Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gi-hun hadn’t planned on ending up at a bar the night after orientation, though nerves had a way of pulling him into bad decisions.

The bar wasn’t anything special, a small bar tucked off a back street in downtown Seoul. Dim lights, wood paneled walls, faint scent of whiskey and soju. It was quiet enough to think and cheap enough to justify a second can of beer. So here he was, sat hunched over the counter, thumbs tracing the edge of his brand new student ID.

He tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted every time he thought about tomorrow. New campus. New classmates. A Philosophy class he barely remembered registering for. His friend, Sang-woo, had coaxed him into applying to university after getting into SNU himself. Gi-hun remembered laughing, waving him off with dramatic flair, insisting he wasn’t smart enough for university–let alone a Philosophy program at Yonsei University.

He was so wrapped in the rhythm of his own anxiety, he didn’t notice the man until he was sliding into the bar stool beside him gracefully, like he had done this a thousand times. He was older, sharply dressed, and watching him like a paradox in need of unraveling.

“Mind if I sit?” said the man, deadpanning Gi-hun.

Gi-hun looked startled, almost as though he didn’t expect this man to pay attention to him. Let alone ask if it's okay to sit beside him.

“Um…yeah sure.” He said, slightly stumbling over his words.

The man let out a quiet, satisfied hum as he settled onto the stool. He extended a hand toward Gi-hun, calm and deliberate.

“Hwang In-ho.”

Gi-hun hesitated for half a second before reaching out to shake it.

“Ah–Seong Gi-hun.”

In-ho’s lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement. His grip was steady, just a little too firm, and lingered a moment longer than necessary. Gi-hun didn’t think much of it, just chalked it up to awkward timing and a weird first impression.

In-ho’s gaze dropped to Gi-hun’s hands, still fiddling with the edge of his student ID.

“First day tomorrow?” he asked, eyes trailing slowly back up.

Gi-hun could feel the weight of his stare like a heat lamp.

“Is it that obvious?” he replied, letting out something between a nervous laugh and a sigh. He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how small his voice sounded. “But, uh… yeah. First day. Kinda feels like showing up to a test I didn’t study for.”

In-ho didn’t respond right away. He just tilted his head, studying him with a faint smirk.

“Hm.”

Gi-hun had a light buzz from the two beers he’d downed earlier, just enough to warm his chest, not enough to count as courage.

“I’m—uh, I’m gonna get another drink,” Gi-hun mumbled, already half-standing. “You want anything?”

In-ho tilted his head, clearly amused. “Offering to buy a stranger a drink? Bold move.”

Gi-hun shrugged, suddenly unsure if it was stupid. “I mean… it’s just beer.”

In-ho let out a soft hum of approval, lips curving into something almost kind.

“Sounds good.”

Gi-hun nodded quickly, nearly bumping into the edge of the bar as he turned away.

Gi-hun came back with 2 cans of beer, setting one down in front of In-ho, and one in front of himself.

“To what?” Gi-hun asks, raising his own can.

In-ho clinks it lightly.

“To uncertainty.”

Gi-hun scoffed. “You sound like a professor trying to sound deep.”

In-ho smiles. Doesn’t confirm.

They talk for a while. The details blur in the soft buzz of alcohol and whatever this strange, not-quite-flirty connection is. At some point, they end up talking about people, how they act, why they lie, whether anyone really changes. In-ho says, almost absentmindedly, but it sticks with Gi-hun the whole night.

“Most people just want to feel like they’ve made the right choice, even if they haven’t.”

It sounds like something from a textbook, but he says it like it’s just a thought he had. Gi-hun hums in response, not sure how to reply, but it sticks with him anyway.

He doesn't notice how late it’s gotten until the lights start to dim and a staff member yawns near the end of the bar.

Eventually, In-ho checked the time and stood up, smooth and unhurried, smoothing his black dress shirt down. He reached for his coat, folding it over his arm with practiced ease.

“I should go,” he said, tone casual, as usual. But there was something unreadable behind his eyes, like he’d already decided this was far from the start.

Gi-hun blinked, a little slower now with the alcohol in his system. “Oh. Yeah, right.”

In-ho glanced at him once more, that same half-smile on his lips.

“Thanks for the drink.”

He turns halfway toward the door, adjusting his coat on his shoulders.

“Buy me a soju sometime.”

It's almost as though he knows they’ll cross paths again. Gi-hun didn’t think anything of it, just nodded and smiled as he walked through the door, disappearing into the night.

He picked up his phone, called a cab, and left some cash on the counter as he stumbled out the door.

Eventually, the cab pulled up beside him. He climbed in and began the quiet ride back to his lonely apartment.

He unlocked his phone and, without much thought, opened his messages.
[Gi-hun]
sangwoo

[Gi-hun]
hey

[Gi-hun]
i just met the weirdest guy

[Gi-hun]
like he just came up to me and started talking

The dots blinked for a long time before Sang-woo responded.

[Sang-woo] 
It is 2:07 AM.

[Sang-woo] 
Are you safe?

[Sang-woo] 
Are you intoxicated?

[Gi-hun]
no

[Gi-hun]
a little

[Sang-woo] 
Go home. Don’t you have class tomorrow?

[Gi-hun]
i am going home and yes i do have class tmw

[Sang-woo] 
Go to sleep, Gi-hun. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

[Gi-hun]
do you think i made a mistake talking to him

[Gi-hun]
sangwoo

[Gi-hun]
?!?!

He was left on read.

His apartment was cold when he walked in. Not freezing, just still. The kind of quiet that felt too aware of itself. He kicked off his shoes lazily by the door, one landing upright, the other falling on its side like it had given up too.

His One-room apartment was full of packed boxes stacked on top of each other. It was simple really; a bed, desk, microwave, everything stacked together like one underwhelming corner of adulthood.

He didn’t turn on the lights. The dim glow from the open windows was enough to guide him through the apartment. His bag hit the floor with a soft thud, and he managed to tug off his coat with one arm while checking his phone with the other. No messages.

His bed looked like it hadn’t been made in a week, which to be fair, it hadn’t. He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes, he just flopped onto the bed sideways, one arm flung over his eyes. His head buzzed faintly, a bit from the alcohol, but mostly from that stranger, more specifically, In-hos voice.

Buy me a soju sometime.

Gi-hun mumbled something incoherent into the mattress and passed out fully clothed, utterly unprepared for what tomorrow will bring.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun woke up with his mouth dry, his head pounding, and his entire body twisted sideways across the mattress like he’d been dropped there by someone else. It took him a second to register the daylight seeping through the windows and another to register his blaring alarm, which had apparently been playing on repeat for god knows how long. He groaned, rolled over, smacked it quiet, and checked the time.

8:43 AM.

His first class started at 9:00.

He quickly did the math in his head. Seventeen minutes to get to a class that was thirty minutes away. Which left him… negative thirteen minutes to get ready.

Cool. Great. Perfect.

He was already failing, and the semester hadn’t even started.

He launched out of bed still wearing yesterday’s clothes cursing himself and that man he couldn’t remember the name of for dragging him into more beer and self-sabotage. He hopped to the bathroom, brushing his teeth one-handed while jamming on a shoe. Grabbed his coat. His laptop. His bag.

And bolted out the door.

He just barely caught his first bus. It was packed full of teenagers with headphones and cell phones, as well as grumpy elderly people who were cursing under their breaths about how busy the bus was today. He didn’t find a seat, so he stood. Hanging onto the strap handles for dear life.

He looked a mess, his clothes wrinkled, hair tousled. He didn’t really put much thought into his appearance, but today was different. He needed to make a good first impression. Instead, he was showing up hungover with a blaring headache, and probably smelling like cigarettes and booze.

Awesome, everyone will want to talk to me looking like this.

Suddenly, the bus slammed to a stop. People bumped into each other, some dropping their bags and others yelling at the bus driver. Gi-hun stumbled a bit, but caught himself on one of the handles. He was just relieved it was almost his stop.

From the corner of Gi-huns eye, he saw something. An elderly woman trying to gather her dropped groceries on the floor. He quickly walked over, crouched down and helped her gather the groceries.

“Ah, damn bus,” the woman muttered, trying to reach for a rolling onion. “Always stops like it's trying to launch us out the window.”

Gi-hun continued to crouch down beside her, grabbing a carton of eggs, somehow still all intact. He grabbed it before it slid under the seat. “Here, let me help you.”

“Tch. Kids these days never help,” She said, glancing sideways to him. “Too busy staring at their phones.”

“Well, I was busy ruining my first day of class…” He said as he handed her the carton of eggs.

She snorted “You’re going to school looking like that?”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, Bold move, right?”

She huffed then gave him a short nod as he handed her the last rolling tomato “Still better than most. You’ll do fine.”

“You think?!” He said a little too enthusiastically.

“No,” she said deadpan. “But you’re trying. That counts”

Gi-hun let out an awkward laugh, but still had that same kind smile on his face.

Suddenly, the automated voice from the bus announced the next stop.

“Next stop, Sinchon Station. Sinchon Station.”

He quickly leapt up from where he was crouching, adjusted his bag on his shoulders, and practically ran to the bus doors.

“Ah! Thankyoububye ma’am!” He quickly muttered out as he gave the elderly woman a polite bow and a wave before stepping off the bus and running down the station stairs to catch his train.

“Seoul Subway Line 2, Seoul Subway Line 2, Seoul–” He kept repeating to himself as he swiftly walked to the train platform.

It was 9:10 by the time the subway doors closed. He stood wedged between another person around his age with AirPods in and a businessman who smelled like mint and regret, wondering if it was still worth showing up to class at all.

Ten minutes on the bus, twenty on the train. I’m fucked.

He turned his attention toward the subway window, already rehearsing excuses he wouldn’t use.

He pulled out his phone, quickly scanning the home screen.

[Jung-bae]
dude!!! first day of class, u hyped?

[Jung-bae]
dont be that guy who shows up late first day

[Jung-bae]
did u eat?

[Jung-bae]
you know what they say

[Jung-bae]
eat even on your deathbed

[Jung-bae]
wait not that ur gonna die

Gi-hun blinked at his home screen. All these messages were sent at 7am. Too early to be texting like that.

[Gi-hun]
too late man, i just boarded the train rn

[Jung-bae]
dude.

[Gi-hun]
its not my fault!!! believe me!!! i was sabotaged

[Jung-bae]
right…

[Gi-hun]
you wont even believe me if i told you

[Jung-bae]
yeah probably not

[Jung-bae]
anyway i gotta get back to work, convenience store is buzzing this morning

[Gi-hun]
pls save me something to eat, ill pick it up after class

[Jung-bae]
i got you, i even saved you that banana milk with the cute little straw you like

[Gi-hun]
im not 5 years old jungbae

[Jung-bae]
but its so cute

[Gi-hun]
 …yeah okay save it for me

Gi-hun pocketed his phone, exhaling a laugh as he shook his head. 20 minutes had already passed, and it was time to get off the train. Exit 3. He memorized his entire commute thinking he would be organized the day of. Well, he thought wrong.

It's 9:30 now. 10 minute walk to campus. 5 minutes if I sprint.

So that's what he did.

He sprinted like his GPA depended on it. Which, unfortunately, it kind of did. His bag bounced against his side, sweat prickled at the back of his neck, and by the time he reached the building, he was gasping for air like he’d just run a marathon through hell.

He found his lecture hall, nearly slipped trying to slow down, and shoved the door open with all the grace of a man being chased by a serial killer.

The room was full. Silent. And at the front of it all, stood the man from the bar,

Gi-hun blinked. Once. Twice.

In-ho looked up from the podium.

No, no, no, no. This was not happening.

He was already here. Already teaching. Already in the middle of flipping through a folder when Gi-hun stormed in like a cartoon character.

Their eyes met.

In-ho didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The slight curve at the corner of his mouth said everything. That same smirk from the night before, now sharpened by fluorescent lighting and very real authority that gave him goosebumps.

Gi-hun froze, mid step, gave the world's smallest bow and stumbled towards the back row. He tripped going up the stairs, but caught himself. That's how flustered he was.

Please don't say anything. Please don't say anything. Please—

“Mr. Seong.”

In-ho’s voice echoed across the room as he snapped the folder shut. Not loud, just precise. Controlled.

Gi-hun froze mid-step like a kid caught sneaking candy he wasn’t supposed to have.

“Uh—”

In-ho didn’t blink. “Would you care to explain why you’re barging into my class 35 minutes late?”

“I—I didn’t barge, I just—”

“Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like you barged into my class.”

The class let out a soft ripple of laughter. Not cruel, just surprised.

In-ho didn’t smile. “If punctuality is a challenge, I suggest you take up jogging. Or maybe set an alarm that works.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth, then shut it again. Useless.

In-ho glanced at the clock.

“Take a seat, Mr.Seong. Quietly this time.”

Gi-hun didn’t respond. He slowly continued to make his way up the lecture hall stairs and found a seat in the back.

He felt every eye on the back of his neck. His skin was on fire, but he didn’t move. Just swallowed it and stared at the corner of his desk like it held the answers to life itself.

Down at the front, In-ho put the folder aside with slow, deliberate ease. He looked out over the class, studying each person, his gaze landing on Gi-hun for a beat longer than normal.

Then, finally, he spoke.
“Let's begin with something simple.”

His voice was calm. Unrushed. It filled the room without needing to rise.

“Who are you?”

A few students shifted in their seats. No one answered.

Gi-hun sat there, staring at In-ho.

Did he have… dimples? No, shut up. This isn’t the time.

In-ho spoke again.

“Not your name. Not your major. I'm asking–how do you know who you are?”

He picked up a piece of chalk, moved to the board and started to write.

Gi-hun stared in awe. His handwriting was perfect. A half mix of cursive and print, but neat enough to read. He had never seen anyone have such perfect handwriting, let alone writing so gracefully.

He wrote on the board: THE OTHER.

“There’s a theory in phenomenology, philosophy of experience, that you can’t truly know yourself without being seen by another. Not fully.”

“You are, in part, made real by someone else’s gaze. Their attention. Their judgment.”

“You only know you're funny because someone laughed. You only think you're quiet because someone pointed it out.”

He turned back to face the room.

“And sometimes, it only takes one person to change the way you see yourself.”

Gi-hun’s heart was pounding now, a cold bloom opening in his chest. He kept his eyes on his desk, but it didn’t matter, he could feel it. He could feel the way his cheeks flushed, and the way In-ho definitely stared at him when he said that.

It also proved something. It proved that the whole bar interaction wasn't just a casual chit chat. It was flirtation, and Gi-hun flirted back. With his now professor.

The words echoed once more.

Buy me a soju sometime.

He was practically asking him out, and it went right over Gi-huns head.

In-ho spoke again.

“You only know you’re desirable because someone looked at you like you are.”

That was Gi-huns last straw. He looked up from his desk to see In-ho staring directly into his soul. His heart skipped a beat, his eyes widened a bit as he stared back.

What the fuck was his problem?!

Gi-hun didn’t hear most of the lecture after that.

Words buzzed together in the background. Concepts, examples, half a quote about Sartre and perception. But it all floated past him like radio static. He kept his head down, eyes locked on a notebook he was half taking notes in and half scribbling aimless loops instead of actual notes.

Every so often, he swore he could feel In-ho’s eyes on him again.

He didn’t look up to check.

When he finally did glance at the clock, it was 10:29.

One more minute.

Then he could leave. Then he could breathe. Then he could find a corner to quietly die in.

The clock hit 10:30.

In-ho spoke once more.

“We’ll continue our discussion on perception and identity in the next class. Read pages twelve through thirty. Bring questions.”

In-ho started to pack up his things, slowly and meticulously. He paused, glanced up, and said, “Oh. And try to be on time, Mr. Seong.”

The smile he gave was not kind. It was surgical.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened. He gave a slight nod and a fake smile in return.

He got up, grabbed his bag, stuffed his laptop and notebook into it without even closing it. He just wanted out of that lecture hall.

He made his way down the stairs. Students were saying their goodbyes to their friends, some going up to In-ho to ask questions, others just leaving without a word.

Gi-hun definitely was going to be one of those students who left without a word.

He almost made it to the door when—

“Mr.Seong.”

He froze. His grip on his bag tightened. He could hear his pulse in his eardrums.

Gi-hun slowly turned around, a forced smile on his face.

“Ah–Professor Hwang.” he stammered, trying not to choke on the title. God, this was a nightmare.

Gi-hun noticed some things he hadn’t noticed before about In-ho.

Not just the way he spoke, calm, exact. Or the way he never raised his voice, even when calling him out like a high school delinquent.

No, now it was the glasses.

He hadn’t seen them at the bar, or maybe he had and just didn’t register them through the beer haze and neon lighting. But here, under harsh fluorescent bulbs and academic authority, they looked criminal.

Black on top, tortoiseshell on the bottom. Neat and classic, but sharp enough to feel like a threat. The kind of glasses that said I know more than you, and I don’t have to prove it.

They sat low on In-ho’s nose like he’d earned the right to look over them at people. Like he liked it.

