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CHAN.
As the leader of their team, Chan naturally paid close attention to his subordinates, especially new hires. It was part of his job to make sure they settled in properly, to give them the time and space to adjust to the team’s dynamics.
When Hyunjin and Seungmin joined the company together, Chan approached their onboarding the same way he always did—with careful observation. He kept an eye on them during their first couple of weeks, watching how they interacted with the team and how the team responded to them.
It didn’t take long for Hyunjin to stand out. In just a week, he had befriended nearly everyone. His infectious laughter echoed through the office, and he’d unofficially become part of Changbin and Jisung’s “crackhead trio,” the group notorious for their ridiculous banter and energy. People gravitated toward Hyunjin easily, and it was clear he had no trouble fitting in.
Seungmin, however, was a different story.
While it seemed like Seungmin was settling in fine, there was a stark difference in how the team treated him. Unlike Hyunjin, who seemed to be a magnet for attention, Seungmin received polite greetings and work-related inquiries—nothing more. He kept to himself most of the time, quietly working at his desk or nodding politely when approached.
This disparity concerned Chan. It wasn’t that Seungmin seemed unhappy, but Chan couldn’t shake the feeling that he might be feeling left out. After all, joining a team alongside someone as charismatic as Hyunjin could easily make someone like Seungmin fade into the background.
But what could he do?
He debated with himself. Should he ask the team to be more inclusive? That felt overbearing. Encourage Seungmin to socialize more? That seemed intrusive. Befriend Seungmin himself? While that was an option, he wasn’t sure if Seungmin would feel comfortable getting close to his boss.
In the end, Chan decided to observe for a while longer. Surely, with time, Seungmin would find his footing and open up.
Or so he thought.
It started small.
One day, a loud argument broke out between Changbin and Minho. Apparently, someone had eaten the pudding Changbin had left in the fridge—his pudding, clearly labeled with his name in bold letters. Naturally, his first suspect was Minho.
“I didn’t eat it! The pudding probably ran away because it was sick of you! You ate its whole family!” Minho shot back, glaring daggers at Changbin.
Changbin gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “What kind of fool do you take me for?! Puddings don’t have legs! They can’t run!”
“Well, I think it would if it could!”
Chan couldn’t help but snort at the absurdity. It was obvious who the real culprit was—Jisung, who was conveniently ignoring the chaos while munching on yet another snack he’d “borrowed” from the communal fridge, one he was sure Minho had left this morning.
Chan wasn’t worried, though. These arguments were routine, more comedic than anything else. His real concern was how the newer employees were handling it.
Hyunjin, unsurprisingly, seemed unbothered—he was even recording the argument on his phone, laughing loudly. Chan’s gaze shifted to Seungmin, expecting to see him uneasy or at least confused by the commotion.
What he saw instead surprised him.
Seungmin was giggling quietly behind his desk, his hand covering his mouth as he occasionally glanced up at Changbin and Minho.
It was the first time Chan had seen Seungmin laugh—a real laugh, not the polite smiles he gave out of obligation. His shoulders shook slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he struggled to contain his amusement.
Chan’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure why, but one thought crossed his mind at that moment: Seungmin is really cute.
Over the following weeks, Chan found himself paying more attention to Seungmin than he intended. It started out innocently enough—just casual observations. But the more he watched, the more he noticed, and the more those little details began to stick with him.
One afternoon in the cafeteria, Chan spotted Seungmin standing in line. Amid the crowd of exhausted, sleep-deprived office workers, Seungmin stood out. He was humming softly, his eyes sparkling as they scanned the food on display. He told the cafeteria worker what he wanted and when the worker pointed at a tray for confirmation, Seungmin nodded enthusiastically, his excitement almost childlike.
It was such a simple moment, but it made Chan smile.
Then there was the time the office printer refused to cooperate. Seungmin stood before it, glaring at the machine with a pout that Chan couldn’t help but find endearing. His determination to fix it was almost comical—pressing random buttons and cursing under his breath. When the printer finally whirred to life, Seungmin let out a small triumphant “Yay~” before skipping back to his desk, papers in hand.
And during team meetings, while most of the employees zoned out at some point, Seungmin remained laser-focused. Sitting in the back, he took notes obsessively, his expressions changing with every point made—sometimes frowning in thought, sometimes mouthing a quiet “What?” in confusion and then lighting up with an “Ooooh!” when he finally understood.
These moments stayed with Chan, even when he didn’t mean for them to.
One evening, long after most of the team had gone home, Chan sat at his desk, reviewing reports. The room was quiet, save for the soft tapping of keys. When he glanced up, he saw Seungmin still at his desk, headphones on, typing away diligently.
