Top Posts Tagged with #moonjunhuismut

"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you can’t name."

✧ moon junhui x f!oc

✧ kwon hoshi x f!oc

✧ summary: She came to Seoul to escape—what she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.

✧ word count: 3.4k

✧ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut

✧ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes ✧ MINORS DNI

Chapter 8

The elevator ride up to her apartment is silent.

Jun keeps his hands in his pockets, unsure if he should say something—if now is the right time. He told her he’d try. But what does trying even look like when you’ve spent years perfecting the art of shutting down?

Min Ah walks a step ahead, her heels soft against the old hallway carpet. No dramatic glances over her shoulder. No looking back to check if he’s still there.

She unlocks the door to her studio apartment with a quiet click. The place smells faintly vanilla and fruity-scented candles. As the door swings open, warm light spills across her wooden floors—soft, gold-hued, welcoming.

It’s small. A tidy little space that immediately tells you who lives here: pastel green throw pillows, vintage pink lamp on the side table, fridge plastered with magnets and Polaroids. There’s a tiny two-seater dining table doubling as her work desk, cluttered with notebooks and a half-drunk iced americano that’s probably been sitting out since morning.

Jun steps in slowly. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he exhales.

God, he thinks. This feels more like a home than mine ever did.

Min Ah toes off her shoes and heads to the sink, muttering something about water. She pours two glasses, doesn’t ask if he wants one, but hands it over anyway. He takes it.

Still, no words.

They sit across from each other at the too-small table, knees bumping underneath. It feels like some weird, domestic parody—like they’re playing house. Except neither of them is smiling.

Jun hasn't said much since they walked in. Min Ah handed him a glass of water and sat across from him, her fingers curling tight around the rim of her own. Her jaw clenched. His shoulders tense.

She’s tired of being the one who always has to ask.

“You ignored me,” she says quietly. “For days.”

Her voice cuts through the room like a wire snap.

Jun looks up. His mouth opens, then shuts again.

“I texted. I waited. You said you wanted me around. And then suddenly I was just—”

She stops. Not because she’s done. Because she doesn’t want to hear her voice tremble.

He runs a hand through his hair, then forces himself to meet her eyes.

“I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Min Ah scoffs.

“That’s not good enough.”

He knows it’s not. He knows she deserves more. But his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and all his rehearsed apologies are tangled up in guilt.

Min Ah stands abruptly. Not to storm off. Just to move. She walks toward the kitchen sink, her back to him, her arms crossed tightly. Her chest rises and falls in a stifled rhythm.

“You don’t get to walk in and out like this, Jun,” she says, voice quieter now. “I don’t care if you’re scared. I’m scared, too.”

Jun exhales through his nose. Every muscle in his body is taut. He doesn't get up—he just watches her.

“I wanted to call,” he murmurs. “I almost did. A hundred times.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I thought I fucked it up already. That if I reached out too late, you’d already moved on.”

“So you chose to disappear.”

Min Ah’s laugh is bitter, more air than sound. She turns around then, arms dropping to her sides, and walks back toward him.

He’s still sitting on the chair, chest slightly hunched, looking like he’d let her hit him if it meant she’d stop looking at him like that.

Min Ah steps in front of him. Right in front. One pace, two. Her knees nearly brushing his again. He has to tilt his chin slightly to look up at her.

“Are you really here now?” she asks. Soft. But not weak. “If I let you in again… are you going to run the moment it gets hard?”

His throat bobs. His eyes search hers like he’s desperate for her to believe him.

“I’m here.”

Min Ah stares down at him, unsure for one second—one final, teetering second—if she should believe it.

Then Jun exhales a shaky breath and lowers his face. Presses his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then his cheek into her stomach.

And stays there.

His arms slowly rise and wrap around her waist, holding her like something precious. His fingers bunch the fabric of her shirt.

She freezes for a moment. Then her hand instinctively reaches up to comb through his hair. Soft, slow strokes. She can feel how tense his shoulders are beneath her fingertips.

He murmurs something into her shirt. Too muffled to catch.

“What?” she asks softly, fingers still in his hair.

