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CHAPTER 7: SECONDS OF WARMTH

The sky had deepened into a dark gray, clouds hanging low and swollen with rain that had yet to fall but already announced itself with a silent urgency. Inside the café, the warmth held steady, a fragile barrier against the damp chill gathering on the streets. 

Gi-hun sat with his elbows resting on the table, watching the steam rise from his cup before it faded, in no hurry to break the moment, not wanting to push In-ho too hard, trusting that the words would come eventually. 

Across from him, In-ho remained quiet, eyes unfocused as they stared through the fogged window without really seeing the world outside. The heavy clouds reflected in his dark eyes, distant, as if he was sifting through thoughts he couldn’t quite shape into words yet. The cold, careful mask was gone, revealing a tired honesty. 

Gi-hun found himself wondering if this was who In-ho had always been, hidden beneath the surface. As if the composed man the news spoke about was just a version he showed the world, a way to avoid questions, to keep himself untouched, to never let anyone close enough to see past the walls he’d spent years building.  

And yet, here he was. Sitting across from him, at the same small table, trying to decide whether to let Gi-hun in or turn away before it was too late. 

Rain began to tap softly against the glass. In-ho lowered his eyes to his now-cold coffee, cradling the cup in his hands as if trying to draw a little warmth back into himself anyway. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, he finally lifted his gaze to meet Gi-hun’s. 

“What do you know?” 

He paused, letting the question hang for a beat before clarifying, 

“What exactly did you read?” 

Gi-hun blinked, caught off guard by how direct it was. His fingers tugged at the cuff of his thin jacket under the table, a nervous habit he didn’t bother to hide as he tried to find the right words. 

“Not much, honestly,” he said, voice low. “Just… old corruption cases, about your father, about the company…” 

His movements grew more restless, shoulders shifting as he struggled to maintain eye contact. 

In-ho didn’t rush him, just watched with quiet patience. 

“And… there were mentions,” he continued, even softer now, “about people from rival companies. People who went missing.” 

Even with nerves prickling under his skin, Gi-hun wanted his words to reach him. He met In-ho’s gaze, firm, wanting him to see that he wasn’t lying. 

“There wasn’t much more,” he admitted, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, “but enough to… make me think.” 

In-ho didn’t look away, but Gi-hun saw the slight clench of his jaw. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Things like that don’t really go away. They just sink low enough for people to pretend they’ve forgotten. Until someone decides to drag them up again.” 

A tightness coiled in Gi-hun’s chest. He wanted to say something, to offer words that might soften the weight in In-ho’s eyes, but nothing felt like enough. So he just nodded, letting the silence settle back between them. 

He found himself watching the reflection of the other man’s profile in the window—tired lines around his eyes, his posture tense, as if he were bracing for the words Gi-hun might say. Waiting for judgment. 

Gi-hun wondered what it would take for In-ho to let himself breathe, to let someone in enough to share even a piece of whatever he was holding so tightly. He wished, for a moment, that he could reach across the table and let In-ho know he didn’t have to carry it alone. 

His fingers fidgeted against the seam of his sleeve before he added, quieter, “I also read about how you’ve been trying to distance yourself, and the company, from all of that.” 

In-ho let out a soft, humorless breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so tired. 

“Not everything you read was a lie.” 

Gi-hun felt the words sink in. He couldn’t look away, held there by the quiet honesty in In-ho’s voice. For a moment, all he could do was sit there, letting the truth settle between them, a truth that, deep down, he realized he’d already known. 

In-ho didn’t look at him as he spoke, eyes fixed on the rain streaking down the window, following the paths the droplets traced as if they were easier to face than the conversation. 

“When my father was alive, I worked under him. I started young.” His lips twitched onto a bitter smile, “I respected him for what he was, for what he’d built. I admired him and I wanted to be like him. I wanted to prove I could be.” He let out a slow breath, “I was good at following orders, making decisions that benefited us. Didn’t think much about the people on the other side. About what happened to them when we made our choices. I didn’t see anything wrong with it back then,”  

He paused, jaw tightening. “It was all I knew. It was… easy.”  

He didn’t elaborate, but Gi-hun caught the shadow of regret that crossed his face— like he was remembering something he couldn’t quite forget. But whatever it was, In-ho didn’t share it. 

“Until it wasn’t.” 

He turned his head to meet Gi-hun's eyes then, vulnerability flickering there for a moment before he pulled it back behind the calm mask. 

“I didn’t cause any deaths directly,” he said, voice quiet but firmly. “But there were orders I gave, decisions I made, that led to people losing everything. Their jobs, their families… even their lives. Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I turned my back on what was happening.” His gaze stayed steady, meeting Gi-hun’s without wavering. 

“I’m not a good man, Gi-hun.” 

The words hung in the air, heavier than the rain tapping against the window, and Gi-hun’s breath stilled. 

A crease formed between In-ho’s brows, as if he was weighing how much more he was willing to let slip. “I’m not going to put all of that on you. You don’t need to carry what I’ve done, and I’m not going to stand here pretending I’m someone I’m not.” 

He paused, letting his gaze drop to the swirl of his black coffee, watching it settle into stillness.  

“But I won’t lie to you either.” His fingers drummed lightly against the cup, before he looked up again. “That’s all I can give you. For your sake, and for mine.” 

In-ho didn’t look away. His eyes stayed fixed on Gi-hun, like he was trying to leave something there for him to see. A weary smile pulled at his lips, sad and conflicted, before he tilted his head slightly, as if asking Gi-hun to understand why he couldn’t say more. 