The warm light of Seungmin’s desk lamp cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his jaw and the relaxed focus in his eyes. It was such a peaceful sight that Chan felt an inexplicable calm wash over him.
And then, it hit him.
He wasn’t just noticing Seungmin’s quirks out of habit. He was noticing because he wanted to—because those little things, the ones no one else seemed to see, made him feel something he couldn’t quite explain.
And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want anyone else to see them the way he did.
YONGBOK.
Yongbok wasn’t just the sunshine of the company; he was the sun. Bright, warm, and seemingly untouchable by the clouds of stress that hung over most of the office.
His charm was effortless. People didn’t just like him—they gravitated toward him. It wasn’t unusual to see him making small talk with the interns one minute and laughing with the CEO the next. His ability to make anyone feel at ease was legendary.
“Yongbok, you could probably make a chair smile,” Jisung once said, not entirely joking.
So naturally, when Chan introduced Seungmin as the newest member of the team and announced he’d be sharing Yongbok’s desk pod, Yongbok had been thrilled.
“I’ll take good care of him,” Yongbok promised, grinning at Chan, who nodded in relief. “Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”
Seungmin, however, did not seem as enthusiastic.
On Seungmin’s first day, Yongbok did what he always did: he greeted him warmly.
“Hi!” Yongbok beamed. “I’m Yongbok. It’s great to meet you! We’re going to be desk mates, so if you need anything—anything at all—just let me know!”
Seungmin turned to him, blinked once, and replied with a polite, “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
His tone was calm, his words courteous, but his face? Completely blank. No smile, no flicker of warmth—nothing.
Yongbok blinked back, momentarily thrown off. Huh. That’s new.
It wasn’t that Seungmin was unfriendly. He wasn’t rude or standoffish. He was just reserved. Polite in a way that felt rehearsed, distant in a way that felt deliberate.
And Yongbok couldn’t help but find it fascinating.
Because here’s the thing: people didn’t usually stay closed off around Yongbok.
It was just a matter of time before they opened up. Whether it was through his friendly banter, his effortless charm, or his endless supply of baked goods, people always cracked.
Always.
So when Seungmin didn’t? When Seungmin remained as closed off on his third day as he was on his first, answering Yongbok’s chatter with quiet nods and polite hums? Yongbok was intrigued.
At first, it was just curiosity. Seungmin was different from anyone else in the office. He didn’t linger by the coffee machine to chat. He didn’t join the others for lunch. He didn’t laugh at Jisung’s jokes or complain about Minho’s endless cat stories.
He was like a puzzle no one had managed to solve yet. And Yongbok? He loved puzzles.
So he started small.
“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” he asked one day, even though he had three pens in his drawer.
Seungmin handed him a pen without hesitation. “Here.”
“Thanks!” Yongbok grinned, waiting for Seungmin to smile back.
Seungmin didn’t. Shame.
The next day, Yongbok tried a different approach. “Did you hear about Hyunjin tripping over his own chair this morning? I thought Chan was going to cry from laughing so hard.”
Seungmin’s response? A polite, “I see.”
Yongbok blinked, tilting his head. “You’re supposed to laugh, not just ‘I see.’”
Seungmin didn’t budge. His face remained as neutral as ever.
Yongbok scratched his head in mock frustration. “Well, I guess my comedic timing needs work,” he muttered to himself.
Most people would’ve given up by now, but not Yongbok.
He started gossiping about office drama, offering to buy Seungmin coffee, and complaining about the weather just to see if he’d get a reaction.
One time, he even poked Seungmin’s arm playfully, just to see if he’d flinch.
Nothing.
Shame. But he took it as a win, because it proved his biggest theory of the day: Seungmin would never push him away.
No matter how much Yongbok approached him—whether it was to borrow a pen, share a story, or simply loiter by his desk—Seungmin never told him to stop. And that was enough to keep Yongbok going.
The turning point came on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday.
Yongbok, feeling unusually productive the night before, had baked cupcakes. Since he had extras, he decided to bring them to work. It wasn’t even part of the plan. He was doing it sincerely out of kindness.
“Here,” he said, placing a cupcake on Seungmin’s desk. “I made these last night. Thought you might like one.”
Seungmin had looked at the cupcake, then at Yongbok. For a moment, Yongbok thought he might refuse it. But then—
“Thank you,” Seungmin said softly, and then, to Yongbok’s absolute shock—he smiled.
He blinked, stunned.
Oh.
It wasn’t a big smile. It was a small thing, a subtle quirk of the lips. And it wasn’t flashy or bright but it was enough to light up the entire office, as far as Yongbok was concerned. Seungmin had smiled. Not just at the cupcake, but at him. Yongbok felt like his heart could do an Olympic-level somersault at that.
From that day on, things were different.
Seungmin started treating Yongbok differently. He didn’t just tolerate his presence—he welcomed it.