Jun pulls back just far enough to look up at her, face soft with guilt. Something raw sits behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Min Ah doesn’t answer. She just cradles his face for a second before leaning down and kissing him.

—

He lifts her easily.

Min Ah lets out a half-gasp, half-laugh into his mouth, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries her. She’s not even sure how they make it to the bed and not end up falling to the floor—everything's a blur of heat and teeth and skin.

Clothes scatter like petals in a storm. Her panties caught on one ankle, his shirt flung somewhere near the lamp. Her bra’s half off, hanging from her elbow as her back hits the mattress.

Jun’s mind is a thunderstorm—loud, chaotic, frantic with want.

She’s underneath him, flushed and panting, her lips swollen from his kiss. How the fuck did he get this lucky? Her hands roam his chest, his abs, her touch urgent like she’s starving.

He lays her down gently. Reverent. Worshipful. But the reverence is only skin-deep—inside, he's splitting open from the sheer need of her. His hands roam greedily, memorizing every inch, every curve. I need to burn this into my brain. I need her. I need her.

He kisses her collarbone. Her sternum. His tongue brushes the swell of her breast and—

“Oh god,” Min Ah gasps, arching into him, head thrown back.

That voice. That sound. She doesn't even recognize it as hers.

“Still want this?” he rasps, his fingers already sliding between her thighs, feeling how soaked she is. He’s teasing, but his voice trembles—like part of him still can’t believe this is happening again.

Min Ah locks eyes with him—fierce, hungry. “Do you even have to ask?”

He grins. Sharp. Starved. Possessive.

He sinks two fingers into her.

She gasps, the air knocking out of her lungs. Her hips twitch, thighs trembling. Her hands grip the sheets like they’re the only things anchoring her to earth.

Jun’s mind short-circuits. She’s so tight. So warm. He feels her flutter around his fingers and his cock twitches, painfully hard. He wants to taste her, worship her, fuck her until her voice goes hoarse from screaming his name. But he can’t wait. Not tonight.

And then—he’s inside her.

“Ah—fuck—Jun!” Min Ah chokes, biting her lip. The stretch is overwhelming, a slow burn that makes her toes curl.

Jun groans into her neck, barely holding back. “I know, baby. I know… just breathe. You got it.”

She does. Slowly. Shakily. One inhale. One exhale. Her body adjusts around him, snug and pulsing. God, he’s thick. He’s deep.

“You're always so full of me,” he groans, like he’s in pain. “So fucking tight. God, Min Ah—”

He pulls back and thrusts again. Deliberate. Deep. Each movement is like a confession—slow apologies carved into her skin. He watches her face twist in pleasure, watches her bite her lip until it goes red.

Min Ah can’t stop touching him. Her fingers thread into his hair, claw down his back. She wants him closer. Deeper. Everywhere.

Their moans tangle in the air—raw, unfiltered.

Then—

He pulls out, flips her gently onto her knees.

“Face the mirror,” Jun growls, voice dark and molten.

Min Ah blinks. Then sees it. The mirrored closet by her bed, catching their reflection—her flushed face, her messy hair, the sheen of sweat on her back. And him. Tall. Towering. Eyes blown wide, pupils dilated like he’s lost in some fever dream.

She shivers.

Jun grabs her hips. Slides back in—one long, thick thrust. She keens.

“Jun—” she gasps, hands gripping the sheets. She looks up. And there she is. In the mirror. She’s never looked like this before. And behind her—Jun, jaw clenched, hair falling into his eyes, watching her like he’s unraveling.

“Look at yourself,” he grits out, one hand on her hip, the other palming her breast. “Look how perfect you are like this.”

She does.

And fuck, it ruins her.

Her mouth drops open as he pinches her nipple. His thrusts slow but punishing—deep enough to make her whole body jolt.

“You see that?” he pants against her ear. “How I fuck you? How your body takes all of me?”

Her moan is guttural. Desperate. “Yes—fuck—yes, Jun, don’t stop.”

He laughs—low and dangerous. “Like what you see?” he teases, nipping at her shoulder until her skin blooms red beneath his teeth.

