Chapter Text
4:20 P.M — Teachers’ office.
The teachers’ office always carried the weight of the school day.
Late afternoon sunlight stretched long across the desks, highlighting stacks of half-graded assignments and lukewarm coffee cups. The air smelled like printer ink and exhaustion. Conversations filled the space: tired voices discussing upcoming exams, lesson plans, and, most of all, the fight from earlier.
Gi-hun leaned on his desk, half-listening as he skimmed through student reports. The staffroom was always full of idle gossip, but today’s conversation made his ears perk up.
"I still can’t believe it," one teacher muttered, shaking their head, "barely the second month of school, and we already have a fight on record."
"There was bound to be something sooner or later…" another sighed. "Though, I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that kid to be the first to throw a punch."
"He didn’t!" someone else corrected, setting their pen down. "The other kid swung first!"
A beat of silence.
"...Then, self-defence?"
"Come on," the first teacher scoffed, "we all know he’s smarter than that. You really think he didn’t plan this?"
"They plan stuff waaay ahead," another voice cut in—Kang Sa-byeok, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed "it’s been like that since the start of the semester, old geezer."
"Old geezer?" The previously scoffing teacher gave her a bewildered look, "Ms. Kang, don’t say things like that."
"You’re missing the point," she shot back, "Kiyong doesn’t get into fights because he’s angry. He picks his battles."
"You’re making it sound like the kid’s some kind of chess player," another teacher muttered.
Sa-byeok snorted, "I mean, he kind of is. "
Gi-hun sighed, rubbing his temples, "That’s a hell of an assumption."
"Oh, don’t act like you don’t see it, Mr. Frontline!" the teacher shot back. "Most kids fight because they lose control. Yes? But why doesn't that apply to him as well? "
"That doesn’t mean we should jump to conclusions."
"Sure," they smiled crookedly, "and next, you’ll tell me Cho Sang-woo is a warm, friendly guidance counsellor."
That got a few chuckles from the room.
Gi-hun exhaled sharply. He didn’t disagree that Kiyong was different from other students who got into fights—but something about the way they spoke about the kid didn’t sit right with him.
Before he could say anything else, the office intercom buzzed, signalling the end of the period.
Break time.
Gi-hun stretched, exhaling through his nose. The conversation would go in circles if he stayed here. Instead, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
He already knew where to find Sang-woo, and if anyone had thoughts on Kiyong, it would be him.
4:30 P.M — Break time.
Outside, near the back of the staff building, Gi-hun leaned against the railing. He found Sang-woo exactly where he expected him: leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, his other one occupied with his phone. The faint glow of the screen reflected in his eyes; brows furrowed as he scrolled through student records.
Gi-hun took his time walking up, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. The afternoon air was cold, the distant chatter of the other staff members faded into the background.
When he finally stopped beside Sang-woo, he didn’t say anything at first – just glanced at the cigarette burning between his fingers.
“You know…” Gi-hun started, tilting his head, “if I didn't know any better, I’d say you’ve been smoking more than usual.”
Sang-woo didn’t look away from his screen, “I haven’t.”
Gi-hun let out a dry chuckle, “Yeah, no. That’s fucking bullshit, we both know that.”
Sang-woo hummed in response, noncommittal.
Gi-hun sighed.
“What’s got you working overtime today? More student reports?”
Sang-woo took another slow drag, exhaling, “The school’s online database. I’m reviewing student records.”, his tone was as flat as ever. God, would it kill him to have some enthusiasm?
Gi-hun leaned in slightly, glancing at the phone, “Yeah, I think that much was obvious…Anything interesting?”
At that, Sang-woo’s lip curled ever so slightly, the closest thing to amusement Gi-hun had seen on him all day.
“Depends on your definition of ‘interesting’.”
Gi-hun smirked, “I’d say ‘Cho Sang-woo working as a school counsellor’ Is already pretty high up there.”
Sang-woo let out a small exhale—something between a scoff and an actual laugh, “I can’t quite believe it either,” he admitted, bringing the cigarette back to his lips, “but it’s been a semester already. I don’t think my position is changing anytime soon, hyung .”
Another puff of smoke.
Another glance at his phone.
And Gi-hun, watching, couldn’t shake off the feeling something was… off .
Sang-woo had always smoked, but these days, it was different. More frequent. More mindless. Like a reflex rather than a habit. He used to at least look like he enjoyed it, treating cigarettes like a calculated break between stressors. But now…The way he lit one immediately after finishing another, the way his fingers hovered over a pack even mid-conversation—it was like he didn’t even notice anymore.
Sang-woo’s been running on something close to autopilot.
Gi-hun didn’t like that.
Didn’t like the way sang-woo looked tired. In a way sleep couldn’t fix.
Didn’t like the way he just kept going, like he wasn’t considering stopping.
And if Gi-hun – of all people – noticed? That meant it was bad .