He also noticed smaller details about him, the way he had slight dimples when he smirked, his uneven cupid's bow, the freckle on his right earlobe.

He realized he was staring at this man, his professor, he had to physically snap himself out of it.

“Um, Sorry for being late this morning.” Gi-hun said with an awkward smile, shifting his weight on his feet.

“I'm not upset. You’ll just have to work twice as hard to impress me now.” In-ho said, raising an eyebrow while placing a friendly hand on Gi-huns shoulder, slightly squeezing.

Gi-hun short circuited. He didn’t know how to react, he just stood there like a deer in headlights.

The other man's lips curled into a smirk as he reached into his bag. He pulled out 2 painkillers and a bottle of water.

“Take it, Gi-hun. I know you need it after last night.”

Gi-hun’s lips parted. Brows slightly raised. Staring at In-ho like he’d just grown another head. Or confessed a felony.

It wasn’t the painkillers that got him, or the hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t even the reference to last night.

It was the way he said his name.

Gi-hun.

No "Mr. Seong." No formality. Just Gi-hun.

Said softly, almost like it was earned.

That name didn’t belong in In-hos mouth like that.

“You—” Gi-hun started, then stopped. Swallowed.

“You called me by my name.”

In-ho didn’t blink. He just tilted his head slightly, like he was observing a reaction he’d already predicted.

“Does it bother you?” He asked.

Gi-hun hesitated. His throat felt too dry to answer.

In-ho handed him the water bottle without waiting.

“No,” he said, voice low. “It's fine.”

Gi-hun downed the painkillers and practically chugged the water.

“Don’t be late next time,” In-ho said, walking towards the door.

He paused.

And with the faintest hint of a smile–

“I’d hate to miss you.”

Chapter Text

“I’d hate to miss you.”

Gi-hun froze.

He stared at the back of the other man still lingering in the doorway, heat crawling up his neck even as the color drained from his face.

In-ho turned, just enough to glance at him over his shoulder. His mouth twitched, like he was holding back a grin. Or another sly remark. Maybe both.

Gi-hun looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

Cute. 

Gi-hun’s lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, anything, but they snapped shut before a sound escaped.

“There’s a textbook on my desk for you,” In-ho said, voice lower now, already turning away. “Make sure you read those chapters. And remember what I said. Work twice as hard, hm?”

He moved toward the door, pausing only to adjust his glasses with a smooth press to the bridge of his nose.

“Do take care, Mr. Seong.”

Gi-hun blinked. The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
“Oh, we’re back to Mr. Seong now?”

In-ho didn’t turn around. He just stood there, facing the noise of the hallway beyond.

Then, barely audible, a soft chuckle. So quiet Gi-hun wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been hanging on to every breath and movement the other man made.

“Tempting as it is to call you by your first name in front of an open door,” In-ho assured, dry and amused, “I don’t think that’s a wise choice.”

Gi-hun scrambled for words.

“No, yeah. Of course. Smart. I wasn’t... suggesting anything. At all. Totally just a joke.”

In-ho tilted his head slightly. Still not turning around.

He was clearly amused.

“You’re really bad at pretending you weren’t.”

Then, with the faintest smile:
“See you Wednesday, Mr. Seong.”

And just like that, he disappeared down the hall.

Gi-hun stayed frozen in place, still staring at the empty doorway. He could hear voices outside, students greeting In-ho, casual and familiar, their chatter overlapping like background noise to a routine that didn’t include him.

He must’ve been well-respected. A favorite, even. And he was a good professor, a really good one.

So why would he risk all of that for someone like Gi-hun?

This wasn’t just unprofessional. It was dangerous. Professors got fired for less.

The memory of In-ho’s warm, steady hand lingered on his shoulder like static beneath the skin. The grounding weight of it. The way it had fit so perfectly in that space, fingers pressing just enough to say something without saying anything.

It was suffocating. And yet… it felt right.

Gi-hun.

It wasn’t strange to be called by your first name. But hearing it from him felt different. Like warmth. Like safety.

Of course, it wasn’t natural. Not even close. It was the kind of thing people frowned upon. Having a crush on your professor wasn’t just embarrassing, it was inappropriate. Unethical.

Still, the tone echoed in his head like a whisper that refused to fade.

Gi-hun slipped out of the lecture hall, blending into the endless stream of students moving through campus.

By the time he left the building, his head was buzzing. His feet moved on autopilot, barely registering the walk, the second subway ride, or the three near-death experiences crossing the street.

It was the same walk he did every day.

Passed the market where Sang-woo’s mom worked. Passed the café with the overpriced lattes and pastries he always judged but secretly wanted. And when he finally arrived at the slightly run-down convenience store where Jung-bae worked, it felt like muscle memory.

The bright yellow store sign blinked above him like always. Same buzzing lights. Same glass door that never closed properly. Same dumb little bell that announced him like he was the main character in a low-budget sitcom.

He stepped inside.

Jung-bae was behind the counter, peeling the plastic off a kimbap roll with all the enthusiasm of someone deep in retail hell. He didn’t even look up, just flipped a page in whatever trashy magazine had his attention.

“It’s in the fridge,” he stated, gesturing lazily without taking his eyes off the page.

Gi-hun exhaled and made his way over, opened the fridge, then froze.

He turned back around, scandalized.

“Dude. You said you were saving me banana milk. Why is there only strawberry milk in here? And egg salad? What the hell?”

Jung-bae still didn’t look up. “Some guy came in all worked up about banana milk. Looked desperate. I panicked.”

His tone was flat, mouth full of kimbap.

Gi-hun groaned, throwing his hands in the air like someone personally betrayed. “I’ve been thinking about that banana milk since nine in the morning.”

He grabbed the strawberry milk and egg salad anyway, sulking back to the counter like a man in mourning.

Jung-bae finally looked up, and winced.

“Damn. You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Gi-hun muttered. “Really helpful.”

“Rough day?”

“More than rough,” he said around a mouthful of sandwich. “And now I’m grieving a banana milk that you didn’t save me.”

“You’re lucky I even save you food for free at all.”

Gi-hun swatted his arm lightly, sucking his teeth while he stabbed his straw into the milk carton and took a sip.

Jung-bae watched him for a moment, then asked, more quietly this time, “Seriously though. What happened? Philosophy already wrecking you?”

Gi-hun paused. The straw lingered between his lips.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked up, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

He wanted to tell him. Wanted to say he accidentally flirted with an older guy at a bar, and that older guy turned out to be his professor. He wanted to explain the way his stomach wouldn’t stop twisting, or how the textbook in his bag felt like a time bomb.

But in that moment, he didn’t even want to think about it.

“It’s nothing,” Gi-hun said, flashing that too-big smile he always used when he was hiding something.

“You sure, dude?” Jung-bae asked, eyes flicking to the death grip Gi-hun had on the milk carton.

“Yeah. Just... a really hard course, y’know?”

Jung-bae didn’t reply. He just leaned on the counter, watching as Gi-hun finished the last few bites of his sandwich under the store’s harsh fluorescent lights, surrounded by packaged snacks and a floor-to-ceiling wall of instant ramen.

Gi-hun sighed, ran a hand down his face, then tossed his trash into the bin a little too forcefully.

“I should get going,” he said, already walking toward the door. “I gotta study.”

Jung-bae nodded slowly, elbows resting on the counter.

“Yeah… alright. But you know you suck at lying, right?”

Gi-hun let out a quiet breath of laughter, already halfway out the door. He gave a little wave without looking back.

He headed out the door, his bag slung across his body, tapping lightly against his side with every step he took.

He never had to pretend around Jung-bae. That was the nice thing. No forced smiles, no awkward thank-yous for the sandwich, no explanations for why he looked like he’d been kicked in the chest. Jung-bae just knew. Didn’t push. That kind of friendship was rare, and Gi-hun didn’t have many of them.

Outside, the air was mild, that strange kind of soft that only happens in early spring. It was mid-March. The sun looked warm, but his hands still ached from the chill. Most of the trees were still bare, save for one or two trying to blossom too early.

The walk to the subway was quiet. Not quite downtown, not quite countryside, just the in-between. Trees pressed up against cracked sidewalks. Faded storefronts lined the street. Couples walked hand in hand, some biking slowly beside each other, laughing like they had all the time in the world.

Gi-hun watched them pass, always with the same hollow tug in his chest.

It wasn’t exactly jealousy. Not really. More like... a quiet sense of falling behind. Like the rest of the world had figured something out he still hadn’t.

He wasn’t searching for anything. He wasn’t lonely. But the constant reminder that he’d never really been with someone? That part still stung.

He had experience, some. Not a lot. Enough to get by. He had always assumed he was straight. Into women. End of story.

He’d dabbled here and there. Flings that never stuck. Nothing that ever felt... right.

Which is what made this all so much harder.

Because In-ho was a man. And not a soft, ambiguous, maybe-I’m-reading-it-wrong kind of man.

He was sharp. Masculine. Controlled.

And still, Gi-hun couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He didn’t understand it. Why he felt drawn to someone he barely knew. Why his chest tightened every time In-ho looked at him in class. Why a single touch, a hand on his shoulder, was still branded into his skin like heat.

Maybe he’d imagined it all. The bar. The late night. The flirtation.

Maybe the exhaustion and caffeine withdrawal made it all feel bigger than it was. Another reason he hadn’t told Jung-bae. It sounded ridiculous out loud.

But he hadn’t imagined the painkillers. The bottle of water. The way In-ho’s hand lingered. The pressure of his fingers against his shoulder. That voice.

The way he said his name.

Gi-hun.

Or when he said—

Buy me a soju sometime.

That line looped in his brain like a broken record.

Buy me a soju sometime. Buy me a soju sometime. Buy me—

It was enough to drive him insane.

He hated how he felt. Hated how real it was.

Hated that it wasn’t going away.

There was a thought that had been quietly suffocating him for years. Something he had buried, ignored, pretended didn’t matter. But now, with everything happening, that thought was clawing its way back to the surface.

He had felt this way about someone before, yet he shook it off.

But now, with these feelings for In-ho, he couldn’t help but realize how familiar these feelings felt.

Sang-woo.

It wasn’t anything crazy, a high school crush if you could even call it that. It was just the way Gi-huns stomach did that thing everytime Sang-woo's hand brushed against his when walking, or how he was easily able to solve those math questions in front of the class. The kind that no one else was able to solve.

But it was how he barely spoke to anyone but Gi-hun, and occasionally Jung-bae when they would cross paths in the hallway. It made Gi-hun feel special, like he had earned Sang-woo in some strange way.

But now, 2 years later, they’re in separate universities. Meeting up mostly on weekends, texting every other day, and the feeling had been long gone.

Gi-hun could never tell if Sang-woo felt the same. However, there would be those off moments where Sang-woo looked at him a little too long, a softness in his eyes, and a hand that brushed his for a beat too long.

But even if they were at the same university—hell, even in the same program—Gi-hun knew he’d never do anything about it. He’d chalked it up to a phase. A quiet one. One he’d never forget, but one he’d never repeat. Right?

All those thoughts swirled in his head, loud and suffocating as he walked past the endless strip of shops across the street. The faint smell of coffee hung in the air, drifting from somewhere nearby, warm, familiar,  and just distracting enough.

He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Normally, he liked being around people. He liked helping, liked feeling useful. But right now? He needed silence. Or at least the kind of noise that didn’t require him to respond.

Somewhere to sit. Somewhere no one would ask him how he was.

So he ducked into the coffee shop. The one he passed every day but never stepped into until now.

It was warm inside. Not temperature-wise—just… warm. Inviting in a way that felt unintentional, like it hadn’t tried too hard. Soft jazz played overhead, the kind with scratchy saxophones and piano keys that melted into one another.

Golden light spilled across the floor from hanging bulbs with exposed filaments. The tables were wooden, slightly uneven. The walls were all brick and mismatched art, a combination of abstract prints and old concert posters curling at the corners. Plants were everywhere—hanging from the ceiling, tucked between booths, trailing down the counter like ivy was trying to reclaim the space.

It smelled like espresso and syrup and something vaguely floral. Like someone had just sprayed a lavender mist behind the counter and hoped no one noticed.

It was busy, but not overwhelming. The steady hum of conversations blended with the hiss of steamed milk and the rhythmic clatter of mugs being set down. Just enough movement to disappear into.

Perfect.

He had a gap in his schedule—from 10:30 to 3:00.

It had seemed like a grand idea at the time. Two classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays: philosophy with Professor Hwang from 9:00 to 10:30, then gen-ed from 3:00 to 4:30. Perfectly manageable. An easy schedule on paper.

Just enough time to be perfectly unproductive.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were chaos. Back-to-back lectures, barely enough time to eat, let alone breathe.

And of course, the one day he had breathing room had to start with Professor Hwang. The man who, in under a week, had managed to ruin both philosophy and soju.

“I can help who’s next!”

The barista’s voice yanked him out of the spiral.

Gi-hun blinked, stepped up to the register.

The menu was overwhelming. Chalkboard scribbles and little labels he couldn’t decode. Fancy drink names he couldn’t pronounce. Things with lavender foam and oat-based this or that. He landed on an iced coffee. A classic. Safe.

Simple.

Then, uninvited:

I wonder how Professor Hwang takes his coffee.

He paused.

Processed the thought.

And actually thought about it.

Maybe a cappuccino. Something clean, with just enough milk. Or maybe he drank it black. No cream, no sugar. Like he embraced the bitterness.

Gi-hun stared at the floor. Then at the pastry case. Then nowhere in particular.

Why am I thinking about this?

Another pause. Longer this time.

Why do I care?

At exactly 12:04 PM, it hit him.

Not a joke. Not a maybe anymore. Not a passing thought.

Actual feelings. Like, feeling feelings.

He wanted him to—

Actually, no. Let's not finish that thought.

What kind of idiot caught feelings for a professor after one night of drinking and a single class?

Oh right. This idiot.

It felt wrong. Because it was wrong.

The barista called his name.

He took the drink without a word, eyes fixed on the counter like it held answers. The condensation was already forming on the cup, cold against his fingers.

He found a seat in the far corner of the café, by the window that faced the road. Outside, people passed in slow motion. Laughing, walking, living.

His drink was cold. His hands were warm. And his brain wouldn’t shut up.

He desperately wanted to tell someone about this, just to ask if this was normal. If he was reading into something that wasn’t there. If it was okay to feel like this.

But he knew no one would understand.

Jung-bae would probably just laugh. Tell him he was overthinking it. Maybe say something half-serious that would haunt him later.

And Sang-woo… Well.

Sang-woo would give him a real answer. Honest. No judgment. That was the thing about him, he always said exactly what he thought.

But even so, it felt weird. Reaching out to him about this. About In-ho.

Maybe because of past feelings towards him, or the fact that nothing had actually happened between him and In-ho. Not really. A drink. A touch. A look.

He was probably blowing it out of proportion. Romanticizing. Whatever.

Still, he didn’t text him.

He told himself he just needed time. Needed space to think. To process on his own.

Time passed. And so did his thoughts, in circles that never went anywhere.

Eventually, he went to his last class. Gen-ed. The course he was forced to take. And god , it was torture.

The lecture was boring. The group work was worse. No one in his group cared, and he couldn’t bring himself to care either.

Not when In-ho kept replaying in his head like some kind of glitch he couldn’t fix.

A perfect end to a perfect day (not really).

By the time he left campus, he felt like a walking failure. Like he had already messed everything up and the semester had barely started. He regretted applying. Regretted showing up. Regretted caring.

The commute home was the same as it was that morning.

Same bus. Same train. Same elderly civilians complaining about how packed it was.

When he finally reached his apartment, he unlocked the door with the grace of someone already emotionally face-down on the floor.

The moment it opened, he was greeted by the familiar smell of instant ramen and something vaguely dusty.

The weight of everything pressed harder.

The apartment didn’t comfort him. It just reminded him of everything he still hadn’t done. Still hadn’t unpacked. Still hadn’t figured out.

Just another thing to dread.

Boxes were shoved against walls from when he moved in just days ago. Half unpacked, some serving as makeshift tables, because let's be honest, he was too lazy to actually build his furniture. A pair of sneakers lay kicked off by the entrance, one on its side like it had given up halfway through living. His bed, a mattress supported by a simple metal bed frame, sat on the far wall from the door, right up against the window. It was half covered by a tangled blanket and at least three different hoodies he never hung up. A single lamp lit the room in a soft, uneven glow, casting warm shadows against the bare walls.

It barely felt like home, his whole life felt like survival.

Gi-hun kicked off his shoes and coat, just before flopping face down on the couch like a man dramatically surrendering to the void. The couch was a hand-me-down from his mother. It looked and felt ancient. It sat against the far wall from the bed, just beside the kitchen.

After a long second, he rolled over, reaching blindly for the textbook in his bag with the same energy as someone who was fishing for their phone at 3 a.m. He eventually found it, cracked it open, ready to skim just enough to make questions for class—only to pause. Something was tucked between the pages, the exact pages Professor Hwang had told the class to read.

