbled and collided with the desk somewhere. Yunshin, now leaning awkwardly against his shoulder, slowly tilted his upper arm to face Seheon’s face from up close.
Neither one initiating, they brought their lips together.
“Chief Gang must be very busy today.”
“Yeah. Tonight, I need to fall asleep holding you. See you at Building A later.”
“Ah, right. Now we don’t have to live apart anymore, do we? I’ve completed my official discharge procedures, so don’t tell me I can’t. I already told Nuna, and I’ve packed all my things from the hospital room.”
“Yes, I said we’ll see each other at home. Ah, speaking of which. Our company housing…”
“Hmm? The company housing?”
The words coming from his mouth always, at any moment, piqued Yunshin’s curiosity. His neat face blinked his eyes as if to say *go on,* shining especially brightly. Seheon considered telling him properly, but then decided against it, thinking this wasn’t the right timing for such a personal matter. Perhaps it was because he wanted to see Yunshin rejoice more honestly, properly, and for a long time.
“Never mind. The timing’s off. Let’s talk about this later.”
“What is it? Why stop mid-sentence? I’m curious.”
“Admit that our first kiss was at the company housing arcade, and I’ll tell you.”
“…”
Unable to bring himself to do so, Yunshin had no choice but to clamp his mouth shut. Seheon had said they’d talk later, which meant he would tell him someday; if so, why not now? But with petty vengeance, he tightened Seheon’s tie forcefully and straightened his posture. In the process, Seheon personally helped so that no strain would fall on Yunshin’s legs. As Yunshin swept his palm smoothly over the black suit Seheon was wearing with composed formality, he expressed his disappointment.
“You shouldn’t look this handsome even in funeral attire. I’m on edge every time you go out.”
Whether he knew how genuinely worried Yunshin was, he offered no particular response. The silence stretched on. Such moments sometimes came between them, but today the air felt different somehow. Reluctantly, Yunshin added,
“Sunbae, what were you just thinking about?”
“I’m not thinking about anything.”
“You can do that?”
“I can. I’m just… looking at you. The Do Yunshin I love.”
A sign of flustered yet joyful emotion flitted briefly across Yunshin’s pupils.
In fact, just moments ago, Seheon had briefly but fiercely pondered the methodology of how to broach the subject of living together with Yunshin.
At what point, in what place, and with what words should he convey it for Do Yunshin to be happiest?
Why, in this situation where trivial things were encroaching upon life, did he feel happy?
As he tangled those thoughts together haphazardly, he suddenly realized that his life revolved solely around Yunshin. The moment he acknowledged it, Seheon’s gaze grew heated, sweeping over every corner of Yunshin’s features. Not stopping there, he furtively devoured with his eyes the long line of his neck, his prominent Adam’s apple, and the tender flesh hidden inside his shirt collar, as if sketching a picture.
“…Sunbae?”
Startled, Yunshin’s shoulders flinched.
Though their skin didn’t directly touch, this state of maintained distance was strangely more arousing. An urge arose to painstakingly invite the tip of his tongue inside and suck on it greedily.
Because Gang Seheon was seducing him with his eyes.
This wouldn’t do at all.
A colleague had died; not much time had passed since hearing the news, and moreover, before even going to pay condolences, his conscience wouldn’t permit him to cling to Seheon here. It wasn’t for his own sake, but for Seheon, who had been busy moving about from night until dawn and would suffer through the entire day today as well. Hurriedly taking a step back, Yunshin backpedaled with heavy steps, as if demonstrating that walking in front of him placed no burden on his body.
“I can’t stay here any longer. Have a safe trip. See you later!”
“If this catches people’s eyes and damages my authority, it’s your responsibility.”
Seheon gestured with his eyes toward the bandage on his wrist. Yunshin replied with a hand wave that he would gladly take full responsibility, then slipped out of the office.
Click.
Yunshin’s face hardened as he held the door handle, exhaling briefly. Glancing back at Seheon’s nameplate on the door, his expression was far from pleasant. He hadn’t honestly felt the full weight of the chief’s position. But seeing Seheon these days, he couldn’t help but know, even if he didn’t want to.
His sleep had decreased, the burden of his work had grown, and his responsibilities at the firm had become crushing. Above all, just moments ago, Seheon had needed him. Before facing someone’s death, he had sought Yunshin’s presence. That man was so strong and proud that he would never utter such words directly, but it was keenly felt. He, who had endured steadfastly alone, now needed Yunshin to bear the heavy weight of life.
It was an immensely joyful thing, yet on the other hand, complex feelings arose. Beyond tying his tie, applying bandages to his wounds, and bringing back a small smile, he wished there was more he could do. As the only person who could read Seheon’s SOS, he wanted to help somehow.
*There must be something I can do to help…*
Yunshin, who had been contemplating seriously, turned toward the hallway instead of entering his own room directly across. When he opened the window, a stifling wind resembling summer blew in. Looking outside, he saw reporters clamoring to get in through the main gate of the building. Perhaps because of the will left by the dead lawyer, the tone of the articles beginning to surface was quite censorious, making Doguk look like an “exploitative law firm.”
They say revenge is best served cold. Yunshin often thought about how true that was. Preparing for lawsuits, he could feel that the saying was largely correct. Seeing the will that had spread uncontrollably across the internet and brought the situation to this point, he felt anew how cold-headed the deceased had been before death. As well as the resentful heart wishing for Doguk’s ruin.
Of course, such things would be resolved with time. Once the heat of the moment cooled, everything would return to its place, as water cools and ice melts. Doguk was too powerful an interest group to be toppled by one person’s death. However, it was almost inevitable that both sides would get hurt in the process.
Suppressing his troubled and melancholy mood, Yunshin was finally about to enter his office when he saw a familiar figure waving at him from down the hallway.
“Attorney Do! Perfect timing.”
“Team Leader? What brings you all the way here? You could have called or asked me to come.”
“It’s something I needed to say in person. I’m in a hurry. Do you have a moment?”
As if to prove the sincerity of his words, the team leader looked around. He was scanning to see if any eyes were watching. A team leader meeting a team member was not unusual in the slightest. Sensing something suspicious in the way he was checking his surroundings, Yunshin gestured toward his office as if to suggest they speak inside.
“Wouldn’t it be better to move elsewhere?”
“Yes, we will. But not your office—to the upper floor.”
“The upper floor?”
“The seniors want to see you.”
“…Me? Why?”
“It’d be a bit much for me to say first; I was asked to bring you quietly. Go and hear it yourself. Come on.”
Yunshin tilted his head and unconsciously looked back. Even at this early hour, the offices were bustling with their respective tasks. With external affairs to attend to on top of their original duties, it would be quite a grueling period for everyone for the time being.
With Seheon’s room at the far end of the hall captured last in his vision, Yunshin followed the impatient team leader and moved forward calmly.