“Love it,” she whimpers. “I love it.”

His hips snap faster. Their skin slaps wetly. Their breaths get shorter, louder.

Then his fingers sneak between her thighs again. Precision. Destruction.

“Come for me,” he growls, lips brushing her spine. “Let me feel it.”

Min Ah shatters. Loud. Visceral.

“Jun—!” she cries out, her entire body convulsing as the orgasm slams into her. Her walls clamp down on him and he barely lasts another heartbeat.

He groans—a sound from deep in his chest—and drives into her one last time before spilling inside her. Heat. Pressure. Release.

He slumps forward, chest heaving, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.

They stay like that. Breathing. Shaking. Melted together.

Jun can’t speak yet. He just kisses her back, slow and reverent again, his hand still splayed across her belly.

Min Ah closes her eyes. The reflection of them in the mirror still lingers behind her lids. Her body’s buzzing. Her heart’s a mess.

But when he murmurs her name—like a secret—she smiles.

—

She wakes to warmth.

The kind that seeps through skin and settles deep. A steady weight draped across her waist. The softness of breath against her neck.

She doesn’t open her eyes right away. Just listens. The room is quiet, except for the faint creak of the ceiling fan and the rhythm of someone else's breathing—close, even. Steady. Familiar.

His arm curls tighter when she stirs, like he knows she’s about to pull away.

Wen Junhui.

His name sits unspoken in the back of her throat, thick and heavy. Her eyes stay closed as memory rolls over her—slow, inevitable. The night before. The words. The way he touched her like he meant it. The way he looked at her like he meant her.

And now he's here. Still here. Not a ghost in the night. Not a morning-after regret. Not a disappearing act.

She rolls onto her back slowly, cautiously, expecting him to release her.

But instead, he murmurs something rough against her shoulder and pulls her in closer. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like his body knows her before his mind even catches up.

His voice is raw when he speaks.

“Where you going?”

Her heart stutters. She turns her head toward him.

“Nowhere,” she whispers.

Jun cracks one eye open, reluctant. Then the other. The sunlight brushes his cheek, catching the edge of his lashes, the softness of sleep still clinging to him.

He blinks once. Twice.

“You alright?”

The question isn't casual. It’s not even really a question. It’s a reaching. A thread tossed between them, hoping she’ll take it.

She pauses.

Then nods, quiet. “I think so.”

He watches her a second longer, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of her answer. Then he leans in, presses a kiss to her shoulder—so soft, so slow—and lets his forehead rest there.

“Good,” he breathes.

He doesn’t know what to say after that. The silence that stretches between them is full of things unsaid. Full of maybe and sorry and god, I don’t know how to do this right, but I want to try.

Min Ah eventually pulls away and sits up, sheets tucked close around her chest. She doesn’t look at him right away.

Jun stays where he is, watching her from the pillow like she’s somewhere he still doesn’t fully believe he’s allowed to be.

“You always wake up this early?” he asks.

“Only when I’m overthinking.”

He hums, low and thoughtful. Her answer doesn’t surprise him. He’s heard it in her voice before—on late calls, in rushed texts, in the way she sometimes shuts down mid-sentence like she’s swallowing a storm.

He pushes himself up slowly, wincing slightly at the soreness blooming in his back. His hair’s a mess. He doesn’t care.

He looks at her like he wants to say something important, but he doesn’t know how to make the words land right.

“Are you overthinking about me?”

Min Ah gives him a look, the kind that says don’t ask unless you’re ready to hear it.

She doesn’t answer immediately. She just shrugs. “Maybe.”

It hits him harder than it should.

He nods, jaw flexing. Then shifts closer. Close enough to reach for her hand, tentative.

“You don’t have to, you know. Overthink.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He snorts, quiet. Touché.

But it’s true. He’s the king of imploding in silence. Of choosing escape over confrontation. Of disappearing when things feel too much—and lately, everything has felt too much.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“You kind of already did.”

Jun flinches. Just a little.

But he nods. Doesn’t try to defend himself. Doesn’t run this time.

“I know.”