A sticky note.

“In case you have any questions, or feel like company.
-Professor Hwang, or In-ho, whichever you choose.”

Oh. My. God.

It was his handwriting. His stupid, perfect handwriting.

And underneath it? His phone number.

Not his email. His fucking phone number.

He stared at it. For a long time. Probably a full 15 minutes.

He didn’t know what to think of it. This is casual, right?

All of this–the drinking, the stares, the painkillers, the hand on his shoulder, the first name, the phone number, it was normal.

Right?

No, this wasn’t normal anymore.
And Gi-hun being Gi-hun? He knew he was going to do this. For real now. No more playing around, it was clear now.

“Fucking hell.” He whispered to himself.

He picked up his phone, input the number into his texts, and started typing.

Then stopped.

Deleted it.

Typed again. Then stared at the text box like it held answers to this whole mess.

What do you even text your professor? Or… the man who you bought a drink and who touched your shoulder and now left his number tucked into a textbook like some kind of academic rom-com?

“Hey” sounded way too casual for whatever this was.
“Thanks for the number!” sounded way too deranged.
“What are you doing?” sounded unhinged, because he already knew what he was doing.

Falling. Fast.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek and finally settled on something neutral. Safe. Casual-but-not-too-casual.

Gi-hun: Thanks for the chapters. I’ll let you know if I have questions… or if I just feel like company, I guess.

His finger twitched above the send button.

Paused.

Then hit it.

And just like that, he had started something he definitely could not back out from now.

Chapter Text

The office was dark.

Not the kind of dark that was unwelcoming, but the kind that hummed with quiet unspoken words, dim and warm, coming from the old desk lamp perched at the edge of the table.

In-ho sat at his desk, a stack of papers scattered in front of him. His pen tapped against the wood like it might coax the answers out of it. Like it could explain how he’d ended up here.

His office was full of books, some old and some new. Mostly extra textbooks and dog-eared philosophy tomes he kept on hand for students. Shelves lined the walls, two modest plants hanging from the top like afterthoughts. A record player sat on the second shelf, flanked by two worn jazz vinyls.
Music with words was a distraction. That’s what he always said. What he always believed. He listened to jazz—only jazz—especially when grading or buried in paperwork. Something wordless. Clean. Safe.

His desk was clean and minimal. A perfect reflection of the man sitting behind it.

A single framed photograph sat directly in front of him. It was a worn-out photo of his family celebrating his graduation. That's the only thing that sat on his desk besides a chipped mug that was repurposed to hold pens.

His office was on the third floor, with a wide window that overlooked the city. Just high enough to catch a glimpse of the downtown skyline.
If he squinted, he could almost see his own apartment: a tall high-rise tucked into the heart of Seoul.

In-ho was an extremely well-respected professor. Students clung to his every word. Colleagues deferred to him. And In-ho? He knew it. Knew how clever he was, how easily he could have anyone wrapped around his finger if he really wanted it.

Though, he wasn’t just well-respected. He was the chair of the philosophy department.

So when he’d announced he would be taking on the first-year intro course for the year, there had been more than a few raised eyebrows.

One of the Political Theory professors had cornered him in the hallway, asking if everything was alright.
Another, from Ethics, had offered to help—gently, hesitantly—assuming he was burned out. Or overwhelmed with his workload.

For god sakes, even his own brother Jun-ho had questioned his decision.
“You usually teach advanced philosophy, is everything okay? This isn’t like you Hyung.”

They all saw it as a step down. A waste of time. But In-ho had his reasons.

He wasn’t supposed to be looking too closely. The department admin had just forwarded the list of first year students out of courtesy, the annual spreadsheet of the first-year admits to the philosophy program. Standard protocol. Something to quickly glance at out of curiosity, nod through, and forget.

But his gaze immediately locked onto a name.

Seong Gi-hun.

It wasn’t a particularly remarkable name. But it had that strange familiarity, like something you’ve never heard before, yet somehow recognize.
It looked out of place. Like it didn’t quite belong.

He clicked the name. Scanned the basic student profile.

Local. Late resignation. Little academic background—he wasn’t even sure how this kid got accepted. No high school teacher references. Just a single sentence in the personal statement.
“I just want to understand people better.”

In-ho scrolled down to see his student ID photo.

As soon as he saw him, his gaze shifted. He sat back in his chair, one hand resting lightly on the keyboard, the other adjusting his glasses, as if to make sure he was seeing the photo right.

Just like that, every lesson plan he’d written for his usual advanced course was obsolete.

In-ho already decided he was going to teach the intro course this year. He needed to.
He needed to see this Seong Gi-hun in person. Needed to understand him. Study him. Up close.

A week later, he told the department he’d be taking it on.

He pulled three all-nighters reworking his syllabus. Scrapped his usual structure. Bought new books. Adjusted his office hours. Rewrote everything—just to insert himself into the program Gi-hun had enrolled in.

Hell, he’d even managed to convince the usual Intro professor to take a vacation for the year.
(Don’t ask how.)

This wasn’t a crush. This was an obsession.

An obsession with a man he didn’t even know.

Yet.

Cut to orientation day. Rows of students. Bright lights. Nervous energy.

The auditorium was too loud.

Too bright. Too full of first-years pretending not to be terrified.

He stood near the back, arms folded, half-listening to the program director's welcome speech. His name had already been read off – Professor Hwang, Chair of Philosophy – and he’d given the required nod to the room before stepping aside.

He didn’t usually attend the orientation speech. He told himself it was pointless – none of them remembered the names anyway, and he hated the empty small talk. But he enjoyed answering the students' questions about the courses or campus.

However, this year felt different.

He scanned the rows out of habit, expecting nothing. A sea of blank faces zoning out. Nervous energy. Lanyards. One or two kids texting under the tables, assuming no one important was looking.

And then he saw him.

Slouched near the edge of the row closest to the exit, fingers picking at the edge of his paper name tag like it was stuck on his shirt wrong. Slightly wrinkled shirt, hair tousled, and a slight concerned pout on his face.

In-ho recognized him from the spreadsheet, the one he definitely hadn’t obsessed over, even though he could still recite the one sentence personal statement by heart.

He watched as Gi-hun sank lower in his chair, chewing the inside of his cheek like he wanted to disappear. He wasn’t whispering to anyone. Wasn’t even pretending to engage with that fake nod along. He was just watching the floor like it owed him something.

He looked… misplaced in a sea of well dressed and well groomed students.

Like someone who had wandered into the wrong building and decided to stay.

In-ho tilted his head slightly. Took in the curve of his shoulders. The twitch of his hand. The way he kept blinking like he was trying not to panic.

No one else seemed to notice him.

But In-ho did.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, he found himself curious.

He wouldn’t talk to him yet, that wasn’t how this was going to go. He already had a plan in his head.

Orientation finally ended after an agonizing hour of first year students asking him questions about the course and about campus.

Not to his surprise, Gi-hun didn’t ask a single question. He stood in the corner of the auditorium the whole time, clutching the campus map like it might save him from his awkwardness.

The students left in scattered waves, clutching their bags and campus maps, some already making plans with their newfound friends for overpriced drinks and first-week flings. Gi-hun disappeared into the crowd without ever looking back.

But In-ho kept thinking about him.

He told himself it was academic curiosity. A sense of unease about the student’s background, his lack of interest and knowledge. An interest in why the admission team had taken such a gamble on this absolute nobody of a kid.

That night, he went to a bar.

Not the usual one. Not the one near the campus where staff drank together and complained about committees.

Usually after such a busy day, he needed silence. He just wanted to go back to his apartment, pour himself a glass of whiskey, and watch those true crime documentaries you watch out of morbid curiosity.

But at that moment, he wanted to be around more noise. He wanted a distraction from the thoughts he was having about Gi-hun. He also wanted to numb the gnawing loneliness that sat in his chest after social events. The kind where you fully realize how alone you really are.

But as soon as he entered the run down bar, his breath hitched.

He saw him again. Same slouched posture, same hands twitching against his student ID, curled over a beer can like the world was crumbling beneath him.

And maybe it really just was fate, or maybe he knew he was going to be there.

But In-ho sat down next to him anyway.

And when Gi-hun looked up at him with that surprised expression, he pretended not to recognize him.

Pretended that he hadn’t rearranged his entire work life for him.

Pretended to be oblivious that the next day, he would be standing in front of Gi-hun in the lecture hall.

That's when he knew: this wasn’t casual. That's when he decided he was going to put his number in the textbook, the one he specifically put aside for Gi-hun. He wanted to see if he felt the same way.

And when his phone buzzed against his desk later that night? He wasn’t surprised.

He didn’t check it right away, already knew who it was.

After all, he’d left the number there for a reason. In case he had any questions about the course. Or if he just needed someone to come over… for academic reasons.

Finally, he reached for his phone after it buzzed a second time to remind him of the text.

“Thanks for the chapters. I’ll let you know if I have questions… or if I just feel like company, I guess.”

He leaned back in his office chair, the same way he did when he first saw Gi-hun.

He already knew he could have anyone wrapped around his finger.

If he really wanted it.

Chapter Text

Gi-hun’s apartment still looked and felt the same as it always did: Messy and unorganized—similar to him.

He cracked one eye open, blinking at the uneven popcorned ceiling. His back ached from the cheap couch he had absentmindedly fallen asleep on, surrounded by nothing. Just an endless sea of half unpacked cardboard boxes and a pile of dirty clothes he kept telling himself he’d sort through “tomorrow.”

Morning sunlight bled through the dirty window, slicing the room into sharp angles. Somewhere beneath a crumpled hoodie he’d turned into a pillow right before passing out, his alarm clock buzzed faintly.

Thankfully, he had remembered to set the alarm on his phone right before he passed out.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face before going fishing for the phone. He turned off his alarm and started to scroll mindlessly through his notifications he had gotten throughout the night.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Jung-bae’s late night rants about ‘feeling too single, but not single enough’ and the news article Sang-woo sent every morning with no caption. It was usually something along the lines of World War III. He never sent anything funny, only serious. It was kind of refreshing, but not for 7 a.m.

He went to respond to Jung-bae first, but he noticed something odd.

All the messages were sent at 1 a.m.

What was he even doing on his phone that late?...

Scrolling through endless reels instead of studying?

No, he definitely studied. The textbook was kicked over on the floor beside the couch.

The memory slammed into him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Thanks for the chapters. I’ll let you know if I have questions… or if I just feel like company, I guess.

Gi-hun winced at the memory. Brilliant. Real smooth.

He couldn’t believe he actually texted his professor last night. Even more baffled that he had texted him that late. Couldn’t believe he was the first to text.

He rolled onto his side, burying his face in the hoodie again.

It was way too early to be this embarrassed.

But before he could even distract himself, his phone buzzed again.

Not Jung-bae–
Not Sang-woo…
Professor Hwang.

Hwang In-ho, to be specific.

[In-ho]
You’re most welcome Mr. Seong. I encourage you to prioritize your studies.

Gi-hun stared at it. Blank faced.

It was extremely cold, almost professional.
Too professional for this situation he had created.

He tossed himself back against the bed, groaning into his arm.

He wouldn’t text again. He absolutely refused.

Just as that final decision was made, the phone buzzed.

Again.

[In-ho]
…But company isn’t always a bad thing.

He read it once. Twice. Three times.

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

Gi-hun didn’t know what he expected. He shoved his phone underneath the makeshift pillow like it might catch fire if he looked at it again.

What was he expecting? A heart emoji? A “come over” at seven in the morning?

He needed a distraction. A distraction from whatever mind games Hwang In-ho was playing.

He got up, and did his proper morning routine—unlike yesterday's morning which was a complete disaster to say the least.

He had a proper shower, brushed his teeth, even moisturized his body with that one expensive lotion sample he had been saving for a special occasion.

Wait.

Why was he actually concerned about how he looked today?

Normally, he threw on the first shirt he saw, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair back with his hands. If he had time—gave himself a once over in the mirror and walked out the door.

Today he was actually making sure he looked presentable. Washed and combed his hair, applied cologne, and picked out his best outfit.

(Well… as best of an outfit that Seong Gi-hun owned).

He had dug through numerous packed boxes in his bathroom just to find that stupid bottle of cologne and that lotion sample.

He told himself it was because he was hanging out with friends after class, and just wanted to feel put together.

But deep down he knew who this was for.

And it made him sick.

He was making good time, even had a few minutes to spare for breakfast before his morning commute, which was unlike him.

Gi-hun padded his way to the kitchen, whipping open the fridge to find…
Nothing.

Literally—nothing.

A half-eaten convenience store sandwich he stole from Jung-bae and a protein bar.

At least there was a protein bar!

He exhaled, smiled, and unwrapped the protein bar while he pulled out his phone. Finally ready for some calm last few minutes before class started.

Halfway through opening Instagram, his phone went off with a text notification.

Seriously?

[In-ho]
You don’t have my class today, but I'd still like to see you. My office hours are open during break. Why don’t you stop by? I'm sure you have questions about the lesson from yesterday.

Gi-hun actually laughed out loud.

No way was he showing up! There was absolutely no way in hell he was ever going to visit his office. Even if he had questions about the lecture.

Google existed for a reason and he was going to use the hell out of all the tools he could just to avoid going to In-ho’s office alone.

He didn’t even have an appetite anymore. He just put on his shoes, shrugged on his coat, grabbed his bag, and out the door he went.

He wasn’t going to be visiting In-ho during the break.

Absolutely not.

And that was final.

Gi-hun stood a few feet away from In-ho’s office door.

God damnit.

He couldn’t keep himself away from this man. This stupid, handsome, smart… man.

He was standing like a complete moron. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, pretending like he wasn’t shaking.

The door was cracked open a few inches, just enough to hear the mumbles of a distant conversation.

He recognized the voice right away. It was a female voice. Sharp. Confident—yet still had that undeniable quality that draws you in.

What was her name again?...

Oh, right.

Kang No-eul.

He had seen her a few times walking around the hallways. Always in a rush to be somewhere.

She dressed so professionally. Black pencil skirts, white silk blouses, the occasional wine red top. And it was always paired with clicky heels and dainty jewelry.

No-eul was younger than everyone, like a breath of fresh air in a sea of old and withered professors. She stood tall, radiating the kind of confidence that made you look up the moment she entered a room.

She was undeniably attractive. Way out of Gi-hun’s league. Way out of anyone's league here really.
.
She was out of everyone's league, besides one person.
In-ho’s.

Gi-hun’s heart sank a little, but he stepped closer to the door, just enough to hear their conversation.

“Don’t forget you have that 3:00 meeting today.” No-eul chimed.

"Ah—thank you, No-eul," In-ho said, shuffling through a stack of papers. "You know, you're the only reason I ever make it to those meetings."

She gave a warm smile to In-ho. The kind that says more than words.
“Good thing you have me, then.”

Gi-hun stepped closer to the doorway. Fixing his posture without thinking, like if he stood straighter, he might somehow measure up to her.

In-ho let out a soft chuckle of laughter at her remark—gently placing a hand on her shoulder without looking up from the pile of papers on his desk.

No. No, no no.

Was In-ho just being friendly with Gi-hun? Did he do this with all his students and colleagues? Did he just give Gi-hun a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and nothing more?

Was he even flirting with him?!

No 'Ms. Kang'?! Just No-eul?

How close were they? Were they more than colleagues?

He had so many thoughts at once that reality had blurred into something beyond.

Until—

“I think you have a visitor,” No-eul quipped.

In-ho’s gaze lifted from his paperwork—glasses sliding down his nose.

Then, with a sly smirk, he murmured, “So I do.” He adjusted his glasses. “Let him in.”

No-eul opened the door a few more inches, just enough for Gi-hun to slide in.

“This is Mr. Seong. He’s in my intro philosophy course,” In-ho remarked. “A… memorable first impression.”

No-eul did a once over of Gi-hun, her gaze burned into his flesh like she could see right through him.

“Yes, I’m familiar with Mr. Seong,” No-eul stated.

Gi-hun immediately stiffened, “You are…?”

No-eul gave him one of those fake, pitiful smiles. “I spotted you during orientation day.”

A beat.

“You stood out like a sore eye.”

Gi-hun almost died of embarrassment. He knew he didn’t exactly fit into this fancy school—but being told that? Especially by an admin? Ouch.

But Gi-hun being Gi-hun, he smiled.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

There was a moment of silence, it was almost deafening.

“Well,” No-eul sighed, “I’ll let you two do whatever.”

Gi-hun gave a weak laugh, way too high-pitched to be normal. “No—I just… I had a question about—”

“Yes, please excuse us, Ms. Kang,” In-ho interrupted before Gi-hun trailed off.

No-eul’s gaze flicked between them, sharp and lingering—like she knew something was off, but couldn’t name it.

“I’ll see you later, Young-il,” she said as she turned toward the door. “Don’t forget that 3:00 meeting today.”

“Will do. Thank you, Ms. Kang,” In-ho said with a slight nod, pulling out the chair beside him and gesturing for Gi-hun to take a seat as No-eul closed the door behind her.