He exhaled, shaking his head before leaning in slightly to catch a glimpse of the files on Sang-woo’s phone.
“I know you’re worried about the students,” he said, voice softer this time, “but how are you, Sang-woo?”
A pause…
Too long of a pause.
The man didn’t even look up. “...That does not matter.”
Gi-hun scoffed, shaking his head. “That bad, huh?”
Sang-woo said nothing, but the way he flicked the ash off his cigarette spoke volumes. His fingers lingered near the filter, like he was debating whether he should bother lighting another one.
Gi-hun leaned against the railing beside him, gaze flickering from Sang-woo’s exhausted expression to the dim glow of the city below.
“You can’t keep going like this,” he muttered.
Sang-woo let out a breath—less a sigh, more a quiet, bitter laugh.
“Watch me.”
Before Gi-hun could argue, a voice called from inside:
“Gi-hun, you’re needed for the discussion on Kiyong. Sang-woo, you too.”
Sang-woo sighed, already stubbing out his cigarette.
“Great,” he muttered. “My favourite topic...”
He didn’t wait for Gi-hun before heading inside, shoulders squared like he was preparing for war.
4:45 P.M — Private meeting.
Inside the office, the air was heavier. More serious. The meeting wasn’t for the whole faculty—just the ones directly involved in this particular headache.
Sang-woo adjusted his tie slightly, glancing between In-ho and Gi-hun, “Alright, let’s hear it. What’s the damage?”
In-ho leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
“Nothing happened… Technically. ”
Gi-hun scoffed, settling into his seat and crossing one leg over the other, “Let me guess—Kiyong screwed up again?”
Sang-woo sighed, pinching his nose as if he could already feel the dull throb of an oncoming headache, “That kid always gives me a headache.”
Gi-hun raised a brow, looking vaguely amused, “You two sure complain a lot for people who let him live in your heads rent-free.”
Sang-woo shot him a flat look but didn’t bother responding. Instead, he hesitantly glanced toward In-ho. Gi-hun couldn’t stand the pressing tension:
“What’s his deal, anyway? He’s not just some kid who likes throwing punches, is he?”
Sang-woo exhaled, tapping his fingers against the desk, “Most students act out because of their emotions—anger, frustration, stress. They lash out when things boil over.”
“Right.” Gi-hun nodded, following along, “and what makes Kiyong different?”
In-ho spoke up this time, rolling a pen between his fingers, “Have you ever seen a kid get into trouble but come out clean every time?”
Gi-hun furrowed his brows. “Can’t say I have.”
“Well, you’re looking at one now,” In-ho muttered. “Moon Kiyong doesn’t throw punches just because he’s pissed off. He thinks about it. He waits. He makes sure if something happens, it happens on his terms.”
Gi-hun frowned, “So, you’re telling me this kid plans his fights?”
Sang-woo rubbed his temples, “Not always. But let’s just say… when Kiyong does decide to throw a punch, it’s never a mistake.”
“So he’s not just some reckless troublemaker—he’s calculating .”
“Exactly,” In-ho leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “And that’s what makes him different from the usual troublemakers. Most kids start fights because they lose control. Kiyong? He only fights when he wants to.”
Sang-woo shook his head, “Kid’s playing chess while the rest are still figuring out checkers.”
“Fantastic,” Gi-hun muttered.
“Alright now that’s out of the way… Lay it out. What happened?”
In-ho’s lips pressed together, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression before he finally spoke:
“Choi Subong threw the first punch. Kiyong threw the last.”
Sang-woo hummed, “That doesn’t sound like Kiyong.”
“That’s what I thought… But then I watched the footage.”
Gi-hun tilted his head slightly, “...And?”
“…He let himself take the first hit.”
Sang-woo’s brows furrowed. “He what ?”
“He let himself take the first hit,” In-ho repeated slower, “Didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just let it happen.”
The office fell silent. Not in the way conversations naturally quieted down, not in the way people paused to think of what to say next, but in the way silence stretched itself thin, pulling the air tight around them like an invisible force pressing against their chests.
This was scary.
It… really was.
Most of the time, just like earlier, their discussions about Kiyong had been just theories. Guesses, really. A troublemaker with a sharp tongue. A student who knew how to talk his way out of things, how to get into people’s heads.
A kid who pitted the students against each other, always one step ahead, always acting like he was the smartest person in the room.
But if this kept up, if things continued the way they had been—
That might not just be in his head anymore.
Because they hadn’t seen this coming. Not really. They had thought they understood him, thought they had a grasp on the way he worked, the way his mind turned.
But this—this wasn’t just a student lashing out, wasn’t just another kid testing the boundaries of what he could get away with.
He wasn’t reacting to things. He was orchestrating them.
And if they had never even considered this possibility until now, then how much further ahead was he already?
A thought crept into the back of Gi-hun’s mind – unwelcome, uneasy.