Gi-hun felt a flare of frustration in his chest, sharp and brief. A part of him wanted to hear it all, to know what In-ho was keeping behind those careful silences, to ask more, to demand details, to dig until the hollow feeling in his chest made sense, to have everything laid out so he could understand the man sitting across from him. But he got it, too. They didn’t really know each other, not enough for confessions to come easily. Gi-hun couldn’t expect In-ho to spill everything, not when he himself wasn’t sure what he would be willing to share if the tables were turned. 

He let the frustration fade. Holding In-ho’s gaze, he exhaled slowly and nodded gently, breaking the silence with a single word. 

“Okay.” 

It wasn’t approval. But it was understanding, or at least the beginning of it—a fragile bridge between them. For now, it was enough, and In-ho’s shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in his jaw loosening as he let out a slow breath that seemed to carry more than just air. His tired smile turned genuine and stayed, the first real smile he’d managed since the conversation started.

Gi-hun let his own shoulders drop, leaning back in his seat. Watching that honest smile, a quiet warmth bloomed in his chest. It softened In-ho’s tired features, and for a moment, the scent of coffee in the air seemed to shift, replaced by the faint memory of polished wood and sweet drinks laced with alcohol, pulling him back to the In-ho he had met at the bar once again. 

The other man lowered his gaze, reaching for his cup and taking a sip of his black coffee, only to pause as a sharp grimace twisted across his features. His eyes blinked once, lips pressing together, nose wrinkling slightly in a way that was almost boyish as he realized the coffee was practically ice-cold. For a fleeting moment, the carefully held composure on his face cracked, replaced by an expression so human and unguarded that it made him look younger. 

A breathy laugh escaped Gi-hun before he could stop it, muffled behind closed lips. There was something oddly endearing about the way In-ho’s face scrunched up, how this man who seemed so controlled, so meticulously put together, could still pull a face over cold coffee like anyone else. It was a small reminder that beneath the stoicism and the heavy truths, In-ho was still just a person—one who was nervous enough, maybe, to reach for a cup he knew would be cold simply because he needed something to hold onto in the middle of all this. Gi-hun found the action disarmingly adorable. 

In-ho’s eyes lifted at the sound of Gi-hun’s laugh, blinking once in mild surprise before a huff of breath escaped him—a sound halfway between a scoff and a quiet, embarrassed chuckle as he set the cup back down. 

One dark eyebrow lifted, a silent question passing across In-ho’s features as if to say, What’s so funny?  

Gi-hun pressed his lips together, trying to hold back another laugh as he shook his head lightly. “Nothing,” he murmured, but the warmth in his voice gave him away. His eyes softened even more as they met In-ho’s, the small smile he already wore deepening slightly. 

“Thank you,” Gi-hun said quietly. “For telling me all of that. You didn’t have to. We barely know each other, and you could’ve kept it all to yourself.” His smile remained, gentle and sincere. “But you didn’t, and I appreciate it.” 

He paused, letting the words sink in, watching the way In-ho’s gaze faltered for a moment, as if caught off guard. 

In-ho’s thumb tapped twice against the ceramic as he looked down, the words careful. “I didn’t tell you all of this to excuse what I’ve done. I just… thought you should know, at least a little, before deciding if you really wanted to keep this—” He paused, the word friendship sticking, tasting unfamiliar, so he let it hang in the air for a moment, letting out a quiet breath. “Whatever this is, before it even begins.” 

His gaze drifted back to the swirl of dark coffee, the faint lines on his brow tightening. “And I don’t know if telling you any of this has made your perspective of me better or worse,” he admitted, his voice carrying bitterness, “but… I thought you deserved to know, either way.” 

Gi-hun watched him, that small crease between In-ho’s brows, the way his shoulders sat just a touch too stiff. 

“Hey.” Gi-hun’s voice was soft but certain, drawing In-ho’s eyes back to his.  “You were just a kid, following the person you admired most. It’s not your fault your father took advantage of that. And maybe… it took you a while to see things for what they were, but you did. You’re trying now, piece by piece, and that’s what matters.” 

Gi-hun let out a slow exhale, hand reaching for his own cup before lifting it to take a sip, finding it lukewarm but not caring. “I don’t know if that helps much,” he admitted, a hint of humor softening the weight of the moment, “but that’s what I see.” 

He set the cup down and met In-ho’s gaze, catching the flicker of surprise at the unexpected kindness. It was as if Gi-hun had just said the most beautiful thing in the world—something In-ho hadn’t heard in a long time, something he didn’t realize he desperately needed. 

“That’s…” In-ho closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh slipping past his lips. “You really are something else, Gi-hun.” 

His eyes were full of tenderness and awe, the corners crinkling softly. The warmth in his gaze caught Gi-hun completely off guard. A flutter stirred in his chest, his heart suddenly racing at being on the receiving end of such an affectionate look. 

Uncertain and a little flustered, Gi-hun fidgeted, clearing his throat. Stammering, he tried to ask, “Wh-what do you m-” but just before he could finish, In-ho’s phone rang, breaking the moment. 

In-ho sighed softly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket to pull out his phone. He glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing once more before answering. 

Gi-hun, still feeling the warmth from In-ho’s gaze, took advantage of the other man’s distraction and placed a hand discreetly over his heart, trying to steady the sudden rush of emotions. What was that? he wondered, caught off guard and confused by how unsettled he felt—unable to explain why something so small could affect him so much. He has no right to look like that when he smiles. Damn it.  

