Yeon Taeseok had always known. Long before the quiet glances turned into something heavier, before the weight in his chest learned how to ache, he had already fallen—too far, too deep—for Song Hayoung. Nana Kim’s granddaughter. The one person he should have kept a careful distance from, yet never did. He told himself it was harmless at first. Just an admiration. Just a habit. Just something that would pass.Alas, It never did.And when he found out that she—somehow—felt the same way… when her confession slipped through in the middle of his fever, so soft and trembling like it wasn’t meant to be heard, it didn’t bring him relief. In fact, it made everything worse.Because loving her was one thing. Believing he deserved to be loved by her was another. And Yeon Taeseok knew, better than anyone, that he didn’t. Not when the past he carried was still breathing down his neck. Not when the weight of it had her name written somewhere within it.“I don’t see you as a woman.” He remembered that night too clearly. The way the words left his mouth, cold and final, as if they belonged to someone else. He lied. God, he lied. He couldn’t even look at her when he said it. His gaze dropped somewhere between them, anywhere but her eyes, because he knew—he knew—that the second he saw her reaction, the second he let himself witness what he had done, he would break.“I don’t see us having a future.” Another lie. Spoken inside the quiet hum of an elevator, where the space felt too small, too suffocating to hold everything he refused to say. Again, he lied. And he knew it. Heaven knew it. The silence between them knew it. He had lost count of how many times he had hurt her like that—words slipping out of him, sharp and careless, as if pushing her away was the only way he knew how to protect her. Or maybe, the only way he knew how to protect himself.Still, none of it stopped him from watching her. Yeon Taeseok had always watched her. Not in ways anyone would notice. Not in ways that could be called obvious. But in the quiet details—the kind that stayed. The small bounce in her step when she chewed on sweet and sour candy, lips pursed slightly as if the taste surprised her every single time. He never liked those candies before. Now, they sat in his drawer, a silent habit he never questioned. Her stubborn refusal to eat green onions, the way she would wrinkle her nose and push the plate away without hesitation. The way she filled a room without trying. Laughter spilling easily, presence warm enough to soften even the most rigid atmosphere.And.. the way she always said she was okay. He knew that version of her. The one she showed to everyone. But he also knew the other one. The one hidden behind careful smiles. The quiet pauses. The moments where her eyes lingered just a second too long on nothing at all. He knew her more than he should. And yet, never enough to stay.That night, he saw her long after working hours had ended. The building had quieted down, lights dimmed into something softer, something emptier. He was supposed to leave. He had already told himself to. But his steps slowed. And then stopped.Because she was there. Alone, standing beneath the muted glow, completely absorbed in her work. Her fingers moved over the fabrics with practiced ease, lifting, pressing, comparing textures as if she could read their stories through touch alone. There was a faint crease between her brows—focused, intent. And then, just as quickly, it disappeared when she found something she liked. She smiled. It was small. Barely there. But it was real. And without realizing it, Taeseok mirrored it. Just slightly. Just enough for it to ache. Watching her like this had always been his quiet weakness. As if her happiness—even the smallest kind—had a way of reaching him without permission.She stepped aside, reaching toward the tall cabinet beside her. That was when something felt off. The wood creaked. A low, strained sound that didn’t belong. His body moved before his mind caught up. The cabinet tipped. Time seemed to fracture—too fast and too slow at once. She bent down instinctively, bracing for impact——but it never came.Instead, there was the solid weight of something shielding her. The sharp thud of wood hitting resistance. A breath knocked out somewhere above her. When she looked up, Yeon Taeseok was already there. Holding it. Taking it. Protecting her without hesitation.“You okay? Anything hurt?” He set the cabinet upright before dropping back down in front of her, movements quick but careful. His hand found hers without thinking, fingers closing around it as his eyes scanned her face, her arms, her shoulders—any sign of injury.“I’m… okay…” Her voice came out softer than usual. A little unsteady. Shock, maybe. Or something else. He finally looked at her properly then. And just like that, the control he had been holding onto slipped. His breathing turned uneven. His gaze flickered, unsettled, searching. The worry in his chest rose too fast, too heavy, pressing against his ribs like it wanted out.“I’m okay. What… about you?” Now she was the one looking at him, eyes tracing over him the same way he had done moments ago. Careful. Concerned. Her hand tightened slightly around his. The warmth of it—simple, and innocent—hit him harder than it should have.And it snapped something back into place. Taeseok pulled away almost immediately, standing up too fast, as if distance could fix what that brief contact had stirred. “I’m okay,” he said shortly. Too quickly. Too controlled.