If he’s already playing the students… What happens when he sets his sights on them?
“…Strategic,” Sang-woo muttered after a long pause, the word settling in the air like the final piece of a puzzle no one had wanted to complete.
Gi-hun clicked his tongue, “Dangerous, too.”
A knock at the door cut the conversation short.
The faculty meeting was about to start.
5:00 P.M — Faculty meeting.
The air in the faculty office carried the usual heaviness of an after-hours meeting—low conversations, the occasional clatter of a coffee cup against the table, the subtle weight of exhaustion settling into everyone’s shoulders.
Cho Hyun-ju was the first to enter, her clipboard pressed against her chest as she scanned the room like she was already calculating how long this would take.
Sae-byeok followed behind her, hands shoved in the pockets of her blazer, sharp eyes betraying just how little patience she had for whatever mess they were about to discuss.
Ji-yeong came in with a lollipop between her lips, her half-rolled-up sleeves and relaxed posture making her look more like a student than a teacher.
Ali came in after them, his presence quieter, though no less noticeable. He always had a way of carrying himself with a certain calm, as if he was holding the weight of something heavier than a simple school dispute. He offered a small nod to Hyun-ju before taking a seat near the back, his usual thoughtful silence settling over him.
Sang-woo was already at the table, flipping through a stack of papers with an expression that suggested that he would rather be anywhere else.
Then sat down Gi-hun. His usual casual demeanour made the whole thing feel less serious than it was, like he was stepping into a conversation rather than an actual meeting. He plopped into a chair and stretched slightly before giving Sang-woo a knowing look.
"Alright," he said, "who's in trouble this time?"
That was when In-ho entered.
Unlike the others, he didn’t sit down right away. Instead, he was flipping through a file, skimming over the contents as if searching for something. He closed the folder before making his way towards the table, taking a seat. His fingers tapped idly against the folder, like he was thinking through something he hadn't yet decided to say.
Hyun-ju cleared her throat, "Alright," she started, leaning against the desk, "let's get to it. Kiyong got into a fight with Choi Su-bong."
Ji-yeong raised a brow, twisting the lollipop between her fingers.
"You’re kidding. Again?"
Sae-byeok exhaled sharply, arms crossed, "It’s getting old."
"It is old," Sang-woo muttered.
"I mean, Su-bong’s no slouch. If Kiyong keeps winning, maybe the boxing team should recruit him," one of the sports coaches chuckled, shaking his head.
"Yeah, that’s exactly what we need," Sae-byeok rolled her eyes. "Encourage him to punch more people."
"Okay, but let’s be real," Ji-yeong said, leaning forward slightly, her tone edged with impatience, "what’s the actual problem here? Because we all know Kiyong doesn’t just fight for no reason."
Ali frowned, shaking his head, "This kind of thing isn’t normal. Even if the fights don’t seem serious now, they build habits. And if we let it keep happening—"
"We’re not letting it continue," Sae-byeok cut off, annoyance growing.
"That’s not what I meant," Ali clarified, his voice steady, patient, "I just think we need to be asking why it keeps happening in the first place."
"Because Kiyong doesn’t know when to quit?" Sang-woo suggested dryly.
That was when Gi-hun chimed in, "It’s not just him! Jun-ho was the one who broke it up, wasn’t he?"
A pause. A glance between a few teachers.
Hyun-ju nodded, at last, "Yeah."
Someone scoffed from the far end of the table.
"That kid’s just like his brother."
Ali’s frown deepened slightly. He glanced toward Gi-hun, but the older man didn’t react save for a brief flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
Ji-yeong tilted her head. "Why’d he step in?"
Hyun-ju shrugged. "Probably just felt responsible."
"Or," Ji-yeong countered, “he likes getting involved."
Sang-woo frowned slightly, but it was In-ho who spoke next, voice calm but obviously strained.
"That’s just how he is," he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly, "Jun-ho’s not the type to walk past something he could stop," he continued, fingers tapping lightly against his closed folder. "He’s careful—more careful than his brother- I ever was—but he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. The difference is, I used to get into fights because I had to. Jun-ho steps in because he chooses to." There was a faintest quirk to his lips, like he was recalling an old memory.
Ali, ever the thoughtful one, offered a small nod, "That makes sense… But even if it’s his choice… he’s still putting himself at risk, isn’t he?"
In-ho sighed lightly, nodding, "Yeah… that habit of his—it’s not always going to work out in his favour."
His eyes flickered across his notes before he shut the folder again, this time more deliberately. His fingers tapped against the cover. Once. Twice.
Then he set it down.
"…There’s something else," he finally said.
That got everyone’s attention.
"What now?" Sae-byeok asked.
In-ho hesitated. Not out of uncertainty, but calculation. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured.
"Someone went through my office."
At first, there was silence. Then, a chuckle from one of the older teachers.