Taking a slow breath, he lifted his cup once more to finish the last lukewarm sip. As In-ho spoke quietly on the phone, Gi-hun watched him over the rim, studying the subtle shift in his expression. 

After a moment, In-ho pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and annoyance creasing his brow. “What is he doing here so early anyway? We’re supposed to have that meeting in two hours,” he muttered under his breath. 

A muffled response came from the other end of the line, which Gi-hun couldn’t make out. 

With a resigned sigh, In-ho finally said, “Fine. Tell him I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” and ended the call before putting his phone back into his pocket. 

In-ho lowered his hand from the bridge of his nose, offering Gi-hun a half bitter smile. Gi-hun let out a soft sigh, returning it with a understanding smile of his own. 

“Work calling you back already?” 

“Seems so.” In-ho nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Sorry.” 

“No worries.” Gi-hun waved a hand dismissively, brushing it off, “Besides,” he said as he slowly rose from his chair, “I’ve already stolen enough of your time without even having an appointment.” His tone was light, a small tease hidden beneath the words. 

In-ho chuckled softly, the sound low and genuine, before standing and reaching for his coat draped over the back of his chair. He slipped it on with practiced ease, his eyes flicking back to Gi-hun as he adjusted the collar. 

“Believe me, Gi-hun, if it were for conversations like the one we just had, I wouldn’t mind if people showed up without an appointment.” 

He gave Gi-hun that warm smile, which made him feel a flush rise in his neck once again. He paused for a moment, confused by the tenderness in those eyes, unsure how to react. Ugh, I need to relax.  

Gi-hun cleared his throat softly, forcing himself to look anywhere but at the man in front of him. 

“Actually,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “mind if I hit the restroom before we head out? I should… um, freshen up a bit.” 

His words came out casual enough, but he could feel the warmth still lingering on his cheeks. 

In-ho’s smile softened further, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a quiet amusement that made Gi-hun’s stomach flip all over again. 

“Sure,” the other replied, stepping aside and gesturing at the glass door of the café “I’ll wait for you outside.” 

Gi-hun nodded, avoiding the other’s gaze as he turned toward the restroom, his steps brisk. The lingering sense of In-ho watching him followed with every step, leaving behind a warmth that made it hard to tell if he wanted to escape it—or turn back to meet it again. 

Once inside the spotless restroom, Gi-hun’s focus barely caught on the marble counters or the elegance of the space as he leaned over the sink. His thoughts were elsewhere as he turned on the tap, to splash cool water on his face. The chill helped, if only a little, grounding him as he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought, staring at his reflection and catching the slight flush still on his cheeks. With a quiet huff, he lifted a hand to rub at the warmth there, as if he could wipe it away. It’s just In-ho. We’re just talking.  

But even as he tried to reason with himself, the memory of that warm, tender smile flickered in his mind, making his pulse quicken again. Shit.  

Ugh, do I really get this worked up just because he smiled and looked at me like that? Gi-hun thought, a mixture of incredulity and frustration bubbling inside him. Have I really become this easy?  

He sighed deeply, resting both hands on the edge of the sink as he stared blankly at the ceiling. 

What am I even doing? he wondered silently. Why does In-ho matter so much, anyway? The questions lingered in his mind, unanswered, while his gaze remained fixed on the pale ceiling above. 

After a few long moments of empty thoughts, he shook his head slightly, letting out a long, frustrated sigh.  

Attractive people really are unfair, he muttered to himself, tapping his cheeks lightly with both hands, as if trying to brush away the lingering warmth. Taking a steadying breath, he straightened his posture, feeling more centered and clear-headed now. With one last glance in the mirror, he turned away from the sink, opened the door, and stepped back into the quiet hum of the café. 

His eyes swept the room, searching for In-ho, the table where they had been sitting was empty.  

It wasn’t hard to find him. Through the glass door, Gi-hun could see In-ho’s back, waiting just outside under a sleek black umbrella, droplets running down its edges. In his other hand, hung a fancy, cream-colored bag swaying lightly in the breeze. 

With a quiet exhale, Gi-hun made his way to the counter, fishing out his wallet. 

“I’ll pay for our coffees,” he said, pulling out some cash. 

The young woman behind the counter blinked before shaking her head quickly, her ponytail swaying. “Oh— you don’t need to, sir. The gentleman you were with, Mr. Hwang, he already paid for everything.” 

Gi-hun paused, the wallet in his hand. “What? No, that’s— he didn’t have to do that. I can pay for my share.” 

The barista looked genuinely nervous now, fluttering her hands quickly as if to refuse the money. “Please, sir, it’s fine, really. He even left a tip, so there’s nothing else you need to do.” 

Gi-hun stared for a moment, his mouth pressing into a thin line before he turned to glare through the glass door, eyes narrowing at In-ho’s back outside, willing his annoyance to somehow hit its mark. 

Of course, In-ho didn’t even flinch. 

With a reluctant sigh, Gi-hun slid his wallet back into his pocket, shoulders dropping in resignation. 

“Alright, alright… fine,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter despite the polite bow he offered the nervous barista. “Thank you.” 

He turned on his heel, footsteps quick as he headed for the door, the faint scowl still on his face as he pushed it open and stepped outside. 

The rain hit him immediately, cool droplets dotting his shoulders before he hurried forward with a few quick steps. In-ho turned slightly, shifting the umbrella just enough for Gi-hun to duck under, forcing him to lean closer to avoid the drizzle that still managed to sneak past the edges, their shoulders brushing. 