Gi-hun froze.

Young-il?

Who the fuck was Young-il?

Gi-hun slowly paced towards the seat, before hesitantly sitting down.

“So,” In-ho said, looking straight at him, elbows resting lazily on the desk. “What can I help you with, Mr. Seong?”

Gi-hun opened his mouth.

Paused.

Closed it again.

Right.

He was supposed to have a question. About… something.

He shifted in his seat, picking at his fingernails like he could dig the answer out of himself.

He cleared his throat. “I just… had a question. About the reading. Yesterday’s? The, uh… ethics part.”

He sounded like an imbecile. So much for being smooth.

In-ho didn’t respond. Just tilted his head, like he was studying Gi-hun. Like he could crawl into his skin.

Gi-hun swallowed hard.

In-ho shifted in his seat, leaning slightly back, but not breaking his gaze with Gi-hun.

“Ms. Kang,” he said suddenly. “She’s my assistant.”

“What?”

“My assistant,” In-ho repeated. “A close friend, at most.”

“I—” Gi-hun began, but stopped himself, waiting to hear what In-ho would say instead.

He rose from his chair and moved to the front of the desk, stopping directly in front of Gi-hun. Only the desk separating them.

“She was my student. She’s extremely smart and reliable,” he said, placing his palms on the front of the desk and leaning over so he was at Gi-hun’s level. “But not exactly my type.”

Gi-hun’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Before he could stop himself—before he even thought—the words slipped out:

“Then… what is your type?”

As soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself.

He tried to laugh it off, waving a hand vaguely like it was a dumb joke, like he didn’t care about the answer nearly as much as he did.

In-ho didn’t laugh.

Just watched him with that same infuriating expression that said ‘I know what you are.’

“I think you know the answer, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened. His knuckles went bone white from the grip he had on the chair's armrest.

In-ho let a huff of laughter escape him.

“Really, Gi-hun… why else would I have left my number in the textbook?”

A beat.

“Did you really think it was purely for academic reasons?”

He rounded the desk, closing the distance until he was nearly flush against Gi-hun.

Then, with practiced ease, he slipped two fingers beneath Gi-hun’s chin, tilting his face up to meet his own.

“Now, why are you really here?”

In-ho was close. Too close.

Gi-hun could see every detail of his face—every line, every blink, every breath.

His cologne hung heavy in the air between them, curling into Gi-hun’s lungs like smoke, like a warning he didn’t want to heed.

“I… I don't know,” Gi-hun stuttered out.

“I sincerely doubt you don’t know why you’re here.”

"I don't know why I'm here!"

The words tore out of him as he shot to his feet, the chair scraping back with a harsh, grating screech.

In-ho’s hand fell to his side, falling directly from Gi-hun’s chin. He took exactly one step back, like he was admiring a work of art.

His work of art.

In-ho let out a low hum.

“Why—” Gi-hun’s chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. His hands clenched at his sides, face flushed with heat.
“Why are you doing this? The shoulder touch, the painkillers, the number—all of it. What do you want from me?”

A pause.

“When you saw me at the bar, did you know I was going to be your student?”

In-ho blinked slowly, a small grin curling at the corners of his lips before he gave Gi-hun a slight nod of his head.

“I did.”

Gi-hun scoffed, grabbed his bag roughly, and crossed the room in three steps, heading toward the door—his back still to In-ho.

“You lied to me,” Gi-hun said, not turning around, his hand lingering on the knob.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You lied,” Gi-hun repeated, this time turning around to fully face him. “Your name isn’t In-ho. It's Young-il.”
“My name is In-ho.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow before aggressively shaking his head in disbelief.

“No—no! Ms.Kang said your name was Young-il–”

In-ho was in front of him in milliseconds, a hand wrapping around his wrist to keep him from leaving the room.

“My name really is In-ho,” he said again, voice low, steady.
“Young-il was a… precaution.”

Gi-hun stared at him, a slight height advantage to the other man, though—it didn’t feel like Gi-hun was overpowering In-ho in any way.

“Precaution?” he snapped. “Against what?”

In-ho’s fingers tightened around his wrist–not enough to hurt, but enough to ground him, to keep him there.

“Against being seen,” In-ho said simply. “This university—this job—this life… it’s easier if you don’t make connections with people who don’t matter.”

A pause.

His gaze softened just a little.

“I never lied to you, Gi-hun. Not about the things that mattered.”

Another beat, quieter:

“I told you my real name because you matter .”

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair how easy it was for him to say things like that—like it didn’t cost him anything at all.

Gi-hun licked his lips, his breathing slightly evening out.

They stayed staring at each other for a little too long.

“You’re staring,” Gi-hun whispered.

“...I suppose I am,” In-ho replied.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t respond.”

In-ho released Gi-hun’s wrist from his grip as he grabbed a pen and notepad from his desk—scribbling something down with mechanical precision.

“Now,” In-ho said, still writing, “About that soju.”

Oh god.

“I have a meeting today, but other than that, I’m free.”

In-ho turned around to face Gi-hun. “Meet me at the restaurant across from the theatre downtown at 6:00. You know the one.”

Gi-hun swallowed again, trying desperately to make the suffocating feeling in his throat die down.

“Yes—but…” Gi-hun fiddled with his bag straps. “But I can’t afford that place. I can barely afford instant ramen.”

In-ho looked up, smiled, and stepped closer. He grabbed Gi-hun’s hand, pried his fingers open, and slid the piece of paper into his palm before closing it.

He held Gi-hun’s fist with both of his hands.

“I’ll pay. You bought me a drink—let me return the favour.”

“That place is always booked up though… I doubt we can even—”

“I said, let me return the favor.”

In-ho’s thumb traced slow, steady circles along the back of Gi-hun’s hand—almost like he was memorizing the feel of it.

Gi-hun clutched the paper like it might vanish if he let go. He looked at In-ho like he held all the answers in the world, but also carried all the problems.

In-ho released Gi-hun’s hand gently before turning back towards his desk.

In-ho sat down in front of his desk, already fully immersed in his paperwork like none of it had meant anything at all.

Like he hadn't just changed everything.

Gi-hun swallowed hard, turned toward the door—and didn’t look back.

The rest of the day was a complete blur, the piece of paper tucked neatly into Gi-hun’s pocket. A constant reminder of what was to come. A suffocating, impending doom.

But in a strange way, he felt relieved, excited.

He knew this was wrong, extremely wrong, but he couldn’t shake the feeling like this was meant to be.

Not to mention the fact that all his past doubts about this being a casual friendship? Gone.

The warmth from In-ho’s hands lingered on the back of his hands, the feeling of In-ho’s thumb rubbing absentminded circles around the back of his hand stayed.

It wasn’t just a memory.

It was a craving. A need.

Like oxygen.

Once that final bell went, he practically ran for the door.

“Mr. Seong!”

A kind hearted voice called out from the front of the lecture hall, a woman's voice.

His Critical Thinking teacher, Cho Hyun-ju.

“Is everything alright?” she stepped forward, hands crossed against her chest. “You seem… distant today.”

Gi-hun paused, jaw slightly slack.

“I—yes, I’m okay,” he managed to fumble out.

Hyun-ju didn’t seem to buy it. She gave Gi-hun this soft, kind hearted look.

Everyone on campus knew Ms.Cho was the most genuine teacher. She cared for her students as if they were her own kids. Always making sure they understood the material, had full healthy meals, and were getting enough sleep.

She always dressed softly—muted colors, flowing fabrics, pearl earrings, short heels.

It was the kind of look that said authority, but also: I want you to be your best self here. Honestly, if it wasn’t for In-ho, Ms.Cho would be Gi-hun’s favourite teacher.

“Okay… I’m here if you need me, Mr. Seong. Please take care, and make sure to rest!”

Gi-hun bowed slightly before practically running out of the lecture hall texting the groupchat with one hand, the other tightly gripping around the piece of paper In-ho had given him.

[Gi-hun]
GUYS

[Gi-hun]
guys please answer

[Sang-woo]
What is it? Are you alright?

[Jung-bae]
hi

[Gi-hun]
u guys remember my professor and how we met in a bar right?

[Sang-woo]
Yes.

[Jung-bae]
no…

[Jung-bae]
dude how does sangwoo know before me

[Sang-woo]
He drunk texted me.

[Jung-bae]
DUDE!

[Gi-hun]
guys LISTEN!

[Gi-hun]
hes been like… weird with me ever since and he literally just invited me to that fancy restaurant

[Sang-woo]
The one downtown?

[Jung-bae]
the one near the theatre???

[Gi-hun]
yes and yes

Gi-hun glanced at the paper before typing again.

[Gi-hun]
its glass bridge bar and grill

[Jung-bae]
how are u gonna afford that

[Jung-bae]
i have too many questions gihun

[Gi-hun]
not now jungbae

[Sang-woo]
You are literally a broke University student Gi-hun.

[Gi-hun]
he said he would pay

[Jung-bae]
is that why you were acting so weird yesterday?!

[Gi-hun]
maybe…

[Jung-bae]
ur totally crushing

[Gi-hun]
im not

[Gi-hun]
guys do i go??? its at 6 today

[Jung-bae]
right… ur not crushing but ur asking if u should go

[Gi-hun]
exactly

[Jung-bae]
i think you need to go

[Sang-woo]
Don’t go.

[Gi-hun]
im actually going to throw up

[Sang-woo]
What about our plans, Gi-hun?

[Gi-hun]
rain check?

[Sang-woo]
Fine.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, heart pounding louder than the subway train screeching to a stop beside him.

He wasn’t sure when he decided. Maybe it was the moment In-ho slipped that paper into his hand. Maybe it was earlier— way earlier.

But either way, he was going.

He barely remembered the commute home. Everything felt blurry and sharp all at once—like the air had changed. Like the night had already started.

By the time he was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, hair damp and hands trembling, the only thought in his head was: You better not fuck this up.

He wore a pale blue, wrinkled button-up, half-ironed before he gave up, figuring no one would notice or would just assume it was the style.

Black slacks that were a little too long, cuffed hastily at the bottoms so he wouldn’t trip. A dark gray blazer he’d borrowed from Sang-woo years ago and never returned.

And finally, a pair of white sneakers and mismatched socks—the true Seong Gi-hun signature.

Perfect for a first date.

He thought to himself.

Just before leaving, he ran a hand through his hair, combing back the fluffy, mullet-like mess he kept meaning to cut but never actually did.

He did a full 360 in the mirror, feeling slightly out of his element, but… good. Nervous. But good.

By the time Gi-hun made it down to the apartment parking lot, Sang-woo was already waiting.

He waltzed over to the passenger side, opened the car door, and flopped into the seat with a huge exhale.

“That's what you’re wearing?” Sang-woo huffed, “You look like a homeless person trying to look professional.”

“This is literally your jacket.” Gi-hun shot back wide-eyed.

“Yeah, and you better not stain it.”

“Oh, you’d love it.”

Sang-woo eyed Gi-hun up and down before shifting the gear into drive.

"I still can't believe you ditched our plans just so I could drive you to a date with a guy who's, first of all, way out of your league—and second, way too mature for you," Sang-woo muttered.

“I'm sorry! I didn’t have anyone else to drive me, and my car is still… totalled.”

Sang-woo let out a soft sound, almost like laughter?

Unlike him.

He pressed his glasses up, hand slightly tightening on the wheel as he steered into downtown.

“Listen, it’s your life,” Sang-woo said, barely glancing up. “But you don’t even know what this guy wants from you. Professors don’t just… do this.”

“I know, but… he’s different,” Gi-hun replied, “I think.”

Sang-woo didn’t respond, just pulled up to the restaurant.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the building—all sharp edges and warm amber light, Glass Bridge Bar & Grill glowing in sleek, backlit lettering above the entrance.

Gi-hun stared out the window, jaw slack.

Chandeliers. A glass walkway. Waitstaff in matching black ties.

This wasn’t just dinner. This was an event.

Sang-woo didn’t say anything at first. He just stared straight ahead, hands still tight on the wheel.

“…Are you sure this is where you’re meeting him?”

His voice was too flat. Too careful.

Gi-hun nodded slowly, trying not to squirm in his seat.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Sang-woo asked. He didn't sound angry. Not mocking. Just… tight.

“I don’t know,” Gi-hun muttered. “But I think I have to.”

Sang-woo exhaled through his nose—hard, like he was holding something back—and leaned over to unlock the door.

“Text me when you're done.”

Gi-hun hesitated, fingers curled around the handle.

“...Thanks for the ride.”

Sang-woo didn’t look at him. Just shifted into park and muttered, “Don’t let him make a fool out of you.”

“I won't,” Gi-hun said, looking back at Sang-woo one last time before stepping out of the car towards the door–giving him a small smile.

As soon as Gi-hun stepped out, In-ho slid out of his own car, a black sleek shiny car, parked just out of sight from the public eye.

In-ho walked towards Gi-hun, sliding a hand to the small of his back gently guiding him towards the door with a small smirk.

But just before they entered the restaurant, In-ho looked back, straight at Sang-woo still sitting in the driver's seat.

The shift in his expression was subtle. Barely there, but unmistakable.

A slight narrowing of the eyes. The kind of look that could read an entire biography in three seconds flat.

Cool. Measured. Not surprised.

Like he’d already calculated who Sang-woo was the moment their eyes met.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t nod.

Just tilted his head, just enough. Like he was filing Sang-woo away in some private archive he kept for people who might become problems.

And then, just as quickly, the look vanished.

Sang-woo stared back at him.

At the hand on Gi-hun’s back.

The glare In-ho gave him.

The way In-ho was so effortlessly composed.

Sang-woo knew he had missed his moment with Gi-hun years ago, and he didn’t regret it.
Not quite.

But he still felt that indescribable stabbing feeling in his heart.

He was happy for Gi-hun, really. Though, he wished he was in In-ho’s place.

Wished that he was the one who always knew what to say.

Wished that he was the one in control of his own life.

Wished that he was able to tell Gi-hun how much he meant to him.

But mostly…

He wished that In-ho wanted Gi-hun for the right reasons.

Whatever those were.

And just like that, Gi-hun disappeared inside with him.

Sang-woo stayed in the car a moment longer, eyes still on the door.

Then he drove off. Slow, quiet, like leaving behind a part of himself he’d never get back.

Chapter Text

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner, take my hand
                                                                       

The restaurant was alive in every direction.

Couples leaned in close on the patio under strings of soft golden lights, their laughter mixing with the clink of wine glasses and the hum of conversation. Inside, smooth jazz from a live trio wrapped around the room like velvet, warm and a little dreamy. Waiters in the back moved like clockwork, balancing silver trays and whispered orders.

Everything from the scent of truffle oil to the low candlelight flickering on the polish tables felt expensive.

It was obvious, this was a place meant for the rich and elegant—everything Gi-hun was not. But somehow, he had gotten himself tangled in it.

In-ho held the door for Gi-hun, and as the two men stepped into the venue side by side, eyes immediately darted towards the two of them.

Not because they were obviously together—no. It was because In-ho looked like something out of a noir film. Completely clashing with Gi-hun’s uncoordinated outfit that for some odd reason, worked on him.

He wasn’t sure what unsettled him more: the eyes watching them as they entered, or the quiet thrill that came with being seen like this—with In-ho.

In-ho wore a slim-fit black button-up, the top button deliberately undone. The fabric clung to him like a second skin, tracing the clean lines of his shoulders and chest, just barely catching the light. At the collar, a glimpse of his collarbone peeked through. Subtle, sharp, and unfairly distracting. His hair slicked back, some strands fell out of place—though, it didn’t look messy. It framed his face perfectly, as if done on purpose. Knowing In-ho, it probably was.

And of course, it was paired with glasses. Those stupid glasses.

What he wore now was nothing comparable to what In-ho wore during his lectures.

Usually, In-ho wore a looser fitted dress shirt tucked into black slacks. He always wore slacks—and they were always perfectly fitted. It drove Gi-hun insane.

On colder days, In-ho often wore a knit sweater. His outfits were always professional, nothing out of the ordinary.

But this—this outfit, had been deliberately picked. Not for show, not to catch anyone else's attention besides the younger man beside him— Gi-hun.

In-ho’s hand still rested gently on the small of Gi-hun’s back. The heat of his hand through his shirt was maddeningly steady. Not possessive, not inappropriate—just careful. Like Gi-hun might disappear if he wasn't held in place. And maybe he would’ve, if not for that grounding weight.

The other man's gaze lingered on the trio in the corner, eyes softening for the briefest moment. Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the gold-flecked candlelight catching on Gi-hun’s cheek. Whatever it was, something in him loosened, just enough to make him look almost gentle.

When they reached the front desk, the woman behind it immediately fixed her posture, appearing as though she was suddenly intimidated.

Before the woman could even speak, In-ho spoke first.
“Hwang, table for two.” His smile was polite but cold, it never quite reached his eyes—a quiet signal that any warmth he had was reserved for Gi-hun alone.