“I think it’s time for you to go home. You can continue tomorrow. I’ll make sure everything gets checked.” The words came out like instructions. Too clean. Way too detached.Before she could respond, he turned and walked away. He didn’t trust himself to stay. He thought that was it. That the night would end there, with distance restored and everything left unsaid—again. But he was wrong. Because when the elevator doors opened to the parking lot, she was already there. Waiting.“Can we talk?” Her voice stopped him mid-step. It wasn’t the voice he was used to. There was something beneath it—something.. heavier? Quieter? Something that was hard enough to ignore.“I’m afraid that—”“It will only take fifteen minutes.” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.And for some reason, that made it impossible to refuse.They ended up in a restaurant not far from the building. A private room. Closed doors. Just the two of them and the kind of silence that felt like it had been waiting to happen. The conversation didn’t start right away. Instead, she reached for the bottle, pouring the alcohol with steady hands.“I’m driving. And I have a meeting tomorrow.” He declined, his tone slipping back into something formal, distant. Safe.She smiled. But it wasn’t the kind of smile he knew. There was no warmth in it. No light. Just something thin. Tired. As if it had been worn too many times.“You’ve always been so kind to me,” she said, pouring another glass for herself, “or am I just overreacting?” She drank it in one go.Taeseok stayed silent. Not because he didn’t have an answer. But it was because none of the answers he had would make anything better. For the first time in a long while, words failed him completely. And he knew it.“Was I mistaken?” Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. But he knew it carried something heavier than anger—something quieter, more dangerous.“Of all your doing to me all this time… was I mistaken?” She asked it again. The same question. The same weight.Taeseok exhaled slowly, the sound barely audible, as if even breathing felt like an effort now.“Your family has always helped me. Ever since I was young,” he said, with each word measured, careful—way too careful.“It is my duty to protect your family. To make sure everything’s okay.” And even he knew—those words had no place here. Not now. Not in front of her. Not when she was looking at him like that.Song Hayoung smiled. But it wasn’t a smile meant to be seen. It was the kind that came after something inside had quietly given up. “Ah… so I was mistaken—” She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she reached for the glass and swallowed the rest in one go, as if it could burn the words before they left her mouth. Silence then followed inside the room. Thick. Uncomfortable.“Okay, then. I got it.” She nodded to herself, almost absent-mindedly. “I’ve heard everything I need to hear.” She stood up first.“Go, Yeon Isa-nim. You have a meeting tomorrow, right? It’s late.” Her hand moved in that familiar gesture—light, dismissive, almost playful. He had seen it countless times. The same gesture she used whenever she was hiding something.And still—he said nothing. Not a single word to stop her. Not a single word to fix what he had just broken. So when she told him to leave, he did. Again. Again, he chose silence over truth. Again, he turned his back on his own heart.“Thank you for tonight, Yeon Isa-nim.” Her voice followed him just as he reached the door. “And for helping me and my family… as always.” He paused for a fraction of a second. Then she bowed. Formal. Polite. Distant. As if drawing a line between them with quiet precision.The sound of it lingered longer than it should have. It followed him all the way to his car. The engine had been running for ten minutes. Ten minutes of doing nothing. His hands rested on the steering wheel, unmoving. His eyes fixed ahead, yet seeing nothing.Something inside him refused to let him leave. It clawed at his chest, stubborn and restless, urging him to turn back, to undo everything, to say what he should have said from the beginning.Yet he stayed.Waiting.Without admitting what he was waiting for. For her to come out. For her to appear. For something—anything—to give him a reason. But she didn’t. And then the rain came. Soft at first. Barely there. Thin droplets tapping against the windshield like a quiet warning.Taeseok let out a deeper sigh this time, dragging a hand down his face before reaching for the umbrella beside him. He knew she hadn’t brought her car. And for some reason, that was enough of an excuse. The least he could do.He stepped out into the rain, the cold seeping through almost instantly. The umbrella opened above him, but his steps slowed just before the entrance. Because he saw her. Through the glass. Song Hayoung stood there alone. Her hand moved quickly across her face, wiping at something that wouldn’t stop. Tears. They kept falling. No matter how many times she tried to hide them.Taeseok stopped. Completely. And the world around him blurred—the rain, the sound, everything faded into something so distant, so muted. All he could see was her. Crying. Because of him. Because of the words he