The pause that follows is heavy. But it’s not the kind that makes either of them want to leave. It’s the kind that makes people stay. That makes people fight their way back to something they thought they lost.

She turns to face him fully now. Their hands still loosely intertwined between them, thumb brushing the curve of his fingers.

“So what now, Jun?”

He inhales through his nose. Eyes on her like this is the most important question he’ll ever answer.

“I don’t know how this is supposed to work. But I want it to. I want you to.”

He means it. She knows he does. He says it like someone who’s never said it before.

Min Ah doesn't nod right away. Doesn’t leap. Doesn't surrender to the fantasy.

Because love—whatever this is—isn’t a fairytale with clean starts and neat apologies. It's messy and real and raw. And they’ve both bled in it.

But her hand is still in his.

“I want to,” she says at last. Her voice is steadier now. “But you have to stop ghosting every time you freak out.”

“I won’t.”

She raises a brow.

“No, really. I—” he swallows. “I’m not gonna run anymore.”

“And you need to say what you feel,” she continues, gaze locked on his. “Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.”

His smile is faint, but real. “It’s always messy with me.”

“Then say it anyway.”

There’s a pause.

And then—finally—he squeezes her hand. Not tight. Just… sure.

“I’m scared,” he admits.

It’s not loud. It’s not proud. But it’s honest.

“I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be with someone who sees all the parts of me I usually keep locked away.”

Min Ah leans forward slightly. Their knees are touching now.

“I see them,” she says. “And I’m still here.”

Something in him crumbles and rebuilds in the same breath.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You are.”

And for the first time in a long time, he lets that truth sit without trying to destroy it.

She lets her head fall lightly against his shoulder.

And for once, neither of them pulls away.

—

They move slowly into the morning.

Jun is the first to rise. The light slips over the floorboards like a whisper, and he moves through it like he belongs there — in boxers, bare-chested, his hair a messy halo from sleep. He doesn't say anything, just kisses her forehead before padding out toward the kitchen.

He doesn’t ask where the mugs are — just opens the cupboards one by one, muttering “nope” and “nope” until he finds them. He moves like this isn’t the first time. Like he’s been here before. Like he plans to be here again.

Min Ah pulls on his shirts — oversized, soft, warm from his skin — and leans her hip against the doorway to watch him. The hem falls past her thighs. It smells like him. Like fabric softener and sleep and the ghost of his cologne.

“You always make yourself at home like this?” she teases, arms crossed loosely.

Jun glances at her over his shoulder. He doesn’t smile, not really, but there’s a soft curve to his lips. “Only when I want to stay.”

He says it so simply. Like it’s not a big deal. Like the air doesn’t shift around the words. Like her breath doesn’t catch.

He hands her a mug. Their fingers brush, just slightly.

“You’re dangerous when you’re sweet,” she mutters into the ceramic.

“I’m trying to make up for being an idiot,” he says, shrugging as he sips his own.

She snorts. “Takes more than coffee.”

“I was thinking breakfast. And maybe lunch. Maybe dinner too, if you don’t kick me out before then.”

“We’ll see,” she says, but her voice has softened. Already leaning.

They end up sitting on the floor, backs against the wall under her window, because the dining table is still covered in last night — discarded clothes, an open bottle of wine, her necklace tangled around a fork for some reason.

He toasts the bread a little too much and spreads jam unevenly, the way someone would if they’d lived alone for a while and never really bothered to get good at it.

Min Ah takes a bite anyway.

Jun scrolls through his phone and grumbles about a Monday meeting with someone named Yonseok. Min Ah mumbles about Artois’ moodboard deadline while stealing a second slice of toast.

It’s ordinary. It’s domestic. It’s terrifyingly nice.

And then — in a moment that feels too cinematic to be real — Jun tries to braid her hair.

Keyword: tries.

His hands are warm and clumsy, and she sits cross-legged between his knees on the rug, laughing so hard she almost spills her coffee when he frowns and says, “Why are there so many layers? This is sabotage.”

“It's called having volume,” she replies, but leans back into him anyway.

At some point, they stop talking.

Jun’s hands slide down to rest on her hips, gentle, anchoring.