Gi-hun stepped closer, bumping his shoulder lightly against In-ho’s as he snapped, “Hey! Why did you pay for everything?” His brow furrowed as he looked up, water dripping from the ends of his hair, sliding down the curve of his jaw. “You can’t just do that, you know.” 

In-ho’s eyes flickered, following the slow path of a droplet as it trailed down Gi-hun’s cheek before catching at the edge of his chin. For a moment, he didn’t look away, gaze softening as he followed its path. 

Gi-hun, unaware of the attention, swiped the droplet away with the back of his hand in an unconscious motion, before letting out a frustrated huff. 

The small act seemed to pull In-ho back to himself. His lips curved into a slow smile as he finally lifted his eyes back to Gi-hun’s. 

“I just did,” he murmured amused, before his gaze turned back to the street ahead. “Besides, you were taking so long, I thought I’d speed things up a little.” 

Gi-hun blinked, the words sinking in slowly as a flush rose to his cheeks, heat prickling beneath his skin despite the cold rain. 

“I-I didn’t take that long,” he shot back, the protest sounding weak even to his own ears. His jaw tightened, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance when In-ho simply began walking, the smile still ghosting on his lips, ignoring the protest entirely. 

Gi-hun fell into step beside him, the space between them far closer than it had ever been. In-ho’s warmth at his side, the rich scent of his cologne softened by the rain. He told himself it didn’t matter, the way the rain softened the world around them, or how close they were beneath the umbrella. Gi-hun kept his eyes on the wet pavement, ignoring the warmth beside him, pretending it didn’t matter. 

Desperate to fill the silence with anything else, he cleared his throat.  

“Where’d you even get this umbrella, anyway?” he asked, nodding at the smooth black fabric above them. 

In-ho glanced up at him, one eyebrow lifting before he returned his gaze forward. “I asked for it at the café,” he replied simply. “They let me borrow it.” 

Gi-hun blinked. “Huh? Just like that?” 

A small shrug rolled off In-ho’s shoulders, the motion sending a few droplets sliding from the umbrella’s edge. “I’ll bring it back next time,” he added, smirk still on his lips “It’s not like they don’t know where to find me if they want it back.” 

Gi-hun let out a laugh, incredulous. “Unbelievable. Acting like a spoiled rich kid at your age, huh?” His voice teasing. 

In-ho rolled his eyes, a quiet huff of amusement escaping him. “It’s just an umbrella, Gi-hun.” 

As he glanced sideways at In-ho’s calm profile, he couldn’t help but think how if he’d even tried asking for something like that, they would have looked him up and down with a raised brow, probably reminding him where the nearest convenience store was instead. 

“Must be nice…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. 

They turned the corner, and in the distance, the imposing Black Ddakji building came into view, its dark glass standing stark against the rainy sky. A few more steps and they would be in front of the wide staircase leading up to its doors. 

At his side In-ho shifted, pressing the cream-colored bag into Gi-hun’s hands. The motion was so smooth that he took it automatically, blinking down at it before snapping his gaze up. 

“Hold it for a second. I need to make a quick call.” In-ho’s tone was casual, as he pulled out his phone. 

Gi-hun’s brow furrowed. “What is this?”  

“A gift,” In-ho replied simply, eyes already scanning his screen as he lifted the phone to his ear.  

Gi-hun glanced down at the bag, frowning at the elegant design. He recognized the golden logo of the café. “A gift?” 

But before he could demand an explanation, In-ho was already speaking into the phone.  

“I need you at the entrance in five minutes.” The command was quick, before In-ho ended the call without another word. 

Gi-hun was left clutching the bag under the umbrella, the faint warmth from In-ho’s hand still lingering on the handles. Shifting the bag in his grip as he tried not to look too curious, refusing to ask the questions that now itched at the tip of his tongue. A gift for who?  

He glanced at the man beside him, who was now tucking his phone away, that same calm expression back on his face. Bag forgotten. 

They stopped at the foot of the wide steps, rain still pattering softly on the umbrella. In-ho lifted his gaze to the tall glass doors above but didn’t move. Gi-hun shifted beside him, the bag still clutched in his hand, fingers unconsciously tightening around the handles. He realized suddenly that he hadn’t really said much—he’d listened to In-ho, understood him, but the words he needed to get out were still sitting heavy in his chest. 

In the end, he let out a quiet breath. 

“I’m glad,” he said, voice low, almost swallowed by the rain. 

In-ho’s gaze flicked to him, brows lifting slightly. 

Gi-hun’s eyes darted away. “I thought… after the other day, you wouldn’t want to talk to me.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again,” In-ho replied, calm but honest. 

He pressed his lips together, frustration prickling under his skin. “It wasn’t you,” Gi-hun muttered. “It was that damn article. And Jungbae running his mouth didn’t help, either.” A quiet laugh slipped out as the memory surfaced. 

“Jungbae?” In-ho repeated, tilting his head slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. 

“Oh, yeah—my ‘boss.’” Gi-hun lifted a shoulder. “Though really, he’s more like a childhood friend.” 

An eyebrow ticked up, but In-ho stayed silent, eyes fixed on him. 

“He’s a bit… dramatic,” Gi-hun admitted, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “When he saw that article, he kind of… freaked out. Dragged me into it, too. And then you walked in, and everything turned into chaos.” 

In-ho hummed, the name clearly sticking in his mind, though Gi-hun seemed oblivious to it. 