"Kids are getting bold these days."
"Probably just some desperate student," another muttered.
"Midterms are coming up..."
In-ho’s gaze didn’t waver, "Nothing was stolen."
That shut them up.
Hyun-ju frowned slightly. "Then…?"
"They went through my files," In-ho stated matter-of-factly. "More specifically, the test papers."
The atmosphere in the room shifted. The weight of his words settled like an unseen pressure.
"Wait," Ji-yeong chimed in, frowning, "are you saying someone leaked the answers?"
"I don’t know yet," In-ho admitted, "but they knew what they were looking for. They didn’t touch anything else."
Silence. Until,
"Do you think it was a student?" Hyun-ju urged.
"Who else would it be?" Sang-woo ran a hand through his hair, "If this was planned, and not just some dumb prank-"
"It wasn’t a prank," In-ho interrupted, his voice quieter now.
Everyone waited.
In-ho’s gaze flickered toward his folder, then across the room itself, like he could see something they couldn’t.
"It was a warning."
And just like that, the office felt a little colder.
No one spoke.
Ali glanced toward Gi-hun. Not out of suspicion—just out of shared concern. Gi-hun finally met his gaze, and for once, didn’t have anything easy to say.
Ji-yeong shifted uncomfortably, pulling the lollipop from her lips and rolling it between her fingers. Sae-byeok swallowed, tension written across her face.
For the first time that evening, the exhaustion in the room wasn’t just from a long day—it was something else entirely.
Something heavier.
Something none of them had an answer for.
Sang-woo was the first one to break the silence. He leaned forward, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.
“Alright, let's not get ahead of ourselves. What makes you so sure it was just a warning?”
In-ho’s fingers tapped once against the closed folder in front of him. His gaze flickered across the table, scanning their faces as if debating how much he wants to say. Finally, he reiterated:
“Because nothing was taken.”
Ji-yeong raised an eyebrow.
“And that’s…suspicious?”
“It is,” In-ho shrugged. “Think about it. If a student wanted to cheat, they’d take a picture and leave no trace. If they were panicking, maybe they’d steal the whole answer sheet. Reckless, but plausible.”
He paused, taking a deep breath.
“But this? This wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t sloppy. It was deliberate.”
Hyun-ju furrowed her brows, “How do you know?”
In-ho scoffed – annoyance cracking through the mask of calmness – shaking his head. He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk.
“The drawer was open.”
…. Crickets.
Hyun-ju gave him a look.
“ That’s what you’re basing this on?”
“No,” In-ho smirked half-heartedly, “the drawer wasn’t just open. It was open just enough for me to notice, but not enough to seem obvious.”
That much caught the attention of the teachers. Everyone was listening intently now.
“If I had walked in distracted, I might’ve shut it without a second thought. But the thing is,” he rubbed his temple, “I don’t leave my things like that.”
Sae-byeok, who’s been leaning back in her chair listening quietly, spoke up:
“Okay… but if they didn’t steal anything. Maybe they just panicked? Maybe they got caught by someone else and ran off?”
In-ho shook his head.
“No, it wasn’t panic. The test papers were stacked in the wrong order – barely, but just enough for me to tell. My notes weren’t where I left them, but they were still there.”
A beat of silence. Ji-yeong’s fingers tightened around the lollipop stick.
Sang-woo’s frown deepened.
“So, what are you saying? That someone just… waltzed in, messed with your things, and left?”
“Not just ‘messed’ with them.” In-ho muttered, “They want me to know they were there. They wanted me to notice.”
The weight of realization settled heavy on everyone’s shoulders. The dawning understanding that this wasn’t just some impulsive student trying their luck.
“They didn’t take a picture?” Ali looked up quietly.
“They didn’t need to,” In-ho murmured, “they wanted me to know they could have.”
Gi-hun whistled, shaking his head, clearly impressed, “Damn.”
“And the worst part?” In-ho leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the folder yet again. “They wanted me to think about it.”
Ji-yeong bit her lip, rolling the lollipop between her fingers.
“So what now?” Her voice cut through another stretch of silence.
In-ho pressed his lips into a fine line, gaze flickering towards the test papers.
“Well… I’ll change the questions, for one,” his voice was firm, resolute. “But that doesn’t mean this is over.”
He shut the folder, the noise setting shivers down peoples’ spines from its suddenness.
“If someone wants to play this game – fine. But they won’t win.”
His fingers tapped once more against the folder, sharp and decisive. The weight of his words shifted the atmosphere from mere concern to something more strategic. Not just worry. Expectation.
5:45 P.M — After the meeting.
As the meeting wrapped up, the conversation shifted into quieter, scattered discussions. The pressure hadn’t left, but it had settled into something more manageable — something that could be ignored, at least for a little while.
In-ho pushed his chair back with a quiet scrape against the floor.
“I need a drink.”