He started replying to Yongbok’s chatter with actual comments, not just polite hums. He began offering Yongbok coffee in return and even cracked a joke once—though Yongbok was so startled he nearly dropped his cup.
“Wow,” Chan teased one day, watching Seungmin place a coffee cup on Yongbok’s desk. “You’ve got Seungmin doing favors for you now? What kind of spell did you cast?”
Yongbok just grinned, holding the cup like it was a treasure.
He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, Seungmin had become more than just an intriguing desk mate.
And honestly? Yongbok would never tell anyone, but cracking Seungmin’s shell had been worth every effort.
Because once you got past the layers of politeness and reserve, you found someone kind, thoughtful, and quietly funny.
He liked to think that Seungmin to Yongbok, is like Yongbok to everyone else.
JISUNG.
Jisung was the type of person who greeted everyone every morning. It didn’t matter who it was—Chan, Minho, Hyunjin, even the janitors or the security guard. He’d smile, wave, and offer a quick “good morning” to anyone and everyone. He’d say it so cheerfully, it was almost like a challenge to the rest of the office: try to get through the day without getting a greeting from me.
Changbin liked to tease him about it, claiming Jisung only did it to avoid working right away, but Jisung didn’t mind. He liked the human interaction. The connections. The smiles. He liked making people’s days a little brighter, even if he had to drag them out of their sleepy haze.
But there was one person who never responded to Jisung’s greetings with the same enthusiasm: Kim Seungmin.
Seungmin was the newest recruit, and Jisung had greeted him with his usual cheerfulness on his first day. He’d introduced himself, offered a hand to help if Seungmin ever needed it. Seungmin had nodded politely, bowing slightly as he thanked him.
Jisung had expected that—new people usually needed time to warm up. But as the days went by, he noticed something strange. Seungmin wasn’t warming up to him at all.
Seungmin was always quiet. Always kept to himself. While everyone else gathered for lunch outings, Seungmin would politely excuse himself, retreating into his solitary corner of the office. No attempts to connect. No joking. No banter.
Jisung tried again and again, but Seungmin remained aloof. So, after a while, Jisung stopped trying to befriend him. He still greeted him every morning, of course. Out of politeness, not expectation.
It wasn’t until an eventful evening that everything changed.
It was a typical Jisung move to forget a major assignment until the last possible second. And it wasn’t even until he was staring at his screen, realizing the deadline was tomorrow, that he panicked.
The office had emptied out. Most of his coworkers were already gone, either heading home or to meetings. Jisung’s frantic attempts to beg for help had been rejected one after another. Minho had cats to take care of. Chan had an important dinner meeting. Hyunjin was spending time with his mom (and Jisung wasn’t going to interrupt that). Even Changbin had been long gone, slipping out the moment the clock hit five.
Jisung slumped into his chair, his hope deflating. It was just him, the cold hum of the fluorescent lights, and an empty office. He was going to have to finish it alone.
But just as he was about to give up, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Turning around, he found himself face-to-face with Seungmin, standing there awkwardly, his eyes a little tired.
“I… have no plans for tonight,” Seungmin said hesitantly, looking almost awkward. “If you want, I can help you.”
Jisung’s heart lifted. He couldn’t help it. “Really? You’ll help?”
Seungmin gave him a small, reluctant nod, and suddenly, Jisung was grinning like a kid.
The night passed slowly. Seungmin worked quietly, focused on his part of the assignment, typing away with his usual calm. Jisung tried to fill the silence with jokes, small talk, anything to make the atmosphere a little less awkward, but Seungmin only responded with noncommittal phrases. “I see,” “Interesting,” “Is that so?”
Jisung wasn’t sure if Seungmin had trouble with small talk or just didn’t like talking to him at all. But as the hours passed, he settled into the quiet rhythm of the office, Seungmin’s steady presence beside him.
Trying to break the silence, Jisung asked, “So, what made you want to help me out tonight? I know we’re not exactly… close.”
Seungmin glanced up at him briefly, eyebrows furrowing a bit before he looked back at his screen. “You looked like you needed it,” he said simply. “I’m not going anywhere anyway, so…”
Jisung chuckled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Guess I do look like a mess sometimes, huh?” He half-smiled, but Seungmin didn’t respond, just nodding slightly before continuing to type.
After a few minutes of working in silence, Jisung stretched and sighed dramatically, trying to ease the tension. “You know, I think I might actually pass out if I don’t get some sleep soon. Do you always work like this? Like, no breaks, no complaining?”
Seungmin glanced up again, his expression neutral. “I just focus on getting things done. Complaining won’t change anything.”
Jisung raised his hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. No time for complaints. You’re like… a robot or something.”
Seungmin gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible smile at that.