A small, embarrassed laugh escaped him. “Honestly, for a second there, I thought you were going to kill me for spilling that drink on your suit.” 

A sly smile curled on In-ho’s lips. “If I wanted to kill you for that, I would’ve taken the chance already.” 

Gi-hun chuckled softly, shaking his head. Before he could reply, a sharp flash of lightning split the sky, followed almost instantly by a deep thunder that echoed around them. The sudden noise made Gi-hun flinch, and without thinking, he stepped closer to In-ho, as if seeking shelter. He caught himself almost immediately and took a small step back, cheeks coloring with embarrassment. 

He scratched the back of his neck, forcing a nervous grin. “I better get going before this rain gets any worse.” 

In-ho’s eyes flicked toward the road in front of them and pulled his hand from his pocket to check his watch. “Yeah. Hold on a second—he should be here any minute now.” 

“Huh?” Gi-hun frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?” 

As if on cue, the low growl of an engine rolled through the damp air. A sleek black Camaro turned the corner, headlights slicing through the drizzle as it pulled up in front of them, tires hissing softly against the wet pavement. 

Gi-hun blinked, startled, glancing with confusion between the car and the man beside him. 

In-ho stepped forward as the passenger window rolled down with a quiet whirr, revealing a young man with a mop of messy purple hair that stuck out in every direction like he hadn’t bothered to brush it, a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy sky. A crooked, playful grin spread across his lips as he pushed the sunglasses down with one finger to look at them. 

“Right on time, boss. As always.” 

“You’re late, actually." In-ho narrowed his eyes, leaning down slightly to get a better look at him. "As always.”  

The kid smirked, unbothered, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Aw, c’mon, boss, traffic’s a bitch, you know how it is.” 

In-ho’s gaze flicked up to the kid’s hair, his jaw ticking, “And what’s with that hair? How many times have I told you you can’t show up with that mess, not for this kind of job.” 

“C’mon, boss, it’s my signature look, you know that. Can’t ask me to kill my brand,” the kid shot back, unfazed, flashing a toothy grin. 

In-ho rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose as he straightened up. He turned to Gi-hun, who was still staring, brows knit, looking between them like he had walked into the middle of a movie he didn’t understand. 

“He’ll drive you home,” In-ho said, brushing a raindrop off his sleeve. “Don’t let his looks fool you—he’s a decent driver.” 

Gi-hun’s lips parted, words tumbling out in a rush as he lifted a hand. “Wait, no, no, no, that’s not necessary, really—I can just grab a taxi, actually I—” 

“Huh?!” the kid in the car snapped, pulling off his sunglasses completely, revealing sharp eyes beneath. “No way I came all the way here for nothing. C’mon, man, get in already, sheesh.” 

Gi-hun blinked, looking over at In-ho with pleading eyes for backup, but In-ho only lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. 

“He’s really stubborn,” he simply said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. 

A grimace pulled at Gi-hun’s face before he let out what felt like the thousandth sigh of the day, fully aware that In-ho could just tell his employee to leave if he really wanted to. 

“You know what? Fine. But seriously, you need to stop setting me up like this, In-ho.” He pointed a finger at him, trying to sound stern. “It’s bad karma, I’m telling you.” 

The words only made that smug smirk on In-ho’s face grow as he nodded slowly, his lips pressing together in a mock show of understanding, eyes glinting with quiet amusement as he humored Gi-hun’s empty threats without taking them seriously. 

Muttering under his breath, Gi-hun moved toward the back door of the Camaro, hand reaching for the handle—then he paused, glancing at the bag still hanging from his arm. 

“Ah—almost forgot.” He held it out toward In-ho. “There. Your bag.”

In-ho stayed put, hand resting casually in his pocket, eyes narrowing as he raised a single eyebrow, clearly with no intention of reaching for the bag. 

“What are you doing?” In-ho asked, “I told you. It’s a gift.” 

Gi-hun frowned, the words finally clicking into place. 

“What the— Yeah, you told me it was a gift,” he snapped, exasperation bleeding into his voice, “but not a gift for me, In-ho. I swear to God—” 

He stopped, pressing a hand to his forehead as a wave of tiredness washed over him. 

In-ho only tilted his head slightly, a mock-innocent look crossing his face. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Gi-hun. It’s for your daughter. A small thank-you for putting some sense into this whole mess… and for making sure you actually showed up.” 

Gi-hun lifted an eyebrow, staring at In-ho in disbelief, silently judging him. 

“It’s just a slice of cake from the café. Nothing fancy,” In-ho added, brushing off the weight of it with a careless shrug. “You’re really going to deny your daughter that little treat?” 

Gi-hun’s eyes flicked down to the bag, his shoulders slumping, fully aware he was about to lose another battle against In-ho. 

“You’re a menace,” he muttered at last. “Bad karma, In-ho. Just wait and see.” 

A low laugh escaped In-ho as he pulled the car door open wider, nodding with a soft hum, trying his best to keep his full smile in check. 

Gi-hun hesitated for a heartbeat, then climbed into the back seat. Just before In-ho could close the door, he paused, glancing up, the words slipping out without thought, 

“See you at the bar, then?” 

In-ho’s grin finally broke through, as he nodded. “Of course.” 

Gi-hun returned the smile, wide and genuine, In-ho’s promise lifting a weight from his chest that he hadn’t even realized was there until it was gone. 

He nodded without fully noticing he was doing it. 

“See you then.” 

“Goodbye, Gi-hun.”

And with a soft thud, In-ho closed the car door, muffling the sound of the rain outside. 