Sang-woo, arms still crossed, let out a short breath before standing up as well.
“And I need a light.”
They both stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the muffled hum of the vending machines echoing through the hall, casting a pale glow in the surrounding area. The air outside the meeting room was still thick with everything that’s just been said. The low murmur of their co-workers in the meeting room spilled into the hallways, but neither In-ho nor Sang-woo looked back as they walked.
In-ho stepped closer to a vending machine. He slipped a few coins in, the clatter of metal loud in their silence. He pressed a button, and a can tumbled down into the slot with a dull thud.
Sang-woo leaned against the wall, taking a lighter out of his pocket and closely watching him.
“Let’s be honest here,” his voice was even, but there was a bite underneath, “I’m sure you know who the culprit is.”
In-ho sighed through his nose, crouching to grab the can from the slot.
“It’s Kiyong, most probably,” The words left his mouth with no hesitation, like he’d known the answer before the meeting even started.
Sang-woo scoffed, “Yet you’re telling the other teachers anon shit,” his voice was sharper now. Accusing.
“What’s the point of acting like It’s still a mystery?”
In-ho didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he inserted more coins into the machine and pressed another button. Another drink clattered down. He grabbed it, turned it in his hands, then passed it to Sang-woo.
"Do you really think that’s how it works around here, Sang-woo?" his tone was almost exasperated.
Sang-woo took the can but didn’t open it. He narrowed his eyes slightly, "I’ve been here a semester, not a day. I know how this works."
"Oh?" In-ho’s lips quirked up slightly, but there was no humour in it. "Then you should already know that calling a student out by name doesn’t do shit. It just means the board gets a neatly wrapped case to ignore."
Sang-woo stayed quiet, jaw tightening.
In-ho leaned against the machine now, tipping his head back slightly.
"You want me to walk in there and say, ‘It was Moon Kiyong’. And then what? What happens next?"
He didn’t wait for an answer.
"The school won’t expel him. The parents won’t care — not in any way that matters. Best case scenario? He gets a slap on the wrist. Worst case? He doubles down, and we get an even bigger mess on our hands."
Sang-woo exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the can.
"So what? We just let him do whatever the hell he wants?"
"No," In-ho’s voice was flat. “We cut off whatever the hell he’s planning before it happens."
Sang-woo’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
In-ho tilted his head slightly.
"You think this is the first time a student’s gotten their hands on something they weren’t supposed to?" He chuckled quietly, musing "Do you know how many times I’ve had to redo tests because some rich kid’s parents bought the answers before their kid even saw the questions?"
Sang-woo didn’t react, but the silence was telling enough.
"The difference is," In-ho continued, "the other teachers might catch a student cheating — if some idiot just copies the answers word for word, they’ll catch on," he pressed a few buttons on the vending machine, "and sure, they can dock a few marks, but not fully erase their grades. That’s not how it works."
Sang-woo leaned against the machine, can in hand.
"Yeah, I get that… But if Kiyong already saw the test, why not just write the answers down and be done with it? Why go through all this extra shit—breaking into the office, making you change them?"
"Because he’s not just cheating—he’s studying us."
The machine whirred as In-ho cracked his can open with a sharp snap.
"The kids who bought the answers early? They’re screwed. They’ll panic the moment they see the questions don’t match. But Kiyong? He’ll notice something else."
Sang-woo raised a brow. "And what’s that?"
"Some teachers repeat their questions, even if they swap out the test sheets," In-ho took a slow sip, eyes narrowing. "He won’t just memorize answers—he’ll memorize patterns. The way certain teachers phrase things, which types of questions tend to come back, which ones never change."
Sang-woo scoffed, "So what, you think he’ll use that to predict future tests?"
"Wouldn't be the first time," In-ho glanced toward the dimly lit hallway, as if half-expecting to see Kiyong lurking nearby. "And if he can do that, if he gets good enough at knowing how we think—then he won’t need to steal answers at all."
A pause. The quiet hum of the vending machine filled the space between them.
"That’s why I’m changing the questions." In-ho’s finally confessed, "I need to make sure he doesn’t get too comfortable,” his gaze flickered back toward the end of the hallway.
A beat of uncomfortable silence. Just In-ho’s drink fizzing as the two men leaned on the wall next to the vending machine.
Then, Sang-woo clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
"This school is such bullshit."
"Welcome to the job," In-ho smiled sarcastically, scrunching his nose from the carbonation of the soda. "You catching on yet?”
Sang-woo didn’t answer. He pulled the tab of his own drink and took a long sip, gaze still locked onto In-ho.
Because… yeah . He was catching on.
Just as In-ho turned to leave, a familiar voice echoed down the hallway.
"Oi, lovebirds! You sneaking off without me?"
Sang-woo tilted his head back as if pleading to the ceiling, "God, I hate that you talk." he muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose as if Gi-hun’s voice alone was draining his will to live.