Jisung took that as a small victory.
Around midnight, his exhaustion caught up with him. With a soft groan, he rested his head on his desk, his eyes drifting to Seungmin.
The way Seungmin worked was mesmerizing. His fingers danced across the keyboard, his expression calm and focused. His soft breathing filled the quiet office, the glow of his monitor casting a gentle light on his features.
Without meaning to, Jisung dozed off.
When Jisung woke up, the office was bathed in soft morning light. Panic gripped him as he looked at the clock: 6:47 AM. He had less than an hour to finish. His heart dropped as he quickly opened the file, expecting to find a half-finished work, only to freeze in place when he saw that his part was already finished.
Jisung blinked, trying to make sense of it. Had Seungmin finished his part of the assignment too?
Jisung’s heart melted.
Seungmin had stayed up the whole night, helping him—no questions, no complaints. He hadn’t even known Seungmin had cared enough to do something like this. They weren’t close. Seungmin didn’t owe him anything.
Yet here he was.
Guiltily, Jisung watched Seungmin sleep, his face peaceful, his arms folded under his head. With a quiet sigh, Jisung gently shook Seungmin awake.
“Seungmin, thank you,” Jisung whispered, his voice full of gratitude. “I owe you.”
Seungmin mumbled something incoherent at first, then slowly opened his eyes, looking groggy and disoriented. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and gave a soft grunt. “No problem,” he muttered, before standing up and shuffling back to his desk without another word.
And as Seungmin sat down, rubbing his temples, Jisung couldn’t help but smile softly.
From that day forward, he greeted Seungmin every morning—just a little bit brighter. And no one knew it, but if Jisung spent a little more time chatting with Seungmin during the day, well, that was nobody’s business.
HYUNJIN.
Hyunjin liked to think of himself as adaptable. Charming, even. He was the type of person who could walk into any room, greet everyone with a smile, and get along with anyone in minutes. He could charm his way through just about anything. So, when he joined the team alongside Seungmin, he barely worried about fitting in.
The same couldn’t be said for Seungmin.
Seungmin didn’t talk much. He barely joined conversations, and while everyone else went out for group lunches or coffee runs, Seungmin stayed behind at his desk, the embodiment of “If I don’t see them, they don’t see me”. Aloof, quiet, and seemingly uninterested in making friends. Hyunjin didn’t dislike him, but he didn’t think much about him either. After all, Seungmin wasn’t actively ignoring people; he just didn’t seem to care about fitting in.
To Hyunjin, Seungmin just blended into the background. The guy was like a perfectly folded napkin at a fancy dinner—present, but not really the focus of attention. He even pitied the guy a little. “Poor Seungmin,” Hyunjin once told Changbin during a coffee break. “He’s probably having a hard time adjusting.”
“I don’t know,” Changbin replied, taking a loud, obnoxious sip of his caramel macchiato. “He seems fine to me. Just private.”
Hyunjin nodded but didn’t give it much thought. If I were like that, he thought, I’d definitely struggle.
He assumed he was doing better. After all, people liked him. They laughed at his jokes, included him in plans, and complimented him for “adapting so quickly.” He didn’t mean to be cocky, but compared to Seungmin, Hyunjin thought he was miles ahead in making a good impression.
That assumption shattered like a dropped plate during his first client dinner meeting, where he was joined by Seungmin and a senior staff member, Jimin.
Hyunjin walked into the meeting feeling confident. It was just a dinner, after all. Jimin would lead the conversation, Seungmin would probably stay silent the whole time, and Hyunjin would chime in when necessary.
Reality, however, had other plans.
The client—an older man with a sharp tongue and an even sharper glare—was relentless. The moment Hyunjin introduced himself, the man frowned and said, “Are you nervous? Speak louder next time. And don’t stutter.”
Hyunjin wasn’t nervous before. But he sure was after that.
Things only went downhill from there. When Jimin asked Hyunjin to present a small part of the proposal, Hyunjin fumbled through his explanation, knocked over a water glass, and completely blanked on key details. To make matters worse, he mispronounced the client’s name. Twice.
The client sighed deeply, as if the weight of Hyunjin’s incompetence was physically exhausting. “Why would you bring someone so inexperienced to an important meeting?”
Hyunjin wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He glanced at Seungmin, half-expecting to see the same pity he had once felt for him. Instead, Seungmin’s face was unreadable. He was calmly taking notes, unfazed by the growing tension in the room.
By the time the meeting ended, Hyunjin was sure he’d ruined everything. Jimin clapped a hand on his back—hard. “You tried,” he said, his tone filled with the kind of disappointment usually reserved for failed group projects. “Now go home before you embarrass yourself more.”
Instead of going home, Hyunjin ended up at a nearby park.