Gi-hun watched through the rain-streaked glass as In-ho’s back slowly disappeared into the downpour, umbrella perched neatly over his shoulder as he climbed the steps toward his building. 

The moment the figure vanished from view, Gi-hun’s shoulders dropped, his back sinking into the seat as he let out a long, heavy sigh, sliding down in a languid sprawl. He couldn’t believe he had actually gone through with this—and that, somehow, it had gone well. The thought struck him as his eyes fell shut, head tipping back, forgetting completely that he wasn’t alone in the car. 

“That was intense.” 

Gi-hun flinched at the sudden, deep voice, eyes snapping open to find the purple-haired kid in the front seat turned fully around, staring at him with zero attempt at subtlety. For a moment, all Gi-hun could think was how blatantly the kid had been watching everything the entire time. 

“Well!” the kid exclaimed, cutting off any chance for Gi-hun to gather himself, his energy somehow too big for the car. “Where to?” 

As he spoke, he slid his sunglasses back on, twisting around to tap a rhythmic beat on the steering wheel with exaggerated enthusiasm. 

“Oh! Right—” Gi-hun sat up, clearing his throat. “I live in Ssangmundong. You can start heading that way, and I’ll guide you once we get closer. It’s kind of tricky if you’re not familiar.” 

“Sure, my man, let’s go!” the kid said brightly, rolling his shoulders with infectious energy as he threw the car into gear. 

Gi-hun blinked, unsure where all that energy came from, a crooked smile tugging at his lips despite himself as the Camaro rumbled back to life. 

The drive began in a companionable silence, the hum of the engine blending with the rain’s soft patter against the windows. The kid in front was humming some tune that probably only existed in his head, shoulders bouncing occasionally in rhythm as the city lights slid past. 

Gi-hun allowed himself to relax again, letting his back sink into the seat with a small exhale. The faint crinkle of the bag in his lap pulled his gaze down, reminding him of its presence. He picked it up, the shiny gold logo of the café catching the streetlights as memories flickered behind his eyes. 

In-ho’s confessions. His honesty, the way his expressions had shifted between sincerity and bitterness, the weight of being at the top, the price it demanded. His father, and the way In-ho had spoken about him with that raw vulnerability. The way he had shared it all so openly, as if trusting Gi-hun with pieces of himself no one else could see. 

Gi-hun found himself wondering what he had done to deserve that trust, to be on the receiving end of those rare, warm smiles that softened In-ho’s sharp edges. Absentmindedly, he traced the café’s logo with his thumb, a goofy smile spreading across his face before he even realized it.  

“So, who are you exactly, mh?”  

The kid’s voice cut through the quiet, snapping Gi-hun out of his thoughts as he glanced up to see those dark eyes peeking over the top of sunglasses, watching him through the rearview mirror with open curiosity. Gi-hun was almost impressed the kid had managed to stay quiet for that long.  

“Oh, uh—Seong Gi-hun, I'm...” he replied, clearing his throat as he searched for the right words. He hesitated, searching for the right title, unsure if “friend” was the right word, but it felt like the closest truth right now. “I’m a friend of In-ho’s.”  

“Hm.” The kid tilted his head, studying him through the mirror with an unreadable expression. A knowing smirk flickered across his lips as he absentmindedly murmured, “Seong Gi-hun of Ssangmundong,” drumming his fingers on the wheel while they waited at a red light. 

Gi-hun shifted in his seat and raised an eyebrow, taking a better look at him now. The kid had drifted back to quietly humming a song. 

Despite the black suit, it was clear that this wasn’t really his thing; the looseness of the collar, the undone cuff buttons showing tattooed hands in bold black ink, rings glinting as they moved, and nails painted in bright colors. 

For a moment, Gi-hun watched the mismatched image the kid presented and couldn’t hold back the question that slipped past his lips, a lopsided smile following. 

“So… how does someone like you end up driving for someone like In-ho, anyway?” 

He paused, letting out a low chuckle. 

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but you look more like a K-pop singer than a driver for some stiff, high-class company.” 

The kid’s eyes lit up immediately, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he twisted around in his seat with a wide grin. 

“Oh, man, you really wanna know?” 

Gi-hun blinked, a bit taken aback by the sudden burst of energy, but nodded, curiosity getting the better of him. “Uh, sure?” 

“Alright, listen to this,” the kid said, raising a finger dramatically before leaning back, letting the Camaro idle as the light turned green. He guided the car forward with one hand, the other waving around as he spoke. 

“The first time I met that old man I was just bored, you know? Wandering the streets looking for anything to do. And then—bam—” He snapped his fingers for emphasis, eyes flicking to Gi-hun through the mirror, “I see this dude. Elegant suit, perfect hair, the whole ‘don’t talk to me, I’m busy being rich’ vibe. He looked like the kind of jerk who wouldn’t even notice if you lifted a few bills from his pocket.” 

He mimicked In-ho’s stoic face, puffing out his chest and stiffening his shoulders exaggeratedly, making Gi-hun’s lips twitch into a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

The kid’s grin widened, teeth flashing. “So, I’m thinking, what’s he gonna do, huh? If I snag a bill or two,” He snapped his fingers, eyes glinting with mischief. “So I go for it. I slide in, real smooth, hand in his pocket—”  

Gi-hun blinked and leaned in slightly despite himself, only to jump when the kid clapped his hands loudly. 

“—and next thing I know, I’m face down on the sidewalk with my arm twisted, looking up at this guy who’s glaring at me like I’m the biggest idiot he’s ever seen.” The kid shook his head, letting out a laugh that was half disbelief, half admiration. 