"Yet you love listening to me talk. Quite contradictory!" Gi-hun immediately shot back, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled up to the pair, grinning like he’d just caught them doing something scandalous. "C’mon, what’s with the serious faces? You two look like you’re plotting a murder."
Sang-woo scoffed, "And if we were?"
Gi-hun blinked, considering it for half a second, "I’d ask if we’re doing it before or after drinks."
That earned a short huff of amusement from In-ho. Sang-woo shot him a piercing look.
"Are you here for an actual reason, or are you just contractually obligated to piss me off?"
Gi-hun ignored that completely, instead clapping a hand on In-ho’s shoulder, "C’mon, let’s go out! Drinks, food – whatever. You two look like you need it."
In-ho didn’t react to the rough touch, raising a brow, “Who’s paying?"
"Uhhh..." Gi-hun immediately turned to Sang-woo. "Hey, didn’t you just get paid?"
Sang-woo looked genuinely offended: a hand found itself right over his heart, brows shooting up to his forehead, "Do I look like an ATM to you?"
"No, but you do look like someone who’s not saying no."
In-ho snorted at their bickering, hiding the smile with taking a fake sip – the closest thing to a laugh he’d allow himself tonight. Sang-woo stared at him, betrayed.
"You’re siding with him now?"
"I just want to see how long it takes before you cave."
Sang-woo scoffed at that, slipping his hands into his pockets as they walked, “Great, now I'm stuck with two assholes.”
Gi-hun beamed, slinging an arm over Sang-woo's shoulders as if they were the bestest of all friends. (well, they are. but Sang-woo wouldn’t admit that.)
“Hey, don't be so bitter! We're just looking out for you.”
Sang-woo rolled his eyes, “You're never looking out for me. You like seeing me suffer”
“Gasp! I'd never!” Gi-hun's voice was thick with faux innocence, “I just think your reactions are quite fun.”
In-ho hummed in agreement, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, “It is entertaining…”
Sang-woo scowled, shrugging Gi-hun's arm off him.
“I hope both of you step on a thumbtack.”
Gi-hun whined dramatically, “Geez, you're so aggressive… No wonder you're single!”
Sang-woo stopped in his tracks.
“...Excuse me?”
In-ho, already a few steps ahead, glanced back, musing “Are you offended because he's wrong, or because he's right?”
Gihun barked out a laugh, “Damn, that was good.”
Sang-woo groaned, “I hate both of you…”
“No you don't,” the other two said in unison.
He absolutely did. But, unfortunately, they were right—he wasn’t going to win this one.
?:?? P.M — Night drinks.
The night air was cool against their skin as they walked down the quiet street, neon lights flickering against the pavement.
"How the hell did you convince me to come?" Sang-woo muttered, shoving his freezing cold hands in his pockets for warmth.
Gi-hun grinned, slapping a hand against his back, "Because, deep down, you love my company."
Sang-woo opened his mouth to fire something back, but In-ho cut him off, as dry as ever:
"No, you just threatened to come to his office every day until he agreed."
Gi-hun placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense, "I would never resort to such tactics!"
"You literally did," Sang-woo deadpanned.
"Yeah, and it worked," Gi-hun smirked as he pushed open the door to the bar. "Now, come on. First round’s on me—"
Sang-woo rushed to push past both of them, leaving Gi-hun to trail behind.
They found a table near the corner, the dim lighting giving the place a warm, lazy atmosphere. A waiter came by with menus, but Gi-hun waved them off, already knowing what he wanted.
"I’ll get soju and whatever meat you guys want," he said, resting his chin on his hand.
Sang-woo didn’t even glance at the menu, "Beer."
"Predictable."
"You’re drinking soju, don’t act like you’re any better," Sang-woo leaned in to him, aggravating.
Gi-hun’s smile was sweet, but his words held so much venom it could kill a snake.
"Difference is, I drink because I enjoy it. You drink because you tolerate me."
Sang-woo exhaled through his nose. "Exactly."
In-ho leaned back in his seat, glancing over the menu, "Makgeolli," he stated simply, flipping it shut.
Sang-woo gave him a look, "You seem like the type to drink straight whiskey."
"That’s because you assume everyone is miserable like you," In-ho replied, making Gi-hun chuckle.
Sang-woo rolled his eyes.
"And yet, here you are, drinking with us."
The drinks were ordered, along with a spread of samgyeopsal, buchimgae, kimchi-jjigae,
After some small talk, the waiter arrived and served their drinks. The food came a bit later.
Gi-hun took a sip of his drink, eyes glinting with mischief as he turned to In-ho. "...You know, you missed out on Sang-woo’s prime years."
Sang-woo sighed, "Here we go again..."