He sat on a bench with a cup of terrible black coffee, staring into the distance. He hated black coffee, but for some reason, it felt like the right drink for the moment. Bitter, like his mood. His mind replayed every awkward moment from the meeting, each misstep more humiliating than the last.
I’ve really messed up, he thought. I expected to at least impress Jimin hyung. Instead, I just embarrassed myself in front of everyone.
He sat there for what felt like hours, drowning in self-pity, until he noticed someone sitting beside him. He turned, half-expecting it to be the Grim Reaper with how much he felt like dying at the moment.
But no. It was Seungmin.
“You look awful,” Seungmin said, taking a sip from his own cup of coffee, his face completely neutral.
Hyunjin blinked, a little thrown off by the sudden appearance. “Thanks,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Really needed that.”
Seungmin shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”
“Did Jimin hyung send you to check on me?” Hyunjin asked, not really wanting to deal with anyone, least of all Seungmin.
“No,” Seungmin replied, looking at him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I just thought you’d be here. You seem like the ‘sit in a park and sulk’ type.”
Hyunjin opened his mouth to argue but closed it with a sigh. Okay, fair point.
They sat in silence for a while. Hyunjin took another sip of his coffee and grimaced, not sure if the bitterness in his mouth was from the drink or his bruised ego.
“I didn’t think you’d care,” Hyunjin said eventually, glancing sideways at Seungmin.
Seungmin raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Hyunjin shrugged. “I don’t know. You don’t really talk to people.”
Seungmin tilted his head, as if processing that statement. “True. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
Hyunjin blinked. He had always assumed Seungmin’s aloofness meant he didn’t bother with anyone. That he wouldn’t care enough to check in on someone like him.
“Besides,” Seungmin added with a dry tone, “watching you bomb at that dinner made me feel a lot better about myself.”
Hyunjin choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, you were really bad,” Seungmin continued, his lips twitching upward slightly, like he was trying to suppress a smile. “But you survived. So now I know I can survive, too.”
“Wow,” Hyunjin said, wiping coffee from his chin. “You’re terrible at comforting people.”
“Worked, didn’t it?”
Hyunjin tried to glare at him, but his lips curled into a reluctant smile. He hated to admit it, but Seungmin’s blunt honesty was oddly reassuring. It wasn’t a traditional comfort, but it was effective. He had to give Seungmin credit for that.
As they got up to leave, Seungmin glanced at him and said, “Next time, just remember: you’re not as bad as you think. But also… maybe learn how to pronounce people’s name before you go and meet them.”
Hyunjin laughed, the sound light and genuine for the first time in hours. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As Hyunjin boarded his train, he found himself thinking about Seungmin—how despite his quiet nature, he had more depth than anyone realized. And if that made Hyunjin start looking at him differently, well he wouldn’t tell anyone that either.
CHANGBIN.
Seo Changbin had a rule: staying still was boring.
He was the type who couldn’t sit in one place for long—always moving, always finding something to do. Whether it was a quick coffee run at 8 a.m., window shopping at the mall, or signing up for a random fitness class that no one had asked for—Changbin loved to keep his day interesting.
Living in the heart of the city was perfect for him. His apartment was just a short walk to work, surrounded by shops, parks, and enough distractions to keep him entertained for hours. He often joked that if he were ever locked in a room with nothing to do, he’d just go stir-crazy and start talking to the walls.
So, on a lazy Saturday, with nothing in particular on his to-do list, Changbin found himself aimlessly wandering through the mall, smoothie in hand. He wasn’t looking for anything specific—just soaking in the energy of the crowd and people-watching.
And that’s when he saw him: Kim Seungmin, the company’s resident iceberg, standing in front of an arcade claw machine.
At first, Changbin almost didn’t recognize him.
Seungmin, dressed in a plain hoodie and sneakers, looked like a completely different person than the perfectly pressed office worker Changbin was used to seeing. But what really caught Changbin off guard was the look of absolute concentration on Seungmin’s face as he manipulated the joystick with an intensity that could rival a surgeon in an operating room.
Changbin slowed to a stop, squinting to get a better look. Seungmin was practically whispering under his breath, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “C’mon, c’mon, don’t drop it…”
The claw descended. It gripped a stuffed dinosaur with an almost delicate precision, and for a split second, it wobbled precariously in the machine.
Changbin couldn’t help but hold his breath. It was like a suspense thriller in real life.
The claw teetered, the plushie swayed, and—
DING!
It dropped.
“YES!” Seungmin erupted, throwing his arms in the air with the kind of enthusiasm Changbin had never heard from him before. He grabbed the plushie, holding it to his chest like it was a trophy. Then, to Changbin’s utter disbelief, Seungmin spun around in a little victory dance, causing a couple of passer-by to look at him in confusion.
