Work Text:
Bae Jinsol dropped her pen again.
It bounced off her keyboard, clattered onto the floor, and rolled three desks away before stopping under Minji’s chair. Minji barely blinked before nudging it back with her foot, and Jinsol ducked down with a sheepish grin.
Her clumsiness wasn’t new around here.
Neither was her smile that followed it — bright, quick, slightly apologetic but far from embarrassed. People in the office had gotten used to it: pens slipping from her fingers, coffee splashing a little too close to her files, chair wheels catching on her bag strap. Somehow, none of it slowed her down. She still handled her accounts well, charmed her clients over calls with her warm voice, even managed to wrangle deadlines no one else wanted to touch.
But if anyone had been watching closely—not that anyone ever was—they might have noticed that her hands got especially fumbly when the IT department’s extension number came into her line of sight.
Specifically, when one person from IT crossed her mind.
Seol Yoona.
Jinsol sighed under her breath, retrieving her pen and flopping back into her chair. She spun in a slow circle, her sneakers pushing lazily against the floor.
Yoona wasn’t flashy. If anything, she seemed allergic to the spotlight, drifting through the office like a breeze that fixed things before you even realized they were broken. Long brown hair always sleek, black button-downs that somehow looked effortless instead of severe, and a gaze that flicked sharp when she was troubleshooting but softened in rare, unguarded moments.
Jinsol noticed those moments more than she should’ve.
Like when Yoona brushed her hair back with two fingers, her wristwatch sliding up her arm. Or when she tucked the corner of her lip inward as she focused on a stubborn bug in someone’s system. Or when she adjusted her glasses (glasses she didn’t even need every day, just when she’d been working too many hours and her eyes were tired) with a small, precise movement.
She also noticed that Yoona had only been to her desk twice.
Once, four months ago, when her WiFi card inexplicably died for half an hour. And again last month when her monitor flickered until it blacked out entirely.
Both times, Yoona had knelt by her chair, quiet and efficient, fingers flying over keys as she typed command lines Jinsol couldn’t begin to understand. Both times, she’d glanced up after and said something soft but flat like: “It should work fine now.” And both times, Jinsol had thanked her with a grin she hoped didn’t look as lopsided as it felt.
Neither encounter had lasted more than fifteen minutes.
Which, frankly, wasn’t enough.
So maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that her external keyboard had mysteriously stopped connecting this morning.
Or that she’d tried the most basic fixes before picking up the phone anyway and dialing IT’s extension.
And maybe, she thought as she peeked over her desk now, biting the edge of her thumb, it wasn’t entirely coincidental that she’d deliberately dropped the keyboard’s cable behind her filing cabinet.
It was strategic. Necessary.
She’d tried everything she could on her own.
Right?
Her phone buzzed, jolting her out of her thoughts.
IT Desk: “On my way now.”
Her stomach flipped.
Yoona herself.
She tried not to beam too obviously.
Yoona arrived nine minutes later.
She didn’t stride like other people in the office; she moved like she was already halfway through the task in her head. Measured, purposeful, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a slim tablet tucked under one arm and her lanyard swaying against her hip. Today she’d forgone glasses, a small disappointment, but the tradeoff was how sharp her gaze looked without them.
“Hi,” Jinsol chirped, standing up so fast her chair rolled back a foot. She caught it awkwardly with one hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
Yoona gave a small nod, her eyes already scanning the mess of disconnected peripherals on the desk. “No problem. You mentioned the keyboard stopped syncing?”
“Yeah, it just… died on me. Totally unresponsive. I—I tried reconnecting it, but nothing.”
Yoona crouched smoothly next to the desk. “Let me take a look.”
Jinsol sat back down, gripping the edge of her chair to keep from spinning nervously. She tried to look casual. Relaxed. Like someone whose heart rate didn’t spike just because Seol Yoona was close enough that she could see the fine strands of her hair catch the light.
Yoona’s fingers wrapped around the cable near the port. Calm. Steady.
A quiet exhale left her lips as she pulled it into view.