"He might look tough now, but he used to cling to his hyung like a big baby,” when Sang-woo tried to shut him up Gi-hun ignored him, leaning toward In-ho, "Oh, and back in high school, he had this god-awful bleach blonde phase! I swear, he thought he looked cool, but he just looked like he got in a fight with a bottle of peroxide and lost."
Sang-woo groaned loudly, burying his reddening face into his hands, "You bring this up every damn time—!"
"And I will never stop," Gi-hun said proudly. Then, with a grin, he pulled out his phone. "You know what? Lemme show you."
Sang-woo’s eyes widened immediately as he lunged, trying to swipe the phone away, "Don’t you fucking dare—" he desperately tried to grab the phone, but Gi-hun, still more coordinated, dodged easily.
"Oh-ho! Is that desperation I hear? What happened to being composed, counsellor?"
In-ho, watching the whole thing, smirked.
"Let me see."
Sang-woo turned to him, pleading, "You’re supposed to be the reasonable one."
In-ho shrugged, "I’m curious."
That was when Gi-hun, grinning like a devil, turned the phone toward him, "Feast your eyes."
Sang-woo finally gave up trying to snatch Gi-hun’s phone, slumping back in his seat with a dramatic whine. Gi-hun leaned closer to Inho:
"See? Look at this little punk. Bleached his hair, thought he was hot shit."
The laughter that came from Gi-hun was easy, the warmth of the drinks settling in. Sang-woo was still grumbling about "one dumbass photo from years ago" , but it was clear he didn’t actually mind.
Then, to their complete surprise, In-ho actually laughed. Not just an exhale or a smirk, but a full, real laugh. His shoulders shook slightly, and for a moment, he looked years younger—relaxed in a way they haven't seen… probably ever.
Gi-hun blinked. Sang-woo stared. The bar sounded a little quieter.
"Holy shit," Gi-hun muttered, feigning shock. "Was that a laugh? You actually have emotions?"
Sang-woo huffed out a small laugh, but it trailed off as he catches the lingering traces of In-ho’s smile. For a second, it’s like everything else dulls in comparison—the way his face softens, the slight crinkle near his eyes. It’s disarming. Almost unfamiliar.
Sang-woo just stares.
The grip on his drink tightens slightly, and he blinks, once, then twice, like his brain is still trying to process what he's looking at.
And, of course, Gi-hun notices immediately.
"Oh my god," he drawls, dragging out the words with a knowing grin, "Are you blushing?"
Sang-woo, very much not blushing (he totally was), scoffed.
"Shut up."
"Nah, nah, I get it," Gi-hun continues, nudging Sang-woo’s shoulder like he just uncovered the greatest secret of the century.
"You’re down bad for our dear ol’ teacher, huh?"
Sang-woo glares daggers at him, but it only makes Gi-hun more insufferable.
"God, you’re actually staring—Sang-woo, please, contain yourself!.." he teases, poorly suppressing a laugh.
Meanwhile, In-ho—who has definitely noticed but is far too entertained to stop it—just sips his drink, pretending he’s oblivious. He lets Gi-hun torment Sang-woo for a bit longer before casually throwing in, "If you’re going to keep staring, at least buy me another drink first."
Sang-woo damn near chokes, while Gi-hun was having the time of his life laughing his ass off.
And then, in the sudden heat of the moment, As Gi-hun wipes a tear from his eye; he says something so… random. Even the gods wouldn’t be able to predict it.
"Man, seeing my childhood crush being into a guy I’m currently crushing on is wild."
And then? Silence.
Dead silence.
Sang-woo just stares at him, brows furrowed like he’s not sure he heard that right. In-ho, who had been completely at ease just moments ago, freezes mid-sip, his drink hovering just short of his lips. Even he wasn’t expecting that.
And Gi-hun? Gi-hun is just sitting there, oblivious to what he had just confessed so casually, blinking slowly. The words hung heavy in the air.
Wait.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
Sang-woo is the first to react. "The fuck did you just say?"
Gi-hun visibly tenses. "Nothing."
"No-no-no—" Sang-woo points at him, eyes narrowing, " You said some very specific words just now, Gi-hun-hyung"
And now In-ho, who had been caught completely off guard, finally exhales and sets his drink down. His ears are red. Really red .
Gi-hun, who absolutely did not mean to blurt that out, just forces a smile, shifting in his seat uncomfortably as he tried to laugh it off, "Look, we’re all a little drunk, right? Let’s just forget—"
"Oh, no fucking way ," Sang-woo interrupts.
" You like him ?"
Gi-hun’s mouth opens, then closes. A poor attempt at a rebuttal that never quite forms.
For once, Sang-woo isn’t just making fun of him—he’s genuinely waiting for an answer. His usual sharp-edged teasing is still there, but beneath it, there’s something almost hesitant.
And In-ho? He hasn’t said a word. Just looking at Gi-hun, unreadable.
And now all three of them are sitting there, blushing, avoiding eye contact, the weight of that confession pressing against them, and with so many unspoken thoughts hanging in the air.