Changbin’s jaw practically hit the floor.
“Who… who is this guy?” Changbin whispered to himself, eyes wide with disbelief. This was the same Seungmin who barely cracked a smile in the office, the guy who treated polite small talk like it was a chore.
But here he was, grinning from ear to ear, clutching a plushie like it was a newborn baby.
Changbin’s mind raced. What did I just witness?
The next run-in happened a few days later, this time on a chilly Monday evening. Changbin had just finished his workout and was walking home when he spotted Seungmin crouching down in front of a convenience store. The poor guy was holding a packet of cat food out toward a stray cat that looked like it hadn’t had a decent meal in days.
The cat sniffed the food warily before beginning to munch on it, purring contentedly. Changbin smiled at the heartwarming sight, but his amusement quickly turned into confusion as he noticed Seungmin’s appearance.
His nose was bright red, his eyes watery, and he was sniffling like he had just run a marathon in the middle of winter.
“Is he—?” Changbin squinted, then realized. “Don’t tell me he is allergic to cats?”
Just as if on cue, Seungmin sneezed so loudly it almost echoed down the street. The cat, startled by the sneeze, darted away like a flash of fur. Seungmin winced and quickly whispered an apology to the feline, his voice sounding congested and hoarse.
Changbin couldn’t contain a snicker. “This guy’s a walking contradiction,” he muttered, still chuckling quietly to himself.
On his way to grab a coffee the following weekend, Changbin found Seungmin once again. This time, standing in front of a bakery, staring intently at the display window. He wasn’t just standing there—he was observing the rows of bread and pastries as if he were picking a partner for a high-stakes dating game.
Changbin slowed his pace, amused by the sight. Seungmin’s brows furrowed in concentration, and his lips curled into a thoughtful pout as he examined the options in front of him.
“Just pick one, dude,” Changbin muttered under his breath, trying (and failing) not to smile at the ridiculousness of it all.
It was a sight Changbin never thought he’d see: Kim Seungmin, usually the epitome of cool, collected composure, scrutinizing bread as though it was the most important decision of his life.
After what felt like an eternity, Seungmin finally made up his mind. He picked out a small loaf of bread, holding it up like it was a rare artifact and then proceeded to the counter with it, looking as proud as someone who had just discovered the meaning of life.
Changbin couldn’t hold back anymore. He grinned to himself, shaking his head. “Aloof? Cold? Yeah, right,” he mused, amused by how far off the mark he had been about Seungmin.
The next day at the office, Changbin had to try hard not to burst out laughing when he saw Seungmin sitting at his desk, back to his usual stoic self, typing away with an almost robotic precision.
“Morning,” Seungmin greeted, not even looking up. His tone was polite, detached—classic Seungmin.
“Morning,” Changbin replied, resisting the urge to say something, anything, about the weekend’s encounters. He wanted to keep it all to himself.
Seungmin was still Seungmin in the office—polite, professional, distant. But Changbin knew better now. He had seen the other side of him. The playful, unguarded side. And for now, that was enough.
No confrontation. No teasing. Changbin was content just knowing that Seungmin existed beyond the office walls in a way no one else got to see. For the first time, it was a secret Changbin was proud to keep. It wasn’t about revealing it to anyone else. It was about cherishing the quiet moments he got to witness, knowing that Seungmin was more than just the iceberg everyone thought he was.
So, for now, Changbin decided to keep his distance—watching from afar, waiting for more chances to catch glimpses of the Seungmin who didn’t have to pretend to be anyone other than himself. And secretly, he couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.
JEONGIN.
When Yang Jeongin stepped into the office on his first day as an intern, he had a mental picture of what it would be like, mostly based on those corporate training videos. You know, the ones with smiling employees, a welcoming tour, maybe a little “let’s make this day amazing!” motivational speech, followed by someone handing him a coffee as they ushered him through the office.
Instead, Jeongin walked straight into a full-on war zone.
Phones were ringing off the hook. People were power-walking in every direction, their heels clicking sharply against the floor as they shouted instructions into their phones. There was a distinct symphony of clattering keyboards, punctuated by the occasional exasperated groan. Papers were scattered everywhere, like someone had exploded a filing cabinet. In the corner, someone was shouting, “WHERE IS MY FILE?!” in a tone that could only be described as borderline homicidal.
It was pure chaos. The kind you see in movies when things go terribly wrong in an office.
Jeongin stood frozen in the middle of it all, clutching his little notebook and bag. No one even glanced his way.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself, shifting awkwardly. “This is fine. Totally fine. I’ll just… stand here. Surely someone will notice me soon, right?”