Gi-hun let out a full on laugh at the same time, shaking his head. “No way he did that on the middle of the street!” 

“You bet! And you know what he says?” The kid paused, widening his eyes in mock seriousness. “‘Do something with your life.’ Like, bro, you just flipped me, and now you’re giving me life advice?” 

The kid wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye, shaking his head again before adjusting his sunglasses dramatically. 

“And then—get this—he drags me off the ground and tells me to come work for him. Just like that. No questions, no fuss, just ‘You’re coming with me.’” He shrugged, still grinning, energy still buzzing around him, “I figured, why not? He pays me to drive fast cars. Kinda hard to say no, huh?” 

His grin softened, eyes flicking to Gi-hun again in the mirror. 

“Ah, that old man’s stronger than he looks, you know? Never would’ve guessed it with that rich-kid aura of his.” 

The young man just shook his head. Gi-hun let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his mouth tugging upward as he glanced at the kid in the mirror. “Sounds like he saw something in you. Not many people get a second chance like that.” 

The kid shrugged, eyes fixed on the road. “Maybe. Or maybe he just wanted someone who would piss off his dad.” He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You should’ve seen that old geezer’s face when he found out he’d hired me.” 

Gi-hun made a face at the mention of In-ho’s father, a low, reluctant “Ugh” slipping out. 

The other man chuckled softly from the driver’s seat. “Tell me about it, man. That old dude was no joke. Things are better now anyway-” The kid’s sentence cut off as he slammed on the brakes, the car jolting forward.  

“This son of a bitch, what the hell is he doing? Is this guy drunk or something?” He slammed the horn, then rolled down the window to shout at the driver ahead. “Yo! What the hell man!?”  

Gi-hun blinked a couple of times, caught off guard by the sudden brake that pulled him out of the conversation. He wanted to ask more, to pry deeper into the kid’s story, but seeing how agitated he was, still yelling at the driver ahead, he sighed, a faint half-smile tugging at his lips. That’s enough excitement for today, he thought. 

He leaned back in his seat, trying to relax as the kid’s shouts faded into the background, mixing with the steady patter of rain against the windows. His gaze drifted outside, his mind attempting to replay the scene he’d just heard, trying to picture In-ho in that exact moment. The idea of him rebelling against his father by hiring this scrappy kid, who had just tried to pick his pocket, made Gi-hun let out a soft, disbelieving chuckle. 

Finally, the kid rolled up the window, muttering a string of curses under his breath. The car then slipped into a comfortable silence that lasted for the rest of the journey, and soon enough, they pulled up outside Gi-hun’s building. 

He cleared his throat softly. “Right there’s good,” he said, nodding toward the spot in front of his building while giving a small gesture for the kid to pull over. 

“Thanks for bringing me,” he added, dipping his head in a polite bow before reaching for the door handle. 

The kid just waved a hand dismissively. “No worries, dude.” 

Gi-hun paused, fingers hovering over the handle as something clicked in his mind. He turned back, brow slightly furrowed. “Hey, I just realized... I never asked your name.” 

The kid pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, shoving back a few strands of purple hair, and with an exaggerated flourish of his hands, as if posing for a photo, he flashed a crooked grin. 

“You can call me Thanos, my bro !” 

Gi-hun blinked, thrown off by the unexpected answer. For a moment, he tried to read the kid’s expression, not sure if it was a joke or if he was serious. 

The kid simply wiggled his eyebrows, grin widening. 

“A-ah... Yeah.” Gi-hun let out a soft, awkward laugh, “See you around then, uh... Thanos.” the name feeling foreign on his tongue. 

He dipped his head again in a polite nod before finally pushing the car door open, stepping out into the drizzle that continued to fall. Pulling the door shut behind him, he clutched the bag In-ho gave him in one hand while raising the other over his head in a futile attempt to shield himself from the rain. He broke into a quick trot across the pavement, shoes splashing lightly until he reached the cover of his building’s entrance. 

Under the awning, he paused, letting out a breath as he shook the water from his hair. Turning, he glanced back toward the street just in time to see the car pulling away, taillights glowing against the wet road before disappearing around the corner. 

Gi-hun sighed, brushing a damp hand under his chin as a tired chuckle slipped past his lips. 

This day couldn’t get any more bizarre, he thought, before finally turning and stepping inside and heading up the stairs, the bag rustling at his side as he made his way home. 

Gi-hun finally reached his apartment door and fumbled with the keys for a moment before unlocking it. As soon as the door swung open, a tangle of small arms wrapped around his middle, nearly knocking him off balance. 

“Dad!” his son said, looking up at him from where he was clinging. “You took so long!” 

Gi-hun’s face, startled by the sudden impact, softened into a wide smile at the sight of his son pouting adorably. “Sorry, bug,” he said, reaching down to ruffle Cheol’s hair, messing it up in the process. 

From the couch facing away from the door, Gi-hun could see the top of Sae-byeok’s head as she turned to look back at him, one eyebrow lifting in silent question. She didn’t need to say anything; that single look was enough for Gi-hun to know she was asking if everything had gone well. 

He gave her a small thumbs-up over Cheol’s shoulder, a quiet reassurance as he hugged his son closer and began slipping off his shoes. 

“What’s in the bag, Dad?” Cheol asked, tugging at it curiously as it rustled at Gi-hun’s side.  

Gi-hun shifted the bag slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “It’s a gift from a friend,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Sae-byeok, “but it’s for you.”  