The woman blinked, then nodded quickly as she tapped the screen in front of her.

“Of course, Mr. Hwang. Right this way.”

Gi-hun stayed quiet and followed In-ho as they started to walk. His hands were clenched at his sides, his heart was pounding so loud in his eardrums that it muted everything else around him.

He couldn’t believe he was here. Couldn’t even fathom the fact he was with his professor. On a date. At this restaurant. With this obviously wealthy and elegant man.

If In-ho saw the state of Gi-hun’s living conditions, he’d probably laugh in his face. He probably lived in a high rise building, hell —maybe even a penthouse. There was no telling with him, he never spoke about his personal life ever .

Though, Gi-hun had his suspicions. As of recently, he found himself daydreaming on the bus or subway about In-ho’s life. What his apartment or house looked like, what type of books he read, what music he played, his shampoo… everything.

As they followed the waiter through the bustling restaurant, Gi-hun caught a side glance of In-ho.

The dim lighting hitting his face just right, highlighting his jawline, the pristine slope of his nose, his skin glowing under the warm lighting, the way his posture was absolutely perfect.

He was perfect. There wasn’t a single thing Gi-hun could point out about In-ho that wasn’t perfect. There wasn’t a single imperfection in his skin. It was smooth and almost glossy. He didn’t look his age at all—there wasn’t a wrinkle in sight. This was a man who clearly put time into his appearance.

Yet another thing to make Gi-hun feel insecure. At most, Gi-hun put a few minutes into his own appearance each day. Just the basics—brushing his teeth, deodorant, a clean shirt (sometimes), and a daily shower. If he was feeling fancy, he’d use those free sample moisturizer packets he stole from his ex-girlfriend back when they were dating. They were months old now—starting to separate. But he didn’t care. As long as they weren’t solid, they still worked.

They stopped at a table tucked into the corner of the room, right beside a wall to ceiling window facing the streets of downtown Seoul. A single candle in a glass jar sat in the middle of the table accompanied by two shot glasses.

As the two of them stepped closer, a bottle of soju came into view as well.

Gi-hun stopped in his tracks.

He could recall word by word, moment by moment, the last time he drank with In-ho—the first time they met at that stupid bar.

He could recall how he had bought In-ho a drink—even though he was dirt poor, how they flirted while nursing a bottle of beer, how the next morning Gi-hun stepped into class and saw him .

Knowing that a few drinks led to this, a strange flirtatious relationship with his professor… What else would this bottle lead to?

Would this bottle lead them somewhere they couldn’t take back? Something they'd wake up tangled in—warmth, breath, regret? Or worse, something only Gi-hun would carry with him afterward?

Not that the thought was new. Gi-hun had imagined it before—what it might feel like to be wanted by In-ho, to touch and be touched, to blur the lines until there was nothing left to name. He wondered if In-ho ever thought about it too.

Usually when these thoughts occured in Gi-hun’s mind he shut them down fast. It was bizarre. It was too much thinking these thoughts knowing in the morning, he would have to face his professor. Someone he's supposed to go to for guidance, not for whatever perverted thoughts his brain was making up.

Let me return the favour.

The words echoed in Gi-hun’s mind.

Return the favour…

They repeated, low and loaded, circling back again and again.

In-ho obviously meant dinner. Reservations. Paying the bill.

Right?

It wasn’t—couldn’t be—anything more than that. Just a gesture. A thank-you for the drink at the bar.

Not an offer. Not a promise. Not... that kind of favour.

Right?

Gi-hun stood there wide eyed, arms at his sides, staring at the bottle like it if he took one wrong move it would explode. He swore he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead.

Gi-hun didn’t even notice that the waiter had walked away long ago—and he was standing there like a complete idiot.

“Is everything alright, Gi-hun?” In-ho whispered, gently leaning towards him.

That calm and collected voice instantly snapped him out of whatever trance he was in.

“I–” Gi-hun cleared his throat, “Yes, everything’s okay.”

“You don’t have to be nervous around me, we’ve done this once before, haven’t we?”

“It was different…”

“Was it though?”

As those words cascaded from In-ho’s lips, he pulled out a chair for Gi-hun with quiet elegance, motioning for him to sit.

And he did.

He sat down.

And as soon as he sat down, he felt like he had signed the dotted lines on a contract.

A contract that said he agreed to whatever this was, even if he didn’t fully understand it yet.

In-ho took the seat across from Gi-hun—studying him like he was something expensive and reverent. Something only he could have. The look in his eyes wasn’t lustfull. It was soft. It was worse than desire. It was the kind of look that said I see you, and you don’t have to hide.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant jazz and the gentle clink of glasses from nearby tables.

Gi-hun shifted in his seat, his gaze drifting from the table to the window—and, now and then, to the open collar of In-ho’s shirt. He avoided eye contact entirely.

In-ho noticed. He always noticed.

“Your outfit is... interesting.” In-ho mused, eyes trailing down Gi-hun’s frame.

Gi-hun’s gaze flicked up to In-ho, then quickly down to his own shirt. He tugged at it, suddenly self-conscious, like it didn’t fit right anymore.

Before Gi-hun could respond, In-ho leaned in—elbows on the table, gaze unwavering—as if Gi-hun were the spotlighted stage, and the rest of the world had faded into shadows.

“I like it, it's very you.”

Gi-hun let out a soft, relieved chuckle. “I’m not sure if that's a compliment or a diss.”

“Well what do you think it is?”

“...Do you always turn dates into therapy sessions?”

“No,” In-ho replied softly. “I don’t usually do this at all.”

A beat passed.

“But with you…” He tilted his head slightly, eyes steady on Gi-hun. “I want to ask questions. I want to know what's in your head.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched Gi-hun—as if he was reading a complicated sentence he didn’t want to rush.

“You’re more intriguing than you think,” In-ho stated, and for once, it didn’t sound like a line.

Gi-hun didn’t know what to respond with. He sat wide eyed in front of In-ho, like a deer caught in headlights.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” Gi-hun murmured, fiddling with his hands on top of the table.

“I find that hard to believe,” In-ho countered.

In-ho poured the soju with practiced ease, the liquid catching the light as it filled the shot glasses. He slid one across the table to Gi-hun.

But Gi-hun wasn’t looking at the glass.

His eyes lingered on In-ho’s hands—the subtle flex of tendons, the way his veins rose just beneath the skin as he gripped the bottle, the quiet tension in his forearm as he set it down.

The way those hands looked wrapped around the glass…

He wondered—briefly, stupidly—if they’d look the same wrapped around—

Absolutely not. He needed to get a grip—preferably before those hands gave him ideas.

In-ho raised his own glass.

“Do you remember our first toast?”

Gi-hun blinked, throat dry. “I remember what it led to.”

In-ho smirked, “It led to this.”

“Exactly.”

The two men clinked their glasses, before they both downed it in one go.

In-ho didn’t swallow it right away, he let it settle over his tongue, studying the glass in his hand.

“I like this one,” he commented, “one of my favourites.”

Gi-hun hummed in response like he actually agreed.

He always felt a little out of his depth around In-ho—like some clueless undergrad trailing after a man who'd already lived five lives and published books about all of them.

Which was ridiculous, of course. In-ho wasn’t famous.

But on campus? In Gi-hun’s head?

He might as well have been.

In all honesty, the soju just tasted like regular alcohol to Gi-hun. If you gave him a thousand dollar bottle of wine and a twenty dollar wine cooler, he wouldn’t know the difference. In fact, he’d probably choose the wine cooler and insist that was the expensive one.

In-ho set his glass down, eyes still on Gi-hun. He didn’t look away right away—just watched him for a beat, something unreadable flickering across his face—before finally reaching for the menu.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he opened it. His gaze moved down the page like he’d seen it a hundred times before, scanning with calm precision. He was done before Gi-hun had even flipped to the second page.

“You’re a fast reader,” Gi-hun said, trying to sound cool.

Trying to sound like his legs wouldn’t give out if he stood up.

Trying to sound like his heart wasn’t about to launch itself into cardiac arrest.

Why was that the first thing he said? Of all things? “You’re a fast reader?” Real smooth.

In-ho looked up from his menu, eyebrow raised. Not like he was judging him, more like he was intrigued by Gi-hun’s awkwardness.

“I am,” he remarked casually. “Years of practice. Grading essays. Reading through admissions.”

Gi-hun nodded along, trying to suppress the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach, but then, he paused.

Gi-hun blinked a few times as he processed the words.

Admissions…

There was no way he meant his admission.

Was that how he found out about him? Was that how this whole thing started? Through his stupid admission he half-assed?

But In-ho was looking at him now, just a little too knowingly. Like a man who had known the ending before the story even started.

Gi-hun felt heat crawl up the back of his neck.

“You read mine?” He asked, slower this time.
In-ho didn’t answer right away. He just poured another shot in Gi-hun’s glass and slid it across the table with that same precision, just before pouring himself a second drink.

In-ho sipped his drink this time. Gi-hun threw his back like a shot.

It said everything about them—quiet restraint versus reckless impulse. Practically symbolic.

In-ho took note. But it only confirmed what he already knew.

“Yours stood out.” In-ho said.

That was all he said. But it was enough. More than enough.

It struck him—how In-ho had looked at him that first day in class. How he’d commented on his student ID at the bar, like he’d already known who Gi-hun was.

Like he’d been waiting for him.

“So that’s why you sat next to me at the bar…” Gi-hun mumbled, looking back down at his menu.

“I wasn’t planning on it. But you looked like trouble… and I was curious.”

A pause.

“Still am,” In-ho admitted, his smirk faint but his eyes deadly serious.

Gi-hun was about to speak. Something, anything—but the waitress arrived before he could find the words, stepping in to take their orders with perfect timing.

In-ho ordered something elegant and seafood-based without so much as a glance at the menu. Meanwhile, Gi-hun panicked—he nearly blurted out the first thing his eyes landed on just to end the agony, then scrambled to choose something he might actually enjoy.

“Good choice,” In-ho assured, as the waiter took the menus away.

And just like that, Gi-hun exhaled. For the first time since they walked in, it felt like his organs weren’t actively trying to exit his body through sheer humiliation.

For a few seconds, they sat in silence—comfortable, almost. Until In-ho tilted his head slightly, studying Gi-hun again. Not in a harsh or in a hypercritical way, but like he was trying to trace a pattern he couldn’t quite figure out.

“You strike me as someone who might’ve gone for business,” In-ho said casually, swirling the rim of his now empty shot glass with one finger. “Or maybe law. Something safe. Predictable.”

Gi-hun blinked. “Wow. Harsh.”

In-ho gave the faintest smirk. “It’s not an insult.”

“Still stings.”

“Good,” In-ho joked with a slight chuckle, then his voice softened. “But really. Why philosophy?”

Gi-hun thought about it for a moment.

“I wasn’t even planning on going back to school,” a pause, “I guess I thought maybe if I understood people better, I would understand myself better. That's why I took Philosophy.”

It was such a simple response, an honest response. Nothing particularly intriguing or profound.

But the way In-ho looked at him.

God.

He looked at him like he was something delicate and rare–not because he was weak, but because he mattered. There was a flicker of want in his eyes, yes, but it was buried beneath something deeper. Like he wanted to reach out across the table and keep Gi-hun safe from the whole world, including himself.

There was so much In-ho wanted to say to Gi-hun. So much he wanted to express—about the way Gi-hun was so interesting to him, how his presence felt like stepping into a warm bath after a long, cold day. How his awkwardness came off more endearing than strange.

He wanted to mention he noticed how unsure of himself Gi-hun seemed around him. He wanted to tell him he didn’t have to be so unsure of himself, and he would never be able to lay eyes on another after whatever this would lead to.

But even as a professor, he couldn’t find the words to express it.

So instead, he said, “I see.”

Gi-hun didn’t initiate another conversation right away.

He just sat there, hands fiddling with his shot glass now—almost imitating In-ho. The leftover condensation bled into his fingertips.

I see.

That should’ve been the end of it—a safe, neutral answer. But coming from In-ho, it didn’t feel neutral at all. It felt deliberate. Heavy. Like he saw more than Gi-hun meant to show.

Gi-hun looked up, met his eyes—and immediately regretted it.

That same soft expression. The one that made it hard to breathe, like the air caught in his throat and refused to move.

He forced a small smile, tried to shake it off.

“Guess that got a little too real, huh?” Gi-hun half-laughed.

But In-ho didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile.

He just kept looking—like he wasn’t waiting for more, just quietly absorbing what was already there.

In-ho’s jaw tightened. Beneath the table, his fingers dug into his knee—trying to ground himself, or maybe hold himself back. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“Gi-hun,” In-ho said, leaning in, arms resting loosely on the table. His voice low, almost lazy. “Come back to my apartment after this.”

Gi-hun’s breath caught. His eyes went wide, stupidly wide.

He knew this was coming—had felt it building from the moment In-ho picked the restaurant, from the way he looked at him all night.

But hearing it? Out loud? Like that?

It was suddenly real. Real and close and dangerous.

Gi-hun’s heart kicked up. His mouth went dry.

And yet—god—some part of him thrilled at it.

Like he was already halfway out the door.

“You can say no,” In-ho said softly. “But I sincerely hope you think about it.”

Gi-hun’s heart was racing, loud and fast, like it was trying to escape his chest.

He wasn’t ready for this. Not really.

He’d never been with a man before. Not like that . He hadn’t brought anything, hadn’t planned, hadn’t even let himself fully believe he would ever go this far with another man. He hadn’t even been with anyone in months.

And yet… he wanted this.

He’d wanted it from the moment In-ho looked at him across the bar, like he was already his.

Part of him was still scared. But a deeper part, the part that hadn’t stopped thinking about In-ho since that night, that part wanted to try.

Try and see what this could be.

Try and make it work.

“My apartment’s close,” In-ho added, quieter this time—like he needed the reassurance more than Gi-hun did. “Five minutes, tops.

Gi-hun hesitated, he put down the glass he was fiddling with, and went still. Which was unusual for him. It was unusual for him to not be fiddling with something, it usually meant he was deep in thought.
Then, half joking, half-desperate to know—

“So… if I did come over,” he muttered, not meeting the other man's eyes, “what would we even do?”

In-ho tilted his head, leaned back in his chair, and looked out the window for a moment.

He let the silence stretch, just long enough to make Gi-hun squirm. Then, his eyes landed on him again, voice quiet and heavy, like every word had been chosen ahead of time.

“We’d talk,” In-ho said smoothly. “Maybe another drink. There's a book I've been meaning to show you.”

A pause.

He adjusted his glasses, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“And if you still looked at me the way you’re looking at me right now…”
He exhaled once, soft.
“I’d give you a reason to come back again. And again.”

The line hung heavy in the air.

And then, perfectly timed to ruin everything, the waiter returned with their food.

In-ho didn’t even acknowledge her, not rudely, just with the quiet focus of a man who only had eyes for someone.

In-ho’s gaze didn’t waver, tracking every flicker of movement—Gi-hun’s shallow breath, the twitch of his fingers, the overly enthusiastic way he thanked the waiter.

Like he was clinging to anything but the heat slowly pooling in his stomach.

The moment the waiter walked away, the air shifted—thick with more than silence. It was heavy with everything unsaid, every glance that lingered too long. The kind of tension that clung to Gi-hun’s skin like heat—slow, steady, and impossible to ignore.

“I don’t know–” Gi-hun cleared his throat, eyes locked on his plate as he pushed a piece of food around aimlessly. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” In-ho asked, taking a bite of his food like none of this affected him.

But it did .

Deep down, In-ho’s heart was racing just as fast as Gi-hun’s, his legs trembling just as much as the other mans. As much as he tried to hide it, he was just as human as everyone else. He didn’t want to mess this up. He didn’t want to risk losing Gi-hun.

But he always felt the need to keep a figurative mask on. Like he needed to present himself as resilient and almost inhuman.

Gi-hun shifted in his seat.
“Be with someone like you,” he mumbled, “I’ve never… I mean, I have before, just not—”

In-ho blinked slowly, eyebrows raised he leaned back in his seat.

“So you’ve been thinking about it.”
A pause. Then, with maddening calm:
“About where this would go.”

Gi-hun stared, wide-eyed, mouth opening to protest—to say no , or maybe , or God, shut up. But nothing came out.

And In-ho, smiling just a little now, finished it off with the killing blow:

“Tell me, Gi-hun.”
He let his gaze drop–slowly.
“Did you think about my mouth first, or my hands? Or something different entirely?”

Gi-hun’s brain shorted out.

Gone. Blank. Not even a static buzz left behind—Just pure, paralyzing, mortification.

Gi-hun’s jaw was slack. It was useless. His fork hung limply in his hand like he’d forgotten how to function as a human being.

Hands or mouth? Or something different entirely?!

Was he joking? Was he serious? Was Gi-hun even breathing right now?

His face was burning. He could feel the flush creeping all the way to his ears, down his neck, and leading somewhere lower. His entire body screamed do not respond to that, but his brain was just screaming.