For the next few minutes, Jeongin tried to stay out of everyone’s way. His mind was spiraling. Was he supposed to introduce himself? Or wait for someone to notice him? Or just spontaneously combust from embarrassment? His best course of action seemed to be pressing himself into the nearest wall, pretending to study his shoelaces—his sneakers looked very interesting under these circumstances.
Then, amidst the flurry of motion, a calm voice broke through the madness.
“Hey.”
Jeongin’s head snapped up, and there stood a young man, holding a mug of coffee in one hand. His hair was perfectly styled, and his posture was the complete opposite of the chaos surrounding them.
“Hi, I’m Seungmin,” the man said, smiling softly. “You must be Jeongin, right?”
Jeongin blinked, then stammered, “Uh—yeah! That’s me.” He didn’t realize how thankful he’d been until the words escaped his lips. “Thanks for noticing me. Everyone else seems, uh… very busy.”
Seungmin’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re not invisible. It’s normal considering holiday is near,” he said, as if the office chaos was a regular occurrence. “But I can show you around if you want. Stick with me for now.”
Jeongin’s relief was so overwhelming that it might have been visible to everyone within a 5-mile radius. “Oh, thank you! I was a little lost.”
“No kidding,” Seungmin said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Welcome to the team.”
For the rest of the day, Jeongin followed Seungmin around like an over-caffeinated puppy. He was completely fascinated. Seungmin was the epitome of calm under pressure. While the office around them seemed ready to implode, Seungmin moved gracefully through the chaos, like he’d been trained in the ancient art of office zen.
Seungmin explained everything—who sat where, who handled what tasks, and why you should never, ever touch Minho’s coffee mug, because that was a sacred ritual. He didn’t explain the origins of that particular office rule, but Jeongin had learned quickly enough that it wasn’t a subject you asked about.
Despite the madness, Seungmin never seemed rushed, not even when someone rushed up to him, practically throwing a stack of files into his arms and barking, “This needs to be sorted in ten minutes!”
Seungmin smiled, “Sure.”
Jeongin stared, slack-jawed. How? How could someone stay so calm when the entire office felt like it was on the brink of collapsing? Seungmin was the human embodiment of “everything’s fine” while the building was burning down around him.
At one point, Seungmin glanced at him and asked, “You doing okay?”
Jeongin, still recovering from his awe, nodded quickly. “Yeah! Thanks to you. This is a lot, but I think I can handle it.”
Seungmin chuckled, and there was something reassuring in his smile. “Good. Just take it one step at a time. You’ll get used to it. Trust me.”
Over the next few days, even as the chaos continued, Seungmin made time to check in on Jeongin. He’d stop by his desk with a quick, “How’s it going?” or, “Need help with anything?”
Jeongin would always shake his head, but deep down, he appreciated it more than he could ever express. Seungmin didn’t make him feel like a burden. He just made sure Jeongin knew he wasn’t alone, even if he was still getting the hang of things.
After the chaos finally died down (it was like the calm after a hurricane), the rest of the team started paying more attention to him. People introduced themselves, showed him where things were, and even invited him to lunch. The “mystery” of the new intern was no longer a topic of intrigue—Jeongin was now part of the team. Mostly.
And Seungmin? He quietly stepped back, like a master in the art of subtlety, letting Jeongin settle in on his own. Jeongin could still see Seungmin from time to time, but the daily check-ins had faded.
Jeongin understood why, and he didn’t take it personally. Seungmin had his own work to do, after all. But still, a small part of him missed it—the quiet way Seungmin had made sure he was okay when no one else had even noticed he was struggling.
Months later, Jeongin found himself in the break room, chatting with Yongbok and Hyunjin.
“You’re settling in well,” Yongbok said brightly, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. “You’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger, huh?”
Jeongin laughed. “Not really. But, yeah, it’s been great. You guys are really nice.”
Hyunjin grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Bet I’m your favorite, though.”
Jeongin snorted, a little too loudly. “Sure. Keep dreaming, Hyunjin hyung.”
They all laughed, and the conversation drifted into other topics, but Jeongin’s mind wandered. He couldn’t help it. His thoughts always found their way back to Seungmin, the man who’d shown him kindness when he needed it most.
No one else knew it, but Seungmin had quietly cemented himself as Jeongin’s favorite. And it wasn’t just because Seungmin had helped him on his first day. No, it was the way he did it—with such calm, with such kindness—and without ever expecting anything in return.
And even now, months later, Jeongin would always be grateful for that.
MINHO.
Minho’s first impression of Seungmin was nothing like the others. While the rest of the office saw Seungmin as the quiet, aloof, and reserved new guy, Minho saw something entirely different. He saw a persistent puppy—a little ball of uncertainty and curiosity that just wouldn’t leave him alone.