None of them spoke. None of them moved.
And then—
The waiter arrived, setting down their food with a polite smile.
"Enjoy your meal," they said, blissfully unaware of the crisis unfolding at the table.
Sang-woo barely blinked. Instead, he took a slow sip of his drink, eyes fixed ahead like Gi-hun hadn’t just dropped that on the table like a live grenade.
In-ho, ever so slightly, raised a brow.
Gi-hun; with the realization of what he just said now sinking in, froze for a second—then quickly reached for his own drink, gulping it down like that would somehow make the words go away.
The silence stretched.
Sang-woo exhaled through his nose, setting his glass down with a soft clink.
“Man, that’s crazy.” He leaned back in his seat, gaze flicking to Gi-hun, “Sounds like a you problem.”
In-ho huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reached for his own drink, “ That’s what you’re going with?”
“What, you want me to be flattered?” Sang-woo scoffed, grabbing a fry from the basket in front of him, “Gotta try harder than that, Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun, who was still reeling from his own slip-up, groaned and dropped his head onto the table.
In-ho, however, just smirked slightly, taking another sip of his drink, “You’re handling this well.”
“Yeah, cause I don’t care,” Sang-woo said smoothly, popping the fry into his mouth.
Gi-hun lifted his head just enough to squint at him, “…Right.”
Sang-woo ignored him.
“Well…” In-ho mused, picking up his chopsticks. “If we’re all confessing things tonight—”
Sang-woo threw a napkin at him.
Gi-hun perked up immediately, eyes lighting up with interest, “Oh? Oh?”
Sang-woo, however, shot In-ho a sharp look, “Don’t. Even. Start.”
In-ho hummed, clearly amused as he plucked a piece of meat from his plate, “What,” he teased, eyes fluttering as he tilted his head,
“you don’t want to hear what I have to say?”
“Not if it’s whatever bullshit you’re about to pull.”
Gi-hun leaned in, resting his elbow on the table as he shushed Sangwoo’s interruptions:
“Nah, let him cook.”
Sang-woo scoffed, turning his attention back to his food, “If he’s cooking, I’m not eating.”
Gi-hun snorted, while In-ho—calmly, as always—continued to eat, taking his sweet time before speaking again.
“It’s just funny…”
Sang-woo didn’t look up, “What is?”
In-ho took another sip of his drink before answering, “That you’re so quick to act like this doesn’t bother you.”
Sang-woo did look up at that, “…It doesn’t.”
Gi-hun smirked, remarking, “Then why are you gripping your chopsticks like that?”
Sang-woo glanced down. His knuckles were write around his chopsticks. He clicked his tongue and forced his grip to loosen, looking vaguely annoyed,
“I just think it’s wildly inappropriate to say shit like that in the middle of eating.”
Gi-hun gasped dramatically, hand over his heart, “Oh, so now you care about table manners?”
“I’ve always had table manners,” Sang-woo barked back.
“You used to take other people’s fries when they weren’t looking,” Gi-hun commented idly, “And damn, you still never paid me back.”
Sang-woo groaned, dragging a hand down his face under his glasses, “I hate both of you.”
“Yet here you are…” In-ho shrugged, sipping his drink.
Sang-woo pointed a chopstick at him, “I will stab you.”
In-ho just smiled, too damn smug. Gi-hun cackled, leaning back in his seat like he was watching the best show of his life.
A comfortable silence settled after that; the air lighter than before.
Then, after a long pause, Gi-hun muttered, mostly to himself—
“ Still can’t believe I said that out loud.”
Sang-woo immediately pointed at him with his chopsticks, “Yeah, we’re not letting that go.”
In-ho, in rare agreement, nodded, “Not a chance.”
Gi-hun groaned, slumping forward onto the table, “Ughh…now why did I invite you guys to a drink…I really hate drinking with you two.”
Sang-woo smirked, “Yet here you are.”
Gi-hun lifted his head just enough to glare at him, but before he could snap back, In-ho let out a laugh, making the others grin alongside him as they looked at each other.
And this time, they all laughed.
Not the small, restrained chuckles they usually shared, but real, unguarded laughter. The kind that shook their shoulders and made their drinks slosh in their glasses. The kind that made the night feel just a little warmer, a little less heavy.
Gi-hun raised his drink first, grinning, “To terrible life choices.”
Sang-woo rolled his eyes but lifted his glass, “To surviving another damn day.”
In-ho, shaking his head with the ghost of a smile, raised his own, “To whatever the hell this is.”
Their glasses clinked together, the soft chime ringing out against the hum of the city.
And just like that, the night carried on. The weight of the moment lingered—soft, unspoken—but no one was in a rush to address it. Instead, they laughed, they drank, and they let the warmth of the evening settle into something easier, something comfortable.
…But for now, that was enough.