He could not— could not —look at the man across the table from him right now.

And yet, when he did, In-ho was just sitting there. Perfect. Calm. Like he hadn’t just ruined Gi-hun’s entire life with just one sentence. His expression was unreadable, that infuriating half-smirk playing at his lips like he was enjoying this way too much.

Like this was some sort of test.

And maybe it was.

I’m going to die, Gi-hun thought. I’m actually going to die in this restaurant, and they’ll have to explain to my family that it was because of philosophy professor innuendo.

“Don’t worry, Gihun,” In-ho said, leaning back in his chair, hands resting on his own thighs under the table. “I’ve thought about it as well.”

Gi-hun swallowed, hard.
“And?...”

In-ho titled his head slightly, eyes drifting upward like he was considering it—like this was a philosophical question instead of a suggestive one.

“And I keep wondering what would happen if we stopped pretending we haven’t been thinking the same thing.”

In-ho stood abruptly, not harshly though, it was incredibly effortless.

He adjusted his cuffs, straightened his shirt, and reached a hand out towards Gi-hun.

“We don’t have to do anything you don't want to,” In-ho said softly. “Just at least stay for a little while.” His voice was like a promise wrapped in silk.

Gi-hun looked around the restaurant. Everyone was wrapped up in their own lives. Couples leaned in close, parties erupted in laughter, families indulged in dessert.

No one was paying attention to them.

No one even batted an eye when In-ho stood.

Gi-hun followed. His chair let out a soft screech against the polished marble floor.

Everything was too much.

The jazz was suddenly too loud. The lights too bright. The air too thick. It felt like everyone was watching them, like the whole room had turned to stare.

But the truth really was simple. No one cared. No one looked. No one noticed.

What would they think, he wondered, if they saw us leave together?

What would they think when we showed up on campus together tomorrow?

Gi-hun took In-ho’s hand reluctantly, leaving behind their barely touched food, as well as the half finished bottle of soju.

In-ho gave him a quick reassuring smile. Not pitying, just quiet, steady. Like a promise this was okay.

They walked together to the front desk, pinkies interlocked as In-ho led the way.

At the counter, In-ho slid his wallet from his back pocket with practiced ease. It was a black sleek leather wallet.

Then the hostess read out the total in a hushed whisper.

Gi-hun’s jaw nearly dropped.

That much? For a meal we didn’t even finish?

He blinked, stunned—but In-ho didn’t flinch.

He paid the full amount in cash. Crisp bills, counted without pause. No card. No tapping. No signature. Just clean, quiet wealth.

Gi-hun could only stare.

Who even carries around cash anymore?

And more importantly: Who the hell is this man I’m going home with?

In-ho gave him a quick, small wink to Gi-hun—before thanking the hostess, and intertwining their fingers together as they walked towards the door together.

In-ho opened the door, and Gi-hun stepped out into the moonlight.

Outside, the air hit Gi-hun like a slap—crisp, cold, a little too real. He hadn’t realized how warm it was inside until he stepped out.

He let go of In-ho’s hand just long enough to dig into his pocket for a lighter and a crumpled pack of cigarettes he brought everywhere with him, but never really smoked. He told himself it was for emergencies, this counted.

His fingers trembled as he tried to light one—managed it, barely. He really shouldn’t be smoking outside a place this elegant, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. It felt like the end of the world.

(It wasn’t, of course. If anything, it was the start of a new one. Gi-hun had always been a little overdramatic about things like this.)

In-ho didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped in beside him, beneath the awning at the front of the restaurant, hands tucked into his coat pockets. The city blinked around them–distant, indifferent.

Gi-hun lifted the cigarette to his lips, about to light it again–fumbling, just a bit—when In-ho quietly took the lighter from his hand.

No words.

In-ho leaned in slightly, flicked the lighter and cupped the flame with one hand.

Gi-hun leaned in—steady and slow, as he lit the cigarette.

The other man's face was mere inches from his, he could practically feel the ghost of his breath against his cheek.

Gi-hun inhaled, smoke curling between them like something intimate.

When he exhaled, he wasn’t sure if the heat in his chest came from the cigarette—or from In-ho’s gaze, still locked on him like he was the only thing that mattered.

In-ho took a step back—just beside Gi-hun, under the sheltered awning by the restaurant’s front doors. His hands were in his coat pockets again, eyes on the city blinking around them. On Gi-hun’s mouth as it curled around the cigarette. On the smoke drifting from his lips.

He looked at In-ho, made direct eye contact, and held out the packet of smokes.

“You smoke?” Gi-hun asked, curious. The cigarette still dangled from his lips as he spoke.

In-ho shook his head.

“I don’t need to,” he responded.

That was it. No judgement. Just a statement, quiet and infuriatingly cool.

“Everyone needs something.”

“I agree,” In-ho added, “I prefer to drink.”

“To drink away your sorrows?” Gi-hun huffed.

In-ho let out a soft hum, maybe amusement—or maybe something deeper like he was coming to terms with something he had buried years ago.

“I supposed I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

Gi-hun looked at him, and saw right through him.

In reality, behind this mysterious person suit, behind this calculated and curated man, stood a lonely one. One who just wanted to feel seen. To feel loved. To feel wanted.

And that broke something in Gi-hun. He replayed the way he said that over in his head until he suddenly felt self conscious about the way he reacted.

“I'm sorry,” Gi-hun said softly, “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything…”

“You didn’t, you’re making me think,” A pause, “I like that about you, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun looked at In-ho like he was something to be worshipped. There was no hesitation in what he said, he just said it like a fact.

And In-ho stared back—the exact same way.

Gi-hun took one, slow, and long drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stomping on it.

They stood in silence for a beat longer, the night humming low around them. Golden light glowing off nearby windows, traffic humming distantly, the sharp scent of tobacco curling between them.

Then, In-ho reached into his coat pocket, and unlocked his car across the parking lot with a soft click.

He stepped towards Gi-hun. Not intimidating, just showing him he was there.

“Ready?”

Gi-hun exhaled softly, and nodded, even though he really wasn’t.

But he followed anyway.

The walk to In-ho’s car felt longer than it really was. It was only a few feet away, but it felt like a marathon.

Gi-hun’s pulse quickened with every step he took towards the car. In-ho was ahead of him, leading the way. But he kept looking back to make sure Gi-hun was following. As though he was afraid he would run off last minute. And Gi-hun did think about it, for a moment. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He shouldn’t have texted In-ho.

Shouldn’t have gone to his office.

Shouldn’t have come to this absurdly beautiful restaurant.

Shouldn’t have taken those shots of soju…

Gi-hun wondered if the light buzz of the alcohol was speaking for him, making him make reckless and careless decisions.

But he would have accepted the offer to go back to In-ho’s apartment anyway. It didn’t matter if he was a little tipsy.

He wanted this.

Wanted to see all of In-ho. Even if it was unconventional. Even if he swore to himself up and down that he was straight, and that all those thoughts before were just impulsive thoughts.

But these weren’t just thoughts or curiosity anymore. This was really happening. And out of all people— Inho. An older man, a professor, a very clear wealthy man. Someone Gi-hun thought he couldn’t land in a million years.

Once they got to In-ho’s car, he opened the door for Gi-hun, gesturing him to step in.

As he stepped in, he noticed his car was pristine. Not a single scratch on the exterior, not a single speck of dust or dirt in the interior, it was almost uncanny. Like every part of his life was staged for a showroom, as though nothing was lived in, just curated to be perfect in every way possible.

In-ho stepped in after Gi-hun to the driver's seat.

Gi-hun wondered if In-ho was feeling the faint buzz from the soju. He wondered if his heart was beating just as loud as his. If there was a pool of heat settling deep in his core like him. In-ho nearly seemed unreal. Like he wasn’t a human but something beyond.

“I don’t live far,” In-ho said as he shifted the car into drive “Just up the road.”

Gi-hun nodded, unable to trust his voice. His fingers twisted the hem of his sleeve, restless and tight. One knee bounced slightly, barely grazing the glovebox.

As In-ho started to drive, Gi-hun found himself watching him too closely.

He noticed how one of In-ho’s hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles pale with tension—while the other rested, almost too casually, on his own thigh.

What would that hand feel like on your thigh?

The thought flooded his mind like cigarette smoke—slow, thick, impossible to wave away. It was suffocating, wanting someone this badly. Especially someone he’d known only for a few days.

He forced himself to look out the window instead.

The city hummed gently around them. It was still a weekday—no clubbers, no groups of friends crowding the streets. Just the occasional work group lingering outside restaurants, jackets slung over chairs, laughter faint and far between.

That's what made all this feel even more… eerie. The farther they drove out of central downtown, the more quiet it got.

The streets that were once full of restaurants, full of food stalls and little shops turned into black sky rises and modern penthouses.

They were in the rich part of downtown—as him and Jung-bae called it.

Of course.

Why wouldn’t they be? It was just Gi-hun’s luck, one more thing to make In-ho seem untouchable.

Every time the bus passed through this neighborhood, he and Jung-bae would crack the same jokes: This is where the sad, lonely CEOs and retired professors live. Their apartments cold and sterile, full of soulless white furniture, instruments bought for decoration, not joy, and art pieces worth more than their life savings combined.

There was one high-rise they always pointed out. About seventy stories tall. Reflective black glass climbed its sides with no balconies to break the clean line of its modern silhouette. Just a monolith—smooth, sharp, and out of reach. They used to say only the most intimidating people lived there. If you had an apartment in that building, you weren’t just rich—you were untouchable.

It stood just off the core of downtown, with a perfect view of the skyline. Prime real estate.

Gi-hun imagined himself living in a space like that. Maybe not there exactly, but somewhere high up and ridiculous. A future where he was successful—whatever that meant. Where he walked into his apartment with an overpriced latte in one hand, plopping onto a thousand-dollar couch, wore expensive tailored suits, and barked instructions at interns through email.

That would be the life.

“You’re quiet.” In-ho said, eyes focused on the road ahead.

Gi-hun turned his attention from his window daydream, to the man sitting beside him.

“I have no idea how to be normal about this,” Gi-hun said, swallowing hard. “You’re you. I’m... very much me. And now I’m in your car, on the way to your apartment, like that’s a totally casual thing.”

In-ho let out a quiet chuckle—low, unforced. The kind that felt real.

The car rolled to a stop at a red light.

He turned his head, just slightly, to look at Gi-hun.

“I told you,” he said calmly, “you don’t need to be nervous around me.”

A beat passed.

Then, softer—almost like it wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud:

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

Gi-hun’s ears burned. His hands tightened in his lap. He stared straight ahead  with the hyper-focus of someone desperately avoiding the kind of mouth they shouldn’t be thinking about kissing.

“What–” Gi-hun cleared his throat, “What do you mean?”

In-ho studied Gi-hun for a moment.

“Well,” he said, turning his attention back to the road as he started to drive again, “I saw your admission, not on purpose, on accident actually.”

Gi-hun stayed quiet.

“As soon as I saw your name, I knew I had to meet you,” In-ho said, his tone almost casual. “So I rearranged the entire lecture schedule to make room.”

He paused, then allowed himself a quiet laugh—barely there, but real.

“I don’t usually teach Intro Philosophy,” he added. “Most department heads don’t. It raised a few eyebrows.”

In-ho smiled to himself, one hand casually on the wheel, the other now resting on the console, dividing the two of them.

“I saw you at orientation too,” In-ho continued, “That's when I knew.”

“...Knew what?.” Gi-hun asked hesitantly, now fully turning to face In-ho.

Then, without looking at Gi-hun he answered.
“Knew that I would risk my career for you.”

This wasn’t normal—not in any way imaginable. Gi-hun knew that. It was blaringly obvious.
But the heat pooling low in his abdomen told another story.

Was he sick? Perverted?

Lusting after someone like this? Someone like In-ho?

What the hell was wrong with him? And why was he playing along?

“I don’t understand you, Mr. Hwang.”

“You don’t have to. You’ll understand soon enough.” In-ho leaned back slightly, his voice softer now. “And we aren’t in class, Gi-hun. Please—call me In-ho.”

Gi-hun gave a little hum and nodded, and then stared right back out the window.

Why was he being so awkward? Normally he loved car rides with other people—loved the cheesy music on the radio, loved pointing out little shops and markets and houses he would never be able to afford. But this ride just felt… different. Loaded. Tense in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

The car turned right, heading toward the skyrise apartment complex he and Jung-bae always talked about. He could still hear Jung-bae’s voice echoing in his head:

“Only sick perverted FREAKS live in that building! Who would spend that much money on an apartment?! Why not buy a huge house on—”

Jung-bae would go on for what seemed like hours about how stupid it was to live in an apartment when you were that rich. Gi-hun was sure Jung-bae was just jealous and tried to make it sound so horrible to live in a skyrise building facing the heart of Seoul—but in reality, Jung-bae would kill to leave his tiny apartment with his 2 roommates to live in that building.

Honestly… who wouldn’t?

In a desperate attempt to make the car ride feel a little less loaded, Gi-hun started talking.

And he talked way… way too much.

“You know, every time me and my friend Jung-bae pass this apartment complex, we joke about who might live there. Jung-bae says it’s full of, like, sick perverted freaks. I say it’s just lonely rich people with too much time and money—like, mid-life crisis buyers who blow their savings on a unit in the most expensive building around here. You know?”

In-ho let out a low hum, a smirk tugging at his lips, “Interesting theories.”

He glanced at Gi-hun, then back to the road.

“But maybe the truth’s a bit closer than you think.”

“Oh do you know someone who lives there? Oh, Jung-bae would love to hear all about them. Who is it?”

In-ho didn’t say anything, he just drummed his fingers along the wheel, and stopped in front of the gate.

“Why did we stop?” Gi-hun stammered, looking around the area like he suddenly gained consciousness.

“We're here.”

“Oh, right. Funny joke. It's seriously getting late though, shouldn’t we actually get to your—”

In-ho reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, rolled down his window and tapped his keycard. A slight beep and a click as the gate opened and a ramp came into view, leading to an underground parking lot.

Gi-hun paused.

Processed it.

No way.

Jung-bae would never believe this.

“Oh my god,” Gi-hun blurted, wildly gesturing with his hands. “I had no idea—seriously, I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said before. About the perverted freaks—all of it!”

In-ho let out a low, genuine laugh.

“Gi-hun, relax. It’s fine.”

He glanced over, smiling. “I like when you talk like that. It’s honest.”

Then he lowered his voice, head tilting slightly toward Gi-hun, eyes focused on finding his parking spot.

“Besides, your friend’s not wrong. Some of them really are ‘sick perverted freaks.’”

A beat.

“Jung-bae, right?”

Gi-hun nodded, “Yeah… Jung-bae.”

“And who was the one who dropped you off? Was that him?”

“Uh–no, that was Sang-woo.”

In-ho’s jaw tensed, though his smile didn’t fade. He pulled into the reserved parking space, lips pressed thin. Above it, a plaque read: Reserved for Mr. Hwang In-ho.

He shifted the car into park and unbuckled his seatbelt with deliberate slowness.

“You two seem close,” he said evenly. “I can tell.”

“Yeah, we are. He’s my best friend.”

In-ho gave a small nod, but his hands lingered on the steering wheel a second too long.

“I noticed the way he looked at you when we met. Like someone who’s used to being protective. He seems like he really cares for you.”

Gi-hun barely registered the weight of the words—still too busy staring at the plaque, the garage, everything.

In-ho glanced at him again, tone quieter now—but not softer.

“How did you two meet?”

“Well we’ve been friends since, like… forever,” Gi-hun muttered, eyes still scanning the garage like it held answers. “Grew up together. Same neighborhood, same schools.”

In-ho nodded slowly. “That kind of connection runs deep.”

Gi-hun gave a small smile. “Yeah. He’s always been there.”

In-ho reached for the door handle, voice calm. “Some people stay close for a reason.”

Gi-hun didn’t catch it right away—just hummed in agreement, still preoccupied.

Before Gi-hun could reach for his own door handle, it was already opening.

In-ho stood there, hand outstretched, gaze steady—soft, but unwavering.

“You don’t have to come up,” he said, voice low. “But I hope you do.”

A slight pause.

“Because if you don’t want this… now’s the moment to say so.”

Gi-hun stared at In-ho’s hand.

His brain screamed at him to think it through, to slow down, to breathe—but his body moved first.

He took In-ho’s hand.

“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”His grip was firm, maybe firmer than it needed to be—like he was afraid letting go would mean thinking twice.

They walked to the elevator hand in hand, unaware whether they were walking into something beautiful or dangerous—only that there was no turning back.

Chapter Text

I practice every day to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come true

But then I think I'll wait until the evening gets late, and I'm alone with you

The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue

And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"

In-ho moved with quiet assurance, leading Gi-hun into the elevator—up to the apartment lobby.

When the elevator doors opened with a soft whirr and a gentle chime, Gi-hun came to a halt.

The lobby was nothing short but elegant and graceful. A large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling—trailing golden lines across the polished black tiled floor. Embedded flecks of gold shimmered underfoot, scattered like constellations.