It was the first day Seungmin and Hyunjin walked into the office, their faces fresh with the excitement of a new start. The team had gathered to welcome them, a few claps and smiles here and there. Hyunjin, naturally, charmed everyone with his confident grin and easy-going nature. Jisung and Changbin practically dragged Hyunjin into their chaotic little world, whisking him off for coffee and laughter.
And then there was Seungmin.
He stood there, clutching his bag like it was a shield, scanning the room with wide, slightly panicked eyes. His posture was stiff, like he was unsure of whether to speak up or keep quiet. It was the kind of nervousness that made Minho tilt his head in curiosity.
“Hey,” Minho called, walking toward Seungmin with smile, “You okay? You look like you’re about to run away.”
Seungmin blinked at him, caught off guard. “Oh, uh… I’m fine. Just—I don’t really know where to start.”
Minho grinned. “Is that so? You should tag along with me today, then. I’ll show you everything. Just stay close.”
Seungmin hesitated but nodded. “Okay, sure. Thank you.”
And from that moment on, Seungmin became Minho’s shadow. For the rest of his first day, Seungmin trailed behind Minho, his eyes darting between him and the various office rooms they passed. It was almost like Minho was showing a puppy around its new home. It was cute. Embarrassing, but cute.
“That’s the break room,” Minho explained as they passed by it. “Don’t go in there if you don’t want your soul sucked out by Jisung’s energy.”
Seungmin nodded seriously, making mental notes. Minho could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
Minho chuckled to himself. Seungmin was clearly taking him seriously. “Here’s the meeting room. Don’t let Chan get too close to the coffee machine unless you want a 10-minute monologue on the perfect brew.”
Seungmin raised an eyebrow, glancing at the coffee corner where Chan was indeed holding a mug like it was a prized possession, chattering about to an employee who had a grimace on their face.
“Got it.”
And just like that, Minho became Seungmin’s personal customer service counter.
From that moment, Seungmin kept coming to him for everything. “Hyung, where’s the office for the advertisement department?” or “Minho hyung, the toilet’s broken. Who do I talk to in order to get it fixed?” or “Hyung, can you ask Chan hyung what he wants? He keeps smiling at me.” The constant flow of questions and requests seemed endless. Minho, to his surprise, didn’t mind it. In fact, he kinda liked it.
He loved the way Seungmin would come up to his desk, a little awkward but earnest, looking up at him with those wide eyes, expecting answers. The guy never seemed to ask anyone else for help, always coming to Minho with his little problems. No one seemed to notice the dynamic between them, though, and Minho didn’t mind. He secretly took pride in being the one Seungmin would rely on, the one to see through his serious, distant façade.
But over time, things began to change. Seungmin, once a timid puppy, started to grow more comfortable. He went to Chan for advices now, befriended Yongbok, approached constantly by Jisung and even started having actual conversations with Changbin and Hyunjin. The more Seungmin warmed up to everyone else, the less he came to Minho.
At first, Minho told himself it was fine. Seungmin was becoming more independent. He wasn’t the same clingy puppy he used to be.
And then Jeongin happened.
Minho felt a sudden irritation rise in his chest. Ever since the new guy had arrived, Seungmin had started paying a lot more attention to him. The two would chat during breaks, and Seungmin would go out of his way to make sure Jeongin was okay. And Minho hated it.
He hated the way Seungmin smiled at Jeongin, the way he spoke to him in that soft, gentle tone that Minho hadn’t heard in months. That gentle tone was supposed to be reserved for him. He was the one who had been there for Seungmin. He was the one who had taken care of him when no one else noticed.
A little voice inside Minho’s head told him he was being ridiculous. So what if Seungmin had made a new friend? It wasn’t like they were anything more than coworkers, right?
But the thing was, it bugged him. It bugged him more than he cared to admit. So, what did Minho do? He became a menace.
For the next few days, Minho started teasing Seungmin relentlessly. He’d poke fun at him during meetings, playfully insult him when he walked by, and even “accidentally” spill coffee on his lap. And every time, Seungmin would give him that frustrated, eye-rolling look that Minho had come to cherish.
“What’s your problem today, Minho hyung?” Seungmin would grumble, trying to wipe the coffee stain from his pants.
It was like the two were locked in a constant battle now—a playful tug-of-war between the puppy and the kitty. Minho would poke, prod, and prank, and Seungmin would retaliate with sharp remarks and playful glares. It was a game, and Minho loved it.
He loved it so much that, somewhere along the way, he realized he was no longer annoyed with Seungmin. He didn’t mind the bratty attitude. In fact, he kinda loved it.
Sure, he missed his sweet puppy, but the bratty version was starting to win him over too.
And, maybe, just maybe, Minho was starting to realize that his feelings for Seungmin were no longer just about teasing or protecting him. They were about something deeper—something he wasn’t quite ready to admit yet.
THE END.