They sit like that for a while, sunlight pouring across the room, half-eaten toast forgotten on a plate beside them. Outside, the city hums like it’s miles away. But inside this small studio, there’s only them. A quiet bubble of breath and warmth and maybe.

And Min Ah realizes — not in a dramatic thunderclap of epiphany, but in the quiet sinking way hope settles in your bones — that she’s not scared because he’s still here.

She’s scared because part of her is starting to want him to be.

To keep waking up with him in her bed.

To see his mug sitting on her counter.

To let the toast burn and the jam go uneven and not care, because he’s here, and he’s laughing, and he’s trying.

She turns a little, just enough to look up at him.

“What?” he asks, smile lazy, eyes soft with something unspoken.

“Nothing,” she says. “Just... stay a little longer.”

Jun leans forward, forehead brushing hers.

“I wasn’t planning to leave.”

—

Monday Morning

The sunlight hit differently on Mondays.

Usually too harsh, too fast, too loud for someone like Min Ah who preferred to linger in the quiet edges of a morning. But this one was gentle. Drowsy. Warm, like the skin of someone you didn’t want to stop touching.

She sat at her vanity, brushing out her hair in soft, distracted strokes. Her eyes flicked briefly to the clock—7:56. She hadn’t overslept. She had time. Her phone buzzed once.

Text me when you’re downstairs. I’ll walk with you.

A small smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.

She didn’t answer immediately. She finished her hair, dabbed a bit of lip tint, adjusted her blouse—cream-colored, soft on the collar. A little effort, but not too much. Just enough to feel like herself.

—

They met at the lobby of The Parc, the familiar scent of coffee and concrete already filling the quiet hallway.

Jun was there first. Waiting by the glass doors, hands in his pockets, still in that dark coat he liked. He turned the moment he heard her heels on the tile.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” she replied, the word slipping out like breath.

They didn’t hug. Didn’t hold hands. Not in the lobby. Not where the security desk could see, or the other residents might be passing through.

But they walked together.

Quiet.

Close.

At the crosswalk, when the light turned green, Jun gently brushed his fingers against hers. It wasn’t a grab. It wasn’t even a full hold. But Min Ah didn’t pull away.

And that—somehow—was louder than anything else.

—

By the time they stepped into the Quantix–Artois building, the office energy was already awake. People trickling in, coffees in hand, earbuds in, some stopping to greet others.

Min Ah and Jun naturally fell into step apart as they entered.

But not far apart.

She noticed it as they waited for the elevator. The way Jun glanced sideways at her. The way his fingers curled and uncurled by his side like he was resisting the urge to reach.

She tried not to smile.

The elevator opened. Several people were already inside, including Dahyun—who raised her eyebrows the second she saw them together.

“Oh,” Dahyun said as they stepped in. “Morning.”

Min Ah greeted her quietly, standing near the corner. Jun didn’t say much, just gave Dahyun a polite nod. But the silence was weighted. As if someone had suddenly remembered to look closer.

The elevator stopped at Floor 10—Artois.

Jun gave Min Ah a glance. One beat too long.

“Lunch?” he asked under his breath.

She hesitated. Then nodded once.

The doors closed between them. Dahyun elbows her softly, "Isn't it way to early to be in love?" She teased. Min Ah just laughed as she jokingly pushed her.

—

By noon, the office buzz was already circling. Not in obvious words—just glances. Shifts in tone.

At the Artois table in the building café, Dahyun had claimed the spot beside Min Ah, while Eunji was across from her, arms crossed, poking at her bibimbap.

Dokyeom was there too, chattering about how he ran into Seungcheol at the gym and how “buff” was not a strong enough word.

Mr. Kim showed up five minutes late with two drinks in hand. “One’s for the soul,” he said, plopping an iced americano beside Eunji, who only muttered, “Thanks,” in return.

Min Ah smiled politely. She hadn’t told anyone anything.

But she felt it in the air.

A shift.

The way Eunji’s voice got quieter when speaking to her. The way Dahyun gently leaned in a little closer than usual, like a buffer. Mr. Kim was watching all of them, eyes sharp behind his weird mismatched glasses, but said nothing.