The ceiling arched so high it felt surreal, as though the rest of the building had been carved away just to make room for it. Floor to ceiling windows lined where the front entrance is. From the outside, they were completely tinted, ensuring complete privacy from the outside world. But from the inside—a clear view of the streets could be seen.

Leather armchairs sat just off to the side of the main desk—deep burgundy cushions rich and untouched. Behind the counter, a young woman looked up and gave In-ho a slight nod—elegant and practiced.  He returned it with a clipped smile, and for a moment, Gi-hun wasn’t sure if he’d dreamt of this and only dreamt of this entire ordeal.

But In-ho’s pinky still hooked around his told him he wasn’t dreaming—not this time. The heat of this moment was more than real, it was happening .

Almost on cue with Gi-hun’s internal spiral of emotions, the elevator doors opened from across the lobby, and In-ho ushered Gi-hun towards it.

A man stepped out—broad-shouldered, draped in a sharp navy suit that looked as if it had been tailored thread by thread for him. His polished shoes clicked against the marble, crisp and measured. His eyes lifted immediately to In-ho, flickering with something like recognition—though his gaze slid right past Gi-hun as if he weren’t even there.

It wasn’t a mistake, Gi-hun could tell. The man had looked through him deliberately, a dismissal so subtle yet so sharp it might as well have been a blade.

The front desk attendant’s posture shifted too, just slightly—the gracious, rehearsed smile she’d offered In-ho gone before it could extend to Gi-hun. Her chin tilted lower, her attention pulled back to her computer screen as though she hadn’t seen him at all.

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t welcome here. Not in this building, not in this world.

And if In-ho noticed, he didn’t show it. His expression stayed cool, unreadable. He offered the suited man nothing—no smile, no acknowledgment, only a silent refusal to return the courtesy withheld from Gi-hun.

In-ho caught the elevator door with one hand just before it closed, and gestured for Gi-hun to step in before him.

The elevator played soft instrumental music, making everything feel even more surreal. The walls were lined with mirrors and the smell of faint rose petals filled the air inside.

He stepped slowly inside—almost warily, as if the floor beneath him would collapse.

He took one good look at himself in one of the mirrors stretched along the wall. His hair was slightly tousled, his outfit was even more wrinkled now, and his shoelace was untied to top everything off.

He didn’t belong here.

He should have just gone home, called Sang-woo to pick him up, and ended the date as soon as that conversation happened.

But Gi-hun never stopped, not before it was too late, not before he did something that was reckless.

Was this his way of making his life seem less mediocre? Doing something reckless to distract him from his ever growing boredom—something to make his life seem significant in a way it hadn’t ever been before?

The elevator doors closed, and In-ho’s cologne replaced the scent in the elevator.

Gi-hun watched as In-ho pressed his floor number. The button lit up on the panel.

But maybe, just maybe, In-ho wasn’t as untouchable as he seemed. There was a moment where Gi-hun saw through him at the restaurant. As though for just a second, he’d slipped off his person suit—let something bleed through. Sadness, maybe, but loneliness seemed more prominent.

“You keep looking at yourself like you’re about to run,” In-ho teased as he glanced at Gi-hun’s reflection. “Should I be worried?”

Gi-hun met the other man's eyes in the mirror. His mouth opened, then closed. Like the words couldn’t find a way to escape.

He let out a short, breathy laugh. “I look like I snuck through the back door. Or got lost on the way home and ended up in someone else’s life.”

His voice was quiet, a little strained. He looked away from In-ho’s eyes, but he still felt the weight of his gaze.
“Worried?” Gi-hun echoed after a beat, trying to smile. “No. You’re not the one who should be.”

He reached down and tied his shoe—half as a stalling tactic, half because he suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of his own imperfections in this spotless, mirrored box.

When he stood up, he finally glanced at In-ho’s reflection beside his own one last time. In-ho suddenly looked… unfamiliar.

He didn’t look calm or measured or anything in between. His brows were pinched together and his jaw was clenched. Like he was holding something back. Now, his back faced the elevator doors and he was still staring at Gi-hun’s reflection in the mirror—or was he staring at his own?

But before Gi-hun could comment, it had already disappeared.

As the doors parted, In-ho’s expression settled into composure. His arm slid around Gi-hun’s waist, steering him out before he could think to resist. Not that he would have tried.

In-ho led him down the carpeted hallway, past door after closed door, until he slowed and stopped at one. His door.

His arm slipped from Gi-hun’s waist as he reached into his coat pocket for the keys.

Gi-hun lingered close beside him.

In-ho could feel the ghost of his warmth—cheap cologne and terrible aftershave hanging in the air.

And Gi-hun, for his part, couldn’t stop staring at him.

“Are… you alright?” Gi-hun asked.

In-ho blinked once at the door, glanced down at the key in his hand, then back up at the door again before finally meeting Gi-hun’s eyes.

“Yes.” In-ho stated with a light smile.

He turned the key in the lock, and the door cracked open.

In-ho stepped in first, setting his keys and glasses down on the black marbled table beside the door, while gently tugging off his coat.

Gi-hun paused at the threshold.

It was almost laughable.

The entire far wall was a single expanse of glass, offering a sweeping view of the city below. The ceilings slanted upward in sharp, modern angles, and the floors were glossy with polished hardwood. The space was almost sterile—no photos, no artwork, no mess. Not a trace of clutter. Not a trace of anyone at all. It was like a ghost lived here.

The entire main area was open-concept—like his own apartment, if it were ten times bigger and worth his entire life savings.

The kitchen, dining room, and living room flowed together in one seamless space. The only closed-off areas were the bedroom and bathroom. Gi-hun knew that because, well… he couldn’t see them.

In-ho had already slipped off his shoes and placed them neatly on the rack, his coat hung with quiet perfection in the closet by the door. Now, he stood behind the sleek minibar, not far from the kitchen.

Gi-hun watched from the door as In-ho placed two ice cubes into a crystal glass.

“Come in, close the door behind you,” In-ho remarked, “please.”

Gi-hun stepped inside, taking one look down the hallway before locking the door behind him.

“Do you want a drink?” In-ho asked, already pulling out a chilled beer from the mini fridge and placing it on the counter in front of himself.

“Are you having one?”

In-ho’s brow ticked up, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. ”Well, one won’t hurt. We barely touched our glasses at dinner.”

Gi-hun huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… alright then.”

Just as In-ho started to pour himself two fingers of whiskey—Gi-hun glanced up from where he was toeing off his shoe, and saw the beer brand.

It was the beer brand he always drank, his favourite. Something he hadn’t mentioned to anyone besides Jung-bae and Sang-woo.

Maybe it was a curious coincidence that In-ho happened to get his favourite brand of beer, something he could mention as an ice breaker later on into the night.

On the other hand… Gi-hun hadn’t seen that brand in stores in a while. The only place that sold it was— Jung-bae’s store.

That’s right! Gi-hun recalled Jung-bae talking about how he ordered this brand just for him and how it almost immediately sold out every time he restocked it. He called it his ‘store special’ just because no one else in the area sold it.

Gi-hun’s fingers twitched. He stepped forward towards the bar’s counter where it sat, and took one hard look at it.

It was definitely from his store.

“Where—” Gi-hun cleared his throat, “where did you find this?”

In-ho’s head tilted slightly as he put back the bottle of whiskey on the liquor shelf against the wall. “Come again?”

“Where did you buy this?” Gi-hun repeated as he picked it up and slowly observed it in his hand.

In-ho knew Gi-hun was testing him, he wanted to play along. “Why do you ask?”

Gi-hun looked up at In-ho.

"I've just never seen anyone carry this brand, It's my favourite."

"Well, Jung-bae's store carries it." In-ho responded calmly, looking directly into Gi-hun's eyes.

Gi-hun's blood ran cold.

"Jung-bae? You—you know Jung-bae?"

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I? You stop at that store almost everyday. You stopped there after our first class together. You also mentioned him in passing.”

Gi-hun stood wide eyed before In-ho, the only thing separating the two being the counter between them. In-ho calmly took a sip of his whiskey while peering up at him through his glass.

And Gi-hun, he couldn't move.

He hadn’t told him that yet. He couldn’t have. He only mentioned Jung-bae’s name once .

The words rattled in his skull, each one sharper than the last: You stop there almost every day. You stopped there after our first class together.

How could he possibly know that?

Gi-hun’s pulse spiked, a hot rush climbing the back of his neck. His grip on the bottle tightened until his knuckles whitened, and for a second he swore the room tilted. Had In-ho been watching him? Following him? Talking to Jung-bae? No—that didn’t make sense, it couldn’t make sense.

Still, his mind ran wild with the possibilities. Every cigarette he’d lit in front of the store, every late-night snack he’d bought half-asleep, every casual chat with Jung-bae—it all replayed under a new, unbearable light. Had In-ho seen him? Had he been there?

His stomach twisted so hard it felt like his insides were folding in on themselves. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The only thing that filled the silence was In-ho’s steady sip of whiskey, calm as stone, like he hadn’t just shattered Gi-hun’s entire sense of safety.

Then, suddenly, In-ho laughed. A real laugh—low and unexpected, cracking through the tension like a match striking in the dark. He shook his head, playfully, as though he’d only just realized how tightly he’d wound Gi-hun up. Setting his glass down with an easy clink, he moved out from behind the counter and closed the space between them.

"I'm only joking," he said, voice lighter now, like this had all been a harmless tease. "I bought a pack when I went out of the city for a conference. I don’t particularly enjoy it. I’m pleased you do, though."

The tight coil in Gi-hun’s chest loosened, if only a little. His lungs remembered how to work, letting out a laugh—thin and shaky, but a laugh nonetheless. God, he’d been seconds away from thinking the worst. From accusing him of something ridiculous.

Of course In-ho wasn’t following him. Of course he wasn’t watching.

Gi-hun ran his thumb along the metal rim of the can in his hand, grounding himself in with the feeling of it. He let out a slow breath, willing the pounding in his ears to fade. Maybe he’d overreacted—let his nerves run ahead of him.

Still, somewhere at the back of his mind, a quiet voice lingered: how did he guess so easily?

"So—you don't know Jung-bae?" Gi-hun managed to stutter out.

"No, I do not know Jung-bae. But I would be happy to meet him, if the time opportunity ever arose."

Gi-hun huffed a laugh. "You had me thinking you were stalking me or something..."

In-ho gave a small, amused smirk—slightly squinting his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not stalking you. "

But he didn’t say it with a laugh this time. He said it like a fact—too firm to be natural.

With quiet ease, In-ho slipped the coat from Gi-hun’s shoulders and draped it over a stool, his touch lingering just long enough to be noticed.

"Oh, thank you." Gi-hun mumbled, twisting around to face In-ho.

"My pleasure."

Gi-hun still couldn't shake the feeling that In-ho knew more than he wanted to admit. I mean, it was one thing to look over his admission, that wasn't too strange, he was the head of his department after all.

But... how did he know Jung-bae owns that convenience store?

He didn’t want to question it. He didn’t want to make this more awkward than it already was.

So, he cracked open the beer and took a small sip. In-ho watched intently as he skillfully swirled the whiskey in his own glass. The ice clinking against the crystal filled the silence.

Gi-hun’s eyes kept falling on the windows just past In-ho. He had never seen something so spectacular before. The view of the city was entrancing—he could see the university's building and faintly point out In-ho’s office window.

In-ho’s fingers twitched against his glass.

“Would you like to take a look?”

Gi-hun’s mouth parted in a silent yes as he nodded his head.

That was more than enough for In-ho.

He set the crystal glass down lightly and placed a hand in between Gi-hun’s shoulder blades, guiding him to the lounge area where the windows stretched. Gi-hun hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a sliding glass door which led to a large balcony in front of the windows. In-ho slid it open, and stepped out first.

The cool air hit Gi-hun’s face like a punch, but it was refreshing nonetheless. His breath caught at the view. Cars drove by on distant roads, a few scattered crowds walked on the sidewalks, it was quiet—most likely due to the fact that it was a weekday, and probably late. He hadn’t checked the time. He didn’t feel the need to anymore.

Gi-hun stepped closer to the railing, one hand settling against the cold metal—the other still holding his beer. The night's air curled around him, lifting his hair just enough to loosen a few strands across his forehead. In-ho’s eyes lingered on the sight.

In-ho stepped away from the door as he slid it shut and stepped towards the younger man. He stopped right beside him, nearly touching as he rested his forearms on the railing beside him.

“Do you often feel out of place, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun didn’t look at him, he just kept his eyes focused on the skyline. He could hear a group of people laughing in the distance.

He exhaled before speaking.

“No,” he admitted. “Not often.”

“You said you felt out of place here—with me. ”

“I didn’t say with you, ” Gi-hun corrected. “Just… here. In this perfect life.”

“I never said my life was perfect.” In-ho said, not rudely, it was more stated like a fact rather than an argument.

Gi-hun took a long sip of his beer, he swallowed roughly.

"If you ever stepped into my apartment—the piles of laundry, the chaos, me included," Gi-hun said with a laugh, waving his hands as if painting the picture, "you’d bolt before I could offer you a drink."

“I doubt it.”

Gi-hun finally looked up at him.

“In-ho, you’ve got the perfect life,” Gi-hun said, half laughing as his eyes drifted behind them, he vaguely gestured inside. “A fancy apartment with an amazing view… everything neat, only the important stuff. No clutter, no photos, nothing out of place.”

He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “It’s like you don’t even live here—like it’s a model home or something.”

“But why do you think that is?” In-ho said, stepping closer to him, “Why do you think I have no photos or clutter?”

Gi-hun’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to respond but only a quiet whimper came out.

“Hm?” In-ho drawled as he placed both hands on either side of Gi-hun’s body against the railing, caging him in.

“I think… you intimidate me.”

“In a good way?” In-ho asked with a slight tilt of his head and a smirk.

Gi-hun gave a small nod, his brows knitting together as his jaw tightened.

“Say it, Gi-hun.” In-ho commanded.

His eyes widened, but still, he followed In-ho’s words. He always did. “I wouldn’t agree with something I disagree with.”

“Good.”

In-ho’s hand gently raised to cup his jaw, his thumb brushed under his eye as his other hand found Gi-hun’s waist, pulling him closer. Gi-hun gasped at the sudden friction and contact. Only then did In-ho lean in—not for his lips, not yet. His breath ghosted the shell of his ear, as he murmured low and even:

"I won’t run from you," In-ho whispered, close enough for Gi-hun to feel the warmth of his breath. "Even if I glimpse the worst of your world."

A pause.

"Would you run from me if you glimpsed mine?"

Gi-hun avoided the other man's gaze at all costs, his eyes trailed to the floor, to the can of beer he was gripping so tightly it started to crumple.

Abruptly, In-ho’s hand left his jaw only to seize Gi-hun’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. His eyes raked over Gi-hun’s—desperate, searching. He wet his lips before speaking again.

"I need you to answer me," In-ho pleaded, the words almost a confession. "Please."

Gi-hun pressed his lips into a thin line as he edged backward, desperate to put even an inch of space between them.

“Do you have a bathroom I can use?” Gi-hun blurted out.

In-ho blinked, stepping back as his hand slipped from Gi-hun’s face and his grip on his waist loosened into nothing.

“Down the hall to the right.”

“Thanks.”

Gi-hun slid the door back open again, and chugged the rest of his beer before crushing it in his hand and tossing it in the garbage can next to the mini bar.

Before he made his way to the bathroom, he wanted to look around. He stopped at the towering bookshelf to inspect his books. There was none he recognized, it was mostly textbooks and leatherbound journals—as he suspected. He resisted the urge to open and peek inside, though he wasn’t sure he would be able to fathom the guilt of disrespecting In-ho’s privacy.

Or maybe he was afraid of what would be inside.

He ran his finger along the shelf, and not to his surprise, there wasn’t even a speck of dust on his fingers. He just scoffed and continued to look around the area.

A desk sat in the corner of the lounge area, just beside the bookshelves. A fountain pen and another journal sat neatly in the middle of it along with some charcoal and what seemed to be an incredibly expensive art set.

Against the far wall sat a black leather couch with a dark wooden coffee table. No television, no modern electronics, just a vinyl player on an end table with exactly one album next to it.

In-ho’s apartment was utterly empty.

Gi-hun peaked back outside through the windows and saw In-ho staring off into the distance. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Or, he knew what Gi-hun was doing, and let him.

On the contrary, Gi-hun did actually want to use the restroom to compose himself, so he followed In-ho’s instructions and went down the hallway just past the main entrance.

He made his way down the hallway, but came to a halt.

In-ho’s bedroom door was cracked open.

Of course it was.

Gi-hun slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside, not even bothering to think twice about In-ho’s privacy anymore.

He tiptoed around the room.