Sae-byeok stood up from the couch, stepping over to them with her arms crossed. “For me?” she asked, tilting her head.  

Taking a few steps toward the open kitchen, he set the bag down on the counter with a soft thud. 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, glancing back at her with a small smile. “It’s from In-ho. He wanted to thank you for, you know, ‘forcing’ me to go see him.” 

Before Sae-byeok could respond, Cheol was already dragging a small stool over, climbing up to peek inside the bag. His eyes went wide. “But this is a whole cake!” he shouted, twisting around to look at Gi-hun with an incredulous face. “It’s too much for Sae-byeok alone! I want some too!” 

His son was already peeking into the bag, fingers itching to pull it open, when Gi-hun blinked in mild shock. “Huh? A whole cake?” 

He leaned in a bit, watching as Sae-byeok carefully lifted the cake out of the box. Sure enough, it was a gorgeous, full-sized cake, the glossy dark chocolate reflecting the light in the kitchen as she turned it slightly, looking almost too perfect to touch. 

Gi-hun let out a quiet scoff, a crooked smile tugging at his lips as he remembered In-ho’s words. “A slice, my ass,” he muttered, exhaling as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter while he watched them. 

Sae-byeok picked up the card that came with the cake and read aloud, “ Sachertorte . Dark chocolate with raspberry filling.” She flipped the card over, raising an eyebrow at what was written on the back, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

Leaning on the counter with his forearms, Gi-hun sighed softly, his eyes fixed on the glossy surface of the cake. Ugh, this man really does whatever he wants, he thought, the elegant cake feeling like another reminder of In-ho’s unpredictable ways. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Sae-byeok’s voice. “I don’t think this is for me, though,” she said, handing him the card with a knowing look. 

Gi-hun straightened up, a little confused, and took the card from Sae-byeok as she walked toward the cupboard to grab some small plates. He studied the card more closely, flipping it over to see what his daughter was referring to. In elegant handwriting, different from the printed text naming the cake, there was a phone number with the simple word In-ho written beside it. 

His breath caught for a moment, a restless warmth blooming in his chest, nerves fluttering unexpectedly. Without even realizing it, his thumb traced over the letters, eyes going distant as he took in the unfamiliar yet careful handwriting. A quiet huff slipped out, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. Funny, how a single line of ink could leave him feeling off-balance. 

“Mom, you’re all red. This is embarrassing, stop it,” Sae-byeok teased with a half-smile as she set down three plates on the counter. Gi-hun clicked his tongue, muttering a quick, “Ugh, shut up,” under his breath. 

Meanwhile, Cheol was practically bouncing on his stool, ignoring their conversation entirely. “Come on, Byeok, cut it already!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sae-byeok muttered, rolling her eyes as she started to slice the cake. 

Gi-hun watched her movements absently, teeth worrying at the skin of his thumbnail, his mind miles away. Should I text him? About what, though? Just to thank him for the cake? Isn’t it too soon to text already? He’ll think I’m clingy. He’s probably busy, and a dumb message would just be a bother… Ugh, damn it.  

The chatter of his kids floated in the background, Cheol’s excited hums mixing with Sae-byeok’s quiet scolding. Without letting himself think further, he reached into his back pocket for his phone. Damn you, In-ho, and your damn pretty smile , he thought, quickly typing in the number from the card and saving it to his contacts. 

One tap opened a new chat, the blinking cursor waiting in the empty message bubble. His thumb hovered in the air, unsure what to type, breath caught as he stared at the blank space, heart drumming loud against his ribs. 

Just say something already, he told himself, swallowing as his thumb finally moved. 

I don’t even want to think about how much that whole cake cost if a single slice was that ridiculous. Next drink you order at the bar is on me. 

His thumb hovered for again. 

It’s Gi-hun, by the way.

He stared at the message, reading it over once, twice, three times, before hitting send with a sharp exhale, dropping the phone onto the counter like it burned. Immediately, regret pooled in his stomach. Was that too casual? Too short? Should I have added something else?  

It’s fine. It’s fine, he tried to tell himself, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He probably won’t even reply. He’s probably busy. It’s— 

The screen lit up. 

I know it’s you, Gi-hun.

His breath caught, eyes glued to the screen as the typing bubble appeared, blinked out, then popped up again, three little dots blinking in that small bubble. 

Finally, another message came through. 

I’ll keep that invitation in mind. 

Another message popped up. 

Does your daughter like it? 

Gi-hun lifted his gaze from the screen, taking in the sight of his kids at the counter. Cheol was already scraping the last crumbs off his plate, eyeing the cake like he was planning his next slice. Sae-byeok, more composed, was chewing slowly, but the little smile between bites betrayed her. 

“So?” Gi-hun asked, arching a brow at them. “How is it?” 

“It’s really good!” Cheol chirped, licking frosting off his thumb. 

“It’s passable,” Sae-byeok muttered, though she didn’t stop eating. 

They said it nearly at the same time, voices overlapping. 

A laugh broke out of Gi-hun, shaking his head as he glanced back at his phone. 

She said it’s ‘passable.’ 

A beat. And then he added. 

So that means she loves it. 

Gi-hun let out a soft sigh, a tender smile curling on his lips as the screen lit up once more. 

It was worth it then.

His thumb hovered for a moment, warmth blooming in his chest, before he typed back. A stupid smile pulling at his lips as he watched Cheol reach for another slice and Sae-byeok quietly allow it, pretending not to care. 

Yeah, it was.