Halfway through the meal, her phone buzzed again.

Still good for lunch?

Min Ah replied to Jun almost immediately,

Yes. Where should I meet you?

Two minutes later, someone appeared beside their table.

Jun.

In the middle of the cafeteria. In broad daylight.

The Artois team collectively paused.

Jun’s voice was calm, soft, but firm. “Sorry to interrupt. Min Ah—ready?”

Her heart skipped.

She stood slowly. No one said anything. Even Dokyeom was too stunned to cover the silence.

“Have a good lunch, everyone,” Jun said with a polite nod.

Min Ah followed him.

And behind her, the tension crackled.

—

They didn’t talk about it right away.

Instead, they sat by the back patio of a quiet café on the far end of the block, beneath soft shade, drinking barley tea and eating steaming bowls of jjambbong.

Jun picked out the squid for her. She flicked chili flakes off his chin.

And somehow, it was easy again. Familiar. Quiet, but with warmth.

Min Ah looked at him as he wiped his fingers with a napkin.

“What made you walk up like that?” she asked quietly.

Jun looked up.

“At lunch.”

He paused.

Then, “I just didn’t want to hide anymore.”

Her stomach twisted.

And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe it.

That maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

—

That afternoon, the office lights felt too bright.

Min Ah stared at her screen, fingers still on the keyboard, eyes barely tracking the layout file open in front of her. She hadn’t made a single change in twenty minutes.

She could feel it. Not hear it, not see it—feel it.

Something had shifted.

No one had said anything to her directly. Not yet. But the air inside Artois felt a degree colder. Like someone had cracked a window and left it open, letting doubt and assumption creep in like wind.

Across the room, Dahyun was tapping away on her laptop, earbuds in. Eunji, however, sat stiffly at her desk, occasionally glancing over.

When their eyes met, Min Ah smiled. Eunji didn’t smile back.

Mr. Kim entered the room a moment later, humming something under his breath. He was wearing that chaotic striped shirt again, but even his usual chaos seemed subdued. He looked at her a beat longer than necessary before moving on.

But Hoshi… Hoshi was the loudest silence of them all.

He hadn’t spoken to her since this morning.

Usually, by now, he would’ve spun around in his chair to tell her about a meme he saw. Or shoved a snack onto her desk. Or whined about a client call.

But his back stayed turned. Shoulders squared, tense.

At one point, he laughed at something Eunji said. But the laugh was too sharp, too quick. Forced.

When he stood to stretch, his eyes accidentally passed over her—just for a second—and then looked away again. Not angry. Just… absent.

Like she was invisible.

—

The tension finally cracked at 4:13 PM, in the middle of an unusually slow client briefing.

Eunji said something—Min Ah didn’t even remember what—and when she tried to respond with a casual comment, Eunji cut in sharply.

“You don’t have to explain everything, you know,” Eunji muttered.

Min Ah blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“You’re not the only one in this team who works,” Eunji added, louder now.

Mr. Kim looked up from his notepad. “Okay, enough.”

Min Ah felt her cheeks flush. “What… is going on?”

Eunji didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened, her fingers clenching her pen.

Dokyeom, who had been unusually quiet all day, finally sighed. “Maybe we should just be honest about what’s bothering everyone.”

“I’m fine,” Eunji snapped.

“You’re obviously not,” Dahyun said, deadpan, not even looking up.

The room went still.

Min Ah swallowed. Her voice was soft. “Is this… about me?”

“It's not about you,” Eunji said. “But you made it everyone’s business when you walked out of the cafeteria like that.”

“I didn’t realize having lunch with someone meant I owed everyone an explanation,” Min Ah said, trying to keep her voice even.

“But it wasn’t just anyone, was it?” Eunji’s tone was sharp. “You left with Jun. And everyone saw it.”

“I didn’t sneak off,” Min Ah defended. “He came to ask me.”

“Exactly,” Eunji said. “He came to you. At our table.”

“And?”

“And maybe you could’ve… thought a little more about how that might look.”