“…It’s unplugged,” Yoona said finally, her voice even.
“Oh.” Jinsol blinked rapidly. “Oh wow. I—I swear I tried plugging it back in. Maybe it slipped out after—uh—after I pushed the cabinet back?”
Yoona hummed softly, but her lips quirked—a fraction, barely there.
Just a sliver of a smile at the corner.
“I’ll secure it properly so it doesn’t come loose again,” she said, no trace of mockery in her tone.
Jinsol smiled wider, relieved. “You’re the best. Seriously, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Yoona didn’t respond right away.
Instead, she glanced up briefly, locking eyes with her. Her gaze wasn’t sharp now; it was thoughtful. Measuring. Jinsol held her breath.
“…Call me if it acts up again,” Yoona murmured, unplugging and replugging the cable with practiced precision. “Even if it seems small.”
Her chest warmed. She tucked her hair behind her ear and—
Thwack.
Her elbow knocked her water bottle clean off the desk. It landed on the floor with a dull thunk and rolled under her chair.
“Oh my god—sorry. Sorry.” She scrambled to catch it, nearly missing when her sneaker caught on her chair leg.
Yoona sat back on her heels, one brow lifting.
Jinsol, red-faced, cradled the bottle and cleared her throat. “Wow. Graceful as ever. Guess I should call you for coordination issues too, huh?”
Yoona’s lips twitched, undeniably this time. A small, rare flicker of amusement. “I’m not sure that’s covered under IT.”
“Shame. Could’ve used the expert.”
Her own voice sounded steadier than she felt. She caught the faintest breath of a chuckle as Yoona rose smoothly to her feet, brushing nonexistent dust from her palms.
“It should work now,” she said, nodding toward the keyboard.
Jinsol tapped it experimentally. The keys responded instantly.
“Perfect,” she said brightly. “Thank you, Yoona.”
The way Yoona’s eyes flickered, slightly surprised that she’d used her name. It made Jinsol’s heart skip in an embarrassingly teenage way.
Yoona inclined her head. “Anytime.”
And with that, she turned, tablet under arm again, and left with the same quiet efficiency she’d arrived with.
Jinsol slumped back into her chair and let her face drop into her hands.
“God, Jinsol,” she muttered to herself. “Get a grip.”
She peeked through her fingers to watch Yoona’s retreating figure disappear around the corner.
…But maybe not too much of a grip.
Her keyboard might have another malfunction by next week.
_____
Jinsol didn’t call IT again the next week.
Or the week after.
It wasn’t for lack of trying—on her end, she definitely jostled her monitor a few extra times and even ‘accidentally’ installed an outdated software patch to see if she could justify an emergency visit. But nothing short of unplugging her whole desktop would warrant Yoona’s direct attention, and even she knew that’d be pushing her luck.
So instead, she settled for spotting Yoona in passing.
In the elevator, when Yoona stepped in with her earbuds looped loosely around her neck. In the break room, when Yoona refilled her thermos and nodded politely at whoever was nearby. Once, in the lobby, when Yoona balanced her tablet on her forearm while answering a colleague’s question, her voice low and even.
Those moments, rare and fleeting, were enough to keep Jinsol’s dumb crush humming steadily in the background of her days.
Still, there was only so much daydreaming she could do without some tangible excuse to talk to her again. And she wasn’t the type to sit on her hands forever.
That was how she found herself standing awkwardly near the IT help desk on the eleventh floor one Friday afternoon, a flash drive clutched in her palm.
Technically, she had a reason to be here.
Minji from her team needed archived pitch decks pulled from an old encrypted server, and IT had the access credentials. But she could’ve emailed the request easily. She chose to come in person.
For efficiency, of course.
Nothing more.
Yoona sat at the far end of the long IT desk, her head bowed over an open laptop. She hadn’t noticed Jinsol yet, which gave her exactly three seconds to mentally rehearse sounding casual.
Before she could overthink it, Yoona glanced up, sharp and clear-eyed despite the hour, and their gazes locked.
Jinsol’s stomach did an unhelpful swoop.