chose. Because of the truth he refused to give.The umbrella slipped slightly in his grip, but he didn’t notice. The rain began to touch his shoulders, his hair, his face. He didn’t feel it. Not when the ache in his chest was louder. God—it hurt. It hurt in a way he had no right to feel. He wanted to move. To walk in, to drop everything, to pull her into his arms and hold her until she stopped shaking. To wipe away every tear he had caused with his own hands.But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because the past still stood there, unmoving, unforgiving. Because the guilt he carried had never once loosened its grip. Because, even now, he believed—that it was his fault. The accident. The one that took her parents. Even when the truth had long been clear to everyone else, Taeseok had never accepted it. If only he hadn’t gotten sick that day. If only he had been there. If only he had been the one behind the wheel. If only—God, the thoughts repeated, relentless. Pointless. Unforgiving.He stood there, caught between what he wanted and what he believed he deserved. And then his phone rang. The sound cut through everything. He glanced at the screen. Her name. For a second, his heart lurched. But when he answered—“I’m sorry to bother you. This is the last number she contacted, so I called. Could you pick her up? She’s… quite drunk. We’re about to close, and we can’t keep her here.” The call ended quickly.Taeseok was already moving before it fully registered. When he stepped inside, the owner looked surprised—perhaps at how quickly he appeared. But Taeseok had never truly left. “Song Hayoung Designer-nim?” His voice softened without him meaning to. She didn’t respond. Bottles lined the table. Empty. Tilted. She had already given in to the alcohol.Carefully, he approached her, lifting her gently as if she might break under careless hands. He settled the bill without a second thought before guiding her out, supporting her weight as they stepped back into the night.“It’s… cold…” Her voice was barely there, eyes still closed, fingers curling weakly against herself. He adjusted immediately. The heater in the car came on. He pulled over briefly, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over her, making sure it covered her properly. For a moment, he just looked at her. Her face was flushed, the redness looked uneven, her eyes slightly swollen from crying. His hand moved before he could stop it. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. Careful. As if even that might wake her.It took twenty minutes to reach her apartment. “Song Hayoung Designer-nim, where is your card key?” He supported her as they stood in front of her door. “Ha…? My card key… I think… it’s… in… the bag…” Her words slurred together as she half-heartedly pushed her bag toward him. He caught it, glancing at her briefly. Her cheeks were still flushed. Her balance barely there.Thus, with a quiet breath, he searched through her bag until he found it. “I’m so dizzy…” Her body swayed. And instinctively, his arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her. The contact lingered longer than it should have. Once inside, he guided her carefully, making sure she wouldn’t trip.“Song Hayoung Designer-nim, do you think you can manage from here?” He stopped near the entrance. There was an invisible line there. One he had never crossed. One he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.“What a jerk.” The words slipped out of her, it was so soft but sounded clear.“I’m sorry?” he replied instinctively. He had heard it. Every syllable.“Yeon Taeseok… a jerk.” She pulled away from him, still unsteady, forcing herself to stand on her own. “You shook my heart like this… and all you can say is sorry.” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” Each word hit harder than the last.“Is it that hard… to open your heart? Was it necessary to say we’re not right for each other… when you never even tried?” Her eyes met his, glassy, red, yet painfully clear. “Was I that hard to handle?”He stood there. Silent. Again. Because every answer he had would unravel everything. Because the truth—once spoken—would not stay contained.“Fine. Think whatever you want, Yeon Taeseok.” She took a step toward him. Then another. Again, unsteady. Close, close enough. “But I’ll make sure you never forget—” Her hands reached up, trembling slightly, and cupped his face. Warm. Fragile. Real.At that distance, he could see everything. The redness in her eyes. The faint puffiness from crying. The way her lips parted slightly as she struggled to steady her breath. All of it. Because of him.“Song—” He tried to say her name. But the words never made it. Because her lips met his. Soft at first. Then firm.A kiss.And just like that—everything he had been holding back shattered.His body went still, as if struck, the moment freezing around him. For a second, he didn’t move. Then something deeper took over. Something he had denied for far too long. His hand rose to her neck, fingers settling there as he pulled her closer, returning the kiss—hesitant at first, then deeper, fuller, as if he had finally allowed himself to feel what he had buried. The bag slipped from his other hand, forgotten the moment it hit the floor.When she pulled back, her breath came out uneven, lips parted as she gasped for air. He looked at her, just as shaken.