“To who?” Dahyun interjected, voice calm but cutting. “To you? Or to Hoshi?”

Silence again.

Hoshi still hadn’t said a word.

He was sitting at the edge of the meeting room table now, one leg bouncing slightly. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap.

Everyone looked at him.

He didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

Mr. Kim exhaled. “Look. I know we were all maybe… hoping for a different story.”

Min Ah’s stomach twisted.

“But just because we imagined something doesn’t mean it was promised,” Mr. Kim added. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She could’ve let him down more clearly,” Eunji muttered.

Min Ah’s voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t lead him on.”

“No one’s saying you did,” Dokyeom cut in, frowning. “Okay? Just… maybe the timing was too fast. Or just hard to process.”

“She’s a grown woman,” Dahyun said firmly. “So is Hoshi. We’ve all made decisions. Let’s not act like this is high school.”

Mr. Kim nodded. “Exactly. Feelings are messy, but what matters is how we handle it here, as a team.”

Finally, Hoshi stood.

Everyone looked up.

His voice was calm. Too calm. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Mr. Kim asked, gently.

“Yeah.” Hoshi gave a half-smile, directed at no one. “Maybe I just… took things too personally.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Hoshi grabbed his tumbler, pushed in his chair, and walked out.

—

After the meeting, Min Ah stood alone in the hallway by the vending machine.

She stared at the row of snacks, not really seeing any of them. Her head was spinning. She hadn’t expected the quiet to turn into this—sharp words, messy assumptions, and the clear divide it left in the room.

Dahyun came to stand beside her, silent for a second.

“He’s not mad at you,” Dahyun finally said.

“I know,” Min Ah whispered. “But I feel like everyone else is.”

Dahyun shrugged. “Let them be. The ones who matter don’t mind. And the ones who mind… well, they’ll come around.”

Min Ah nodded slowly.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside the team had cracked—and no matter how much she told herself it would pass, some things would never go back to exactly how they were before.

—

It's Wednesday afternoon already.

The day dragged.

Min Ah had tried to stay focused — really, she had. She and Jun had eaten lunch together again, this time a little more subtle than Monday’s grand cafeteria scene. He hadn’t made a big show of it today.

But still, there was tension. And not just between her and Jun.

Eunji barely said a word to her. Dahyun had been distant too, though to be fair, she’d been heading out for external meetings more often this week. Even Mr. Kim seemed unusually quiet when the group sat down for lunch. And Hoshi?

He didn’t even sit with them.

He hadn’t since Monday.

Back at her desk, Min Ah tried to shake it off. She tapped through artboards, repositioning graphic elements with robotic precision. Her eyes kept drifting to the time in the corner of her screen.

2:34 PM.

She looked around. Everyone was back at their desks. Except for Hoshi.

She glanced toward the usual chaos of the shared office space — no sign of his loud hoodie or obnoxiously bright sneakers. Not sprawled on the beanbag, not refilling his endless iced americano.

He was just… gone.

Min Ah frowned.

She leaned toward Dahyun, who was typing furiously beside her. “Hey, where’s Hoshi?”

Dahyun didn’t pause. “Said he needed to WFA for a bit.”

“WFA?”

“Work from anywhere,” Dahyun replied with a small shrug. “He does that sometimes. Said the office vibe felt weird.” A pause. “Didn’t say where he was going.”

Min Ah’s frown deepened.

She sat back in her chair and stared blankly at her screen.

Then she remembered something.

Her very first week at Artois. When she was still nervous, still learning people’s names. Hoshi had given her a Choco Pie and said:

“If the office ever feels too much, I go to the rooftop. Don’t tell Mr. Kim. That’s my holy ground.”

She stood up.

“I’m just going to check something.”

—

The elevator dinged at the top floor. No one was around.

Min Ah pushed open the heavy metal door to the rooftop and was immediately met with the scent of hot concrete and faint city air. The sky was almost too blue—one of those rare clear Seoul afternoons. And there he was.

He sat cross-legged near the edge, not too close to the railing, phone beside him, his blazer balled up like a pillow behind his back. He didn’t hear her at first—earbuds in, music faintly leaking from them.