To his surprise—and mild disappointment—the room was painfully ordinary. A queen-sized bed stood at the center, dressed in black silk sheets and a charcoal duvet, every corner tucked in with precision. Opposite the bed stretched a closet, one door fitted with a tall mirror that caught the dim light. On either side of the bed sat matching dark-wood nightstands: the one on the right held a sleek lamp and a frayed phone charger, while the left one bore a folded slip of paper and a photo frame turned deliberately face-down.

Gi-hun stepped towards the table on the left.

His fingers ghosted the edge of the photo frame before flipping it upright.

It was a photo of a younger In-ho—late teens, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Beside him stood a small boy, clinging tightly to his hand. In-ho wore a graduation gown, the kind they gave out at high school ceremonies, while the boy at his side looked up at him with unmistakable trust.

He looked… softer. As if the world hadn’t touched him yet and he was stepping into it for the first time. He was smiling with his teeth, his eyes crinkled with his smile.

Gi-hun stared at it for a long while in silence.

His fingers traced In-ho’s silhouette.

“In-ho…” He whispered to nobody.

Gi-hun’s gaze drifted to the folded paper resting on the end table. Slowly, almost hesitant, he reached down, opened it, and read the words written in a child’s hand:

“I’m really proud of you for finishing high school, you’re the best big brother ever. I hope I can be just like you one day. –Jun-ho”

His grip tightened around the edges of the page. In-ho was… a big brother.

Not just a brother—someone who had once been a role model, someone worth looking up to.

But then, why was the photo on the table turned face down? The note and the picture spoke of closeness, of love. So what had changed?

A sudden realization pressed into Gi-hun’s chest: In-ho wasn’t untouchable, wasn’t flawless, wasn’t the perfect figure he carried himself as.

He was human. He was fractured.

He was, in so many ways, just like Gi-hun.

Without another thought, he put the photo face down again and the piece of paper folded exactly where it was left.

He tiptoed out of the bedroom, easing the door shut—not all the way, just as it had been left before. Then he straightened, setting his shoulders, and moved down the hallway with the steady stride of a man on a mission.

He made his way back into the main room, halting only when he caught sight of In-ho stepping in from the balcony, the glass door clicking shut behind him. In-ho turned, one brow raised, his usual calm in place—until he caught the look on Gi-hun’s face. He stilled.

“Did you find the bathroom okay?”

Gi-hun didn’t answer. His strides ate up the space between them in seconds, his hand fisting in the front of In-ho’s shirt. Before In-ho could say another word, Gi-hun tugged him forward, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that was all impulse and fire, all the things he hadn’t dared to say.

Gi-hun squeezed his eyes shut, but In-ho didn’t look away—he drank him in. And then, suddenly, he was kissing him back. His own eyes fell closed, his brows knit in something close to hunger as he cupped the back of Gi-hun’s neck, dragging him closer, kissing him like a man starved.

When their lips left each other's, they didn’t completely pull away. Gi-hun rested his forehead against In-ho’s and breathed him in.

“You scare me.” Gi-hun confessed.

“You scare me too.” A breath, “Still thinking of running?”

Gi-hun shook his head breathlessly.

In-ho leaned in again for another kiss, this time slower, like he was memorizing the shape of his mouth and the taste of his lips. Gi-hun moaned in response, low and almost inaudible, but In-ho heard. He heard everything.

Gi-hun’s hands pressed against In-ho’s chest—like he was finally allowing himself to feel In-ho in other ways. While In-ho always felt physically, Gi-hun felt emotionally. It was rare for him to want someone like this. He finally allowed himself to feel.

Suddenly, Gi-hun pulled away.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, In-ho. I’ve never—”

“Shh.” In-ho pressed a finger gently to his lips, voice low and steady. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Gi-hun’s breath caught. “But what if I want to?”

A faint smile tugged at In-ho’s mouth. “Then we will.”

Gi-hun hesitated, then suddenly blurted, “I don’t like the people who live here.”

The corner of In-ho’s mouth lifted in a quiet laugh. “Neither do I.”

“They didn’t even greet me when they saw me with you. They probably think im some pitiful naive—”

In-ho swallowed Gi-hun’s words as his lips gently pressed against his, he ran a hand through his hair as if to silence him.

“Stop talking.” In-ho murmured, his mouth was so close to Gi-hun’s that his lips kept brushing his. “Just feel. Nothing else matters right now.”

Gi-hun nodded, and this time, he met In-ho halfway. His hands untucked In-ho’s shirt—and his fingertips ghosted against his back as they slid underneath. His fingers drew small circles into the exposed skin and In-ho suddenly gasped at the skin to skin contact.

In-ho's body curved into Gi-hun’s as his hands continued to thread through his hair, separating the long fluffy strands. Their foreheads pressed together and the sound of lips against lips filled the apartment's silence.

In-ho wrapped his arms around Gi-hun’s waist and led him backwards towards the hallway—towards the bedroom.

Somewhere in the distance, in Gi-hun’s coat pocket, his phone buzzed.

[Sang-woo] 7:15 P.M.
Hey Hyung, how’s the date going?

[Sang-woo] 8:20 P.M.
Let me know if you need me to pick you up.

[Sang-woo] 9:08 P.M.
I’m going to bed, Gi-hun. I'm assuming you don’t need to be picked up. I hope you had a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.

In-ho and Gi-hun stumbled their way toward the bedroom, their mouths never parting, not even for breath. Gi-hun’s hand slid beneath In-ho’s shirt, pressing firmly at the small of his back as though anchoring him there. In-ho’s palm cradled Gi-hun’s cheek with a tenderness so unexpected, so devastatingly careful, it nearly undid him.

When they reached the bedroom, In-ho nudged the door open with his foot and guided Gi-hun inside.

The back of Gi-hun’s knees met the edge of the mattress, and he let out a sharp gasp as he toppled back onto the bed. In-ho followed without hesitation, bracing his weight above him, crawling in closer until the space between them vanished.

“Are you okay?” In-ho asked as he traced a line up the side of Gi-hun’s torso.

“Yes, more than okay.”

“I’ve waited so long for this, you have no idea.”

“I don’t think I do.” Gi-hun laughed.

In-ho chuckled, low and dark as he kissed a line down Gi-hun’s throat. He let out a soft groan at the sudden warmth against his skin, and threaded his hands into In-ho’s hair as he made his way down his body.

In-ho slowly undid the buttons of Gi-hun’s shirt with slow, skillful hands, and kissed each new part of exposed skin. When he finally removed the shirt and laid it next to him, he stood up and drank Gi-hun in like one would take in a sculpture.

Gi-hun looked up at In-ho from the bed with a dazed expression, his lips were parted and his head was swimming with something close to euphoria.

When In-ho moved again, kissing his collarbone and gently grazing his teeth against his neck again—something clicked in Gi-hun’s mind.

This. Was. Wrong.

“In-ho.” Gi-hun gasped, but it wasn’t something close to pleasure anymore, it was something worse.

Regret.

In-ho pulled back immediately.

“Is something wrong?”

“I–I just remembered I didn’t find the restroom.”

In-ho paused. His expression was unreadable.

“Of course, it's the next door down.”

Gi-hun smiled faintly and nodded before rising from the bed, padding quietly down the hallway. He paused at the mini bar, slipping his phone out from his jacket pocket.

From the bedroom doorway, In-ho’s gaze followed—watching as Gi-hun moved in the opposite direction of the bathroom.

Three unread texts from Sang-woo lit up the screen.

Gi-hun drew in a slow breath through his nose, thumb hovering over the messages before tucking the phone against his palm and heading back toward the bathroom.

In-ho didn’t say a word. He only filed the detail away, a private note etched into the back of his mind.

When Gi-hun finally found the bathroom again, he shut the door behind him and turned the lock with a sharp click. He leaned back against the wood, breath uneven, before flicking on the light. The glow spilled across polished marble, catching in the mirror above the sink—where his own reflection stared back at him, pale and unsteady.

His lips were red and swollen, a red mark was blooming at the base of his throat and collarbone.

He looked utterly and completely ruined.

Gi-hun ran a hand down his face and rubbed at his temple. He turned on his phone and checked the time.

9:28 P.M.

His thumb hovered above Sang-woo's most recent message and he skimmed through all the missed ones. His hands moved before his brain did and he sat down on the closed toilet lid. Instead of texting him back, he called Sang-woo.

It rang once… twice… then—

“Hello?” Sang-woo’s groggy voice picked up the phone.

“Sang-woo?” Gi-hun whispered, “Did I wake you up?”

“It's fine. Is everything okay? Where are you? Why didn’t you respond to my texts?”

A long pause of silence.

“I’m at his apartment.”

A really long pause.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you calling me, Gi-hun?”

“I—um,” Gi-hun’s voice cracked, “I need you to come pick me up.”

“Are you serious?”

“I just—I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want to go home.”

From the bedroom, In-ho stepped softly into the hall, his footsteps barely a whisper against the floor. He stopped at the closed bathroom door, leaning in until his forehead almost touched it. One hand braced the doorframe, the other rested flat against the wood as he pressed his ear close, listening.

I just—I don’t know what I’m doing. I just want to go home.
I just—I don’t know what I’m doing…
I just want to go home.

The words echoed through In-ho's entire body. He flinched at the word home and took a step back in shock.

“Where even are you?” Sang-woo asked.

“I’m at the apartment building.”

“Downtown? The expensive one Jung-bae always mentions?”

“Yeah.” Gi-hun responded quietly.

Gi-hun could hear Sang-woo sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes, Gi-hun.”

“Thank you.” Gi-hun pressed his palm to his forehead.

Sang-woo hung up the phone.

Gi-hun sat in silence.

He slowly stood up, walked over to the sink, and ran cold water under his wrists before turning off the light and stepping out of the bathroom.

In-ho stood in front of the door. Hands clenched at his sides.

“Jesus—” Gi-hun exclaimed.

In-ho handed Gi-hun his shirt without a word.

“Lock the door on your way out.”

“In-ho—” Gi-hun took the shirt from In-ho’s hands, their fingers lightly brushed.

“Don’t, Gi-hun. Don’t do that.” In-ho’s voice cut in, low and unyielding. “I opened myself to you. I let you see me. And this is how you return it?”

“In-ho I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.”

“No, you aren’t good at anything to do with relationships.”

Gi-hun flinched.

“You let me believe you wanted me—kissed me out of nowhere—only to call your friend as backup?” In-ho scoffed, his words cold. “That’s not just insulting to me, Gi-hun. It’s insulting to Sang-woo.”

“How did you know it was Sang-woo I was talking to?” Gi-hun snapped, harsher than he meant. “You probably are stalking me. You think it’s normal to plan out every interaction like some kind of robot. You don’t do anything naturally—you psychoanalyze me, pull me apart piece by piece, and then expect me to believe this is a fairytale. That fate brought us together!”

In-ho’s eyes sharpened.

Gi-hun didn’t stop.

“Who would you be without me, In-ho? Tell me . Because it seems as though you put your entire life on hold for me.”

“Who would you be without me , Gi-hun?” In-ho stepped closer, “Without me, you wouldn’t even be attending that university. Do you think they would have accepted you with your grades and your admission? Are you really that naive?”

Gi-hun’s chest was heaving.

“I can’t believe you.” Gi-hun muttered.

In-ho turned his back to him, he stepped back into the bedroom—but before closing the door, he spoke again.

“Don’t come to class tomorrow. Delete my phone number off your phone. Forget this happened at all.”

The realization crashed into Gi-hun, sudden and merciless.

“In-ho—I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Gi-hun. I always will.”

And just like that, In-ho closed the door.

Gi-hun stared at the closed door as a tear slipped down his cheek, hot and fast. He wiped it with the back of his hand as he slipped on his shirt and did the buttons up clumsily. He missed the first few.

He walked back towards the lounge area as he grabbed his coat off the barstool.

But before he made his way to the entrance to put on his shoes, In-ho’s desk caught his attention again.

With nothing left to lose, he crossed the room and stood in front of the desk. His fingers ghosted along the edge of the leather notebook, debating whether to open it. However, curiosity got the best of him, and he flipped to the middle of the notebook.

Though, it wasn’t a notebook, it was a sketchbook. Gi-hun’s eyes widened at what he was seeing.

Five charcoal sketches of a figure, of him, filled the sketchbooks page.

They were beyond extraordinary.

Gi-hun was sketched on the page in different poses. Nothing provocative, no. Instead, it was poses of him in In-ho’s classroom. One where his head was down on the desk, another where he was writing vigorously in his notebook, another setting down his bag.

He had only attended one of In-ho’s classes so far.

He did all of these from memory.

Gi-hun flipped back into the sketchbook and found more sketches, not of him, but of other people.

Another boy, similar in looks to the one in the photo, was sketched beside an older woman. His mother? Maybe.

On the next page after that was a sketch of his own office, the same office Gi-hun stepped into.
There were sketches of No-eul on this page, some of her drinking coffee, another of her applying lipstick.

Gi-hun flipped one more page—and his breath caught.

It was a full bodied sketch of Gi-hun at orientation. It portrayed him sitting alone in a crowd of students, looking across the room. His side profile was drawn perfectly, everything was perfect. He even memorized the clothes he was wearing that day.

Gi-hun didn’t even realize he was crying until a teardrop hit the page of the sketchbook.

In-ho had drawn everything he found beautiful. Everything he thought was worth saving, he drew it. And Gi-hun—he filled most of the book.

Gi-hun closed the sketchbook with care, the quiet snap of its cover echoing in the stillness. He lingered a moment, letting his eyes sweep over the apartment one last time—the pristine order, the calculated emptiness, perfection carved into every corner. Then he turned toward the door.

At the entrance, he slipped on his shoes slowly, glanced once at the half-finished glass of whiskey on the counter, and finally stepped out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the apartment—and everything that had just happened—sealed away in silence.

[Sang-woo]
I’m here.

Gi-hun’s phone lit up with a soft buzz as he made his way towards the elevator one last time. He pressed the button for the main lobby, and slowly descended down.

The smell of In-ho’s cologne lingered in the elevator.

It made him sick.

When he reached the main lobby, he didn’t make eye contact with the lady at the desk when she nodded her head at him. He just made his way out the glass doors at the front—no longer paying attention to the lobby.

He immediately found Sang-woo’s car parked in front of the building and stepped inside.

“Thank you for picking me up.” Gi-hun said as he buckled his seatbelt and draped his coat over his lap.

Sang-woo didn’t respond. He shifted the car into drive, and started to make his way down the street.

“I said ‘thanks for picking me up.’” Gi-hun echoed, louder now.

“No problem.” Sang-woo replied, clipped.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“No, you’re acting weird towards me.” Gi-hun pressed, “Why?”

“Probably because I’m picking you up from your professor's apartment at ten o’clock at night.”

“We didn’t do anything, Sang-woo.”

“No? Then why did you call me whispering? And why is your shirt buttoned weirdly?”

Gi-hun didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Right.” Sang-woo scoffed. “You call me as backup when you make a mistake.”

“Thats not true!”

Sang-woo slammed on the brakes, Gi-hun’s back hit the seat.

“It is true Gi-hun. You use me as you please. You cancelled our plans to go on a date with him, and then call me to pick you up after hooking up with him!”

“I didn’t hook up with him! You aren’t listening to me—” Gi-hun’s voice cracked, “I just made a mistake.”

Sang-woo’s gaze softened as heard his voice crack.

“I just like him a lot and I don’t know how to deal with it. It’s not like you’d understand.”

But Sang-woo did understand. More than Gi-hun would ever know.

“I just want to go home.” Gi-hun muttered.

“Okay.”

Sang-woo started driving again without another word. Gi-hun covered his mouth as he stared out the passenger window. He watched the restaurant blur past them—except now the lights were off and the couples on the patio were gone. He watched as the streetlights looked like stars flickering in the night. It reminded him of how the skyline looked from In-ho’s apartment.

He could still taste In-ho on him. The aftertaste of his expensive whiskey lingering from his lips onto his own, the adrenaline still pumped through his body, and his lips felt sore.

The rest of the car ride was silent save for the occasional sigh from one of the two men in the car.

Gi-hun could not stop thinking about those sketches.

Was Gi-hun really that important to him that he memorized every detail of him down to if he had stubble that day or not?

Had Gi-hun done something irreversible to a man who would have done anything for him?

When they finally reached Gi-hun’s apartment, he unbuckled his seatbelt and wiped his cheeks once more.

“I’m sorry.” Gi-hun breathed.

“Get some rest, Gi-hun. I’ll talk to you tomorrow."

Gi-hun nodded as he stepped out of Sang-woo's car and made his way up the stairs to his own apartment.

To home.

He fumbled through his coat pocket for his keys and shakily unlocked the door.

When he stepped in, he took off his shoes once more before collapsing into his mattress. He didn’t even bother changing clothes or turning on the light—he just immediately plugged in his phone and buried himself in the blankets.

From the corner of his eye, he caught his textbook—along with the note from In-ho.

He sat up so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash, and he grabbed the textbook and chucked it across the room.

That's when he broke.

One loud sob as he closed his eyes and laid back down.

He didn’t really want to come home. He just wanted to be held.

By the one person he pushed away.