️️️
“Song Hayoung Designer-nim…?” His voice was quieter now. Careful. Searching. But before anything could settle—her body gave in. Completely. She collapsed forward, unconscious, right into his arms once again.And after that night, he knew he had ruined himself. Sleep wouldn’t come. Not properly. Not deeply. Every time his eyes closed, it came back—the warmth of her lips, the way she leaned into him without hesitation, the brief moment where everything he had denied felt real, within reach.By morning, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. He woke up late—later than he ever allowed himself to—and barely made it in time for the meeting. And then—he saw her. Song Hayoung sat across the room, composed as ever. Her posture straight, her expression calm, as if nothing had happened. As if last night had never existed.Did she not remember?The thought echoed too loudly in his head, pulling him away from everything else. He kept looking at her, searching for something—anything—that might betray her memory. But there was nothing.“Yeon Isa-nim.”He didn’t hear it.“Yeon Isa-nim.”Still nothing.It wasn’t until his name was called a third time that he finally snapped out of it, turning his head sharply toward the director.The meeting went on. But he wasn’t there. Not really.When it ended, they found themselves standing side by side in the elevator. The space, somehow, felt smaller than usual. Way too quiet. Neither of them spoke. Until—“Last night—” Her voice cut through the silence, and it startled him more than it should have.“Ah—oh… last night?” he stammered, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “I’m sorry for bothering you with my confession.”He blinked.Confession? Not the kiss? Not that?“I hope you won’t feel uncomfortable around me,” she continued softly. “Since we work in the same office.” Her words passed him by, barely registering. Because his mind—his mind was still trapped in that moment. The way she had looked at him. The way she had touched him. The way her lips…“Thank you for always doing your best for my family, Yeon Isa-nim.”Still, nothing landed.DING.The doors opened. She stepped out first, already calling out to a colleague, her voice light— just.. normal. Just.. usual.And just like that, she was gone. Leaving him behind. Stuck in a moment she didn’t even remember.

️️️
️️
HOME. AFTER WORK.The apartment was too quiet. And Taeseok sat on the sofa, his whole body unmoving, his gaze unfocused. He had asked to leave early—claimed he was unwell. Nana Kim—the director had agreed without hesitation, concern evident in her voice.But this—this wasn’t sickness. Yeon Taeseok himself knew it very well.It was something far worse. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus. Even the smallest tasks slipped through his fingers. Calls unanswered. Details missed.All because of one thing. One moment. One kiss.He leaned back, exhaling slowly, but the tension didn’t leave. It stayed. It lingered. Right there, pressing against his chest.The doorbell rang. He frowned slightly, pushing himself up. At this hour? When he opened the door—it was her.Song Hayoung stood there, holding a package, her expression composed but also hesitant. “I heard you took a half-day leave,” she said.“This arrived at the office. It seemed important, so I thought I should bring it.” He took it from her, his fingers brushing against hers briefly.“And…” she paused, her grip tightening slightly on nothing, “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t remember at all.”Something in him stilled. “You don’t remember?” he asked. The words came out sharper than he intended.Her eyes widened slightly. “I—I tried to,” she said quickly. “I feel like I did something foolish, but I can’t recall anything clearly. Still… whatever it was, I’m sorry.”A quiet scoff slipped from him. It surprised her. Worse, it surprised him. “Foolish?” he repeated, his gaze fixed on her now. “You don’t remember anything?”She shook her head, slowly. Innocently. “I tried—”“Alright.” He cut her off. His voice had changed. Something steadier. Something decided. “Then I’ll make you remember.”And before she could even react, his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her gently—yet firmly—inside. The door shut behind them with a soft but final click. The package slipped from his other hand, forgotten.And then—his hand moved to her neck. Warm. Careful. Yet unyielding.He kissed her.Not tentative. Not hesitant, too. It wasn’t rushed either. But it was something deeper—something that had been waiting too long.She froze at first. He felt it. The stiffness in her shoulders. The way her hands came up to his chest, unsure whether to push him away or hold on.But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His lips moved against hers with quiet insistence, slower than before, yet heavier—laden with everything he had never said. Every denial. Every lie. Every moment he chose silence over truth.He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, not forceful, though undeniable. He wanted her to feel it. To understand. To remember.Because this—this was never just a mistake. At least for him.For a brief second, there was still hesitation. And then—she moved. She finally moved. Her fingers tightened slightly against his shirt instead of pushing him away. Her breath faltered. And slowly, uncertainly—she kissed him back.At that exact moment, something in his chest gave in completely. His hand slid to the back of her head, steadying her as he guided her closer, his body pressing hers gently against the wall. Careful—always careful—like even in this moment, he refused to hurt her.But the kiss—the kiss was anything but careful. It deepened, not in an urgency, but more in weight. In meaning. In everything he had buried for years, finally breaking through.When he pulled away, their breaths tangled in the small space between them. His forehead almost touched hers. His voice came out low. Unsteady. “This… is what happened last night.”And then, before she could fully process it—he kissed her again. Softer this time. Yet somehow, it hurt more. Because now—he wasn’t hiding anymore. And for the first time ever, he finally let her feel just how deeply, how helplessly, he had always been in love with her.