Min Ah hesitated, heart oddly tight. Then she stepped forward, letting the metal door click shut behind her.

He looked up.

Paused.

Pulled his earbuds out.

They stared at each other.

“…Hey,” she offered, voice small but steady.

Hoshi blinked, then smiled—thin, polite. Too polite.

“Hey.”

“I figured you’d be up here,” she said, stepping closer. “You mentioned it once.”

“Did I?” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I talk too much sometimes.”

“Yeah. That’s one of your better traits.”

He gave a soft chuckle, but his eyes didn’t crinkle the way they usually did.

Min Ah sat down beside him, not too close. Just enough.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The wind carried faint city noise—the distant sound of honking, construction, life continuing below.

Then Hoshi spoke.

“You and Jun, huh?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “That obvious?”

“I mean…” He shrugged. “The entire building probably knows after that cafeteria scene.”

“He just wanted to have lunch,” she said. “I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

“Did you want him to?”

Min Ah turned to look at him. “What are you asking me?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I’m just… thinking out loud.”

She looked away again, sighing. “I didn’t mean for things to get messy.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation,” he replied, softer now. “Not even me.”

“That’s not true.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “I do owe you one.”

Hoshi stayed quiet.

“I like you,” she said.

His breath hitched slightly.

“I do,” she repeated, “but I didn’t know what to do with it. I thought we were just becoming friends, and then Jun happened and… everything felt blurry. Fast. And confusing.”

Hoshi didn’t look at her. Just nodded, staring out at the buildings in the distance.

“I guess I wanted to tell you that. Not because I think it’ll fix things,” she said, “but because you’ve been avoiding me for three days and I don’t want us to disappear.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Then Hoshi finally turned his head.

“I saw you, you know.”

Her heart stopped.

“Saw me…?”

“Saturday. The club. My birthday. You and him.” He tilted his head, voice light but tired. “He kissed you.”

Min Ah felt her stomach twist. “Oh.”

“I don’t think anyone else noticed. They were all too drunk. But I stepped out for a second and saw it.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“I was stupid, maybe,” he added with a weak smile. “Thinking there was a chance. Maybe it was the way you laughed with me. Or the way you’d listen. Or how you ate your Choco Pie like it was the only thing saving you from a mental breakdown.”

Min Ah snorted—unexpectedly—and it broke the tension just a little.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to be,” Hoshi said. “I get it. Timing’s a bitch.”

They sat in silence for a while longer.

Then, slowly, Min Ah began to speak. She told him about her confusion. About how Jun made her feel seen and distant at the same time. About the weekend they spent together, how good it was, but also how scary.

She didn’t realize how much she’d been carrying until the words started tumbling out.

And Hoshi… listened. He didn’t interrupt. Just leaned back, closed his eyes, and let her speak.

By the time she finished, the sun was beginning to dip low.

Hoshi opened his eyes again and smiled—not polite, not forced this time.

“Well, that’s complicated,” he said.

“Yup,” she breathed.

“And messy.”

“The messiest.”

He chuckled and nudged her foot with his. “I guess I’m glad you told me. Not gonna lie—it sucked for a bit. But I think… I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“No,” he grinned. “But I’ve got Choco Pies and a very dramatic Spotify playlist.”

Min Ah laughed, finally.

They sat a while longer. Not entirely healed. But no longer hurting in silence.

Something between them had shifted. Again.

But this time, maybe, in a gentler way.

And when they both stood to leave, when she touched his arm and smiled gently, he didn’t pull away.

He held her gaze.

Just for a second longer than he should have.

Then he watched her walk back inside.

Only when the door shut did he speak — just to himself, barely audible.

“Maybe I missed my chance. But if there’s still one left... I’ll wait for you, Min Ah. Just not in your way.”

The wind carried it away. Like it always did.

But this time, it didn’t take everything.

Just enough.

—

This chapter is heavily inspired by the song Love Hangover by Jennie! And I have to say I'm starting to doubt who Min Ah should end up with.... can you guys tell me are you #teamjun or #teamhoshi ?

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