“Hi,” she blurted, stepping closer. She held up the flash drive like a tiny white flag. “Sorry to bug you. Minji from Accounts asked if I could get some archived pitch files off the Pando server? I figured it’d be faster to ask in person.”
Yoona blinked slowly, then straightened in her chair, setting her laptop aside.
“No trouble.” She held out her hand for the drive, her fingers long and steady. “I can pull them for you.”
Jinsol passed it over, careful not to drop it—though even if she did, Yoona probably wouldn’t flinch.
Yoona plugged it into her port and tapped at her keyboard with clean, efficient movements.
“You’ve been on that team for… just under a year, right?” Yoona asked without looking up.
The question startled her.
Most people in IT didn’t bother remembering staff timelines unless they had recurring issues.
“Uh—yeah,” Jinsol said, smiling despite herself. “Eleven months, actually. You’re sharp.”
Yoona’s mouth tugged, almost-smile. “I remember setting up your workstation when you joined. You’re the only person who asked for their desktop background to be changed before we finished installing the software suite.”
“Oh my god.” Jinsol laughed, covering her face. “You remember that?”
Yoona shrugged one shoulder, still typing. “It was the photo of the ocean at Sokcho, right? The one with the red lighthouse.”
Jinsol dropped her hand slowly. Her chest felt a little too warm for comfort.
“Yeah. That’s right.”
No one else had remembered that. Not even Minji, and they sat next to each other every day.
Yoona finished the file transfer, ejecting the drive smoothly before turning back to her.
“Here.” She handed it back, her gaze steady. “Everything you need should be in there. But if anything’s missing, you can come back.”
Jinsol swallowed thickly and nodded.
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Yoona. You’re a lifesaver.”
Yoona’s fingers curled faintly at the edge of her desk. “Anytime.”
Jinsol hesitated. She should go. Should.
But her mouth was already moving before her brain could stop it.
“You ever been to Sokcho?” she asked lightly, tucking the drive into her pocket. “Since you remembered the lighthouse?”
Yoona blinked, slow and thoughtful.
“Once. Years ago. It was… quiet. Peaceful.”
Her voice softened at the end. The barest shift, but enough to make Jinsol’s breath catch.
“I like quiet places,” Yoona added after a pause. Her gaze lingered on Jinsol’s face longer than strictly necessary. “They stay with you longer than you expect.”
Jinsol’s lips parted—to say what, she wasn’t sure—but Yoona’s desk phone buzzed just then. The moment broke cleanly. Yoona slid her tablet toward her, tapping the call notification with precise efficiency.
“I should take this,” she said gently.
“Of course,” Jinsol replied, clearing her throat. “Thanks again. I’ll, um… see you around?”
Yoona gave her a small nod, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she turned to answer the call.
The walk back to her floor felt longer than usual.
She didn’t realize she was smiling like an idiot until Minji squinted at her and asked if she’d just landed a new client.
“Nope,” Jinsol had said breezily, sitting back at her desk.
“Nothing like that.”
Her fingers hovered above her keyboard for a beat before she set to work, her mind nowhere near her emails.
Over the next few weeks, it got easier.
Not by much, but enough.
It wasn’t like Jinsol started concocting fake IT disasters left and right. She had some pride, but little excuses popped up naturally. Flash drives to decrypt. Account permissions to update. A tangled mess of shared folders that somehow always needed Yoona’s expertise.
And each time, Yoona greeted her the same way. Calm, steady, a hint of curiosity softening her sharp gaze.
It wasn’t fast. There weren’t overnight sparks or dramatic moments.
But gradually, something unspoken settled between them—an easy, unforced rhythm.
Jinsol noticed that Yoona started glancing up quicker when she approached the IT desk. That her small smiles lasted a little longer. That her answers, though still precise, stretched just a breath more conversational whenever they talked.
And Yoona… Yoona noticed more than she let on.
She noticed that Bae Jinsol’s laugh always came from her chest, unselfconscious and clear, even when she was flustered.
That her hands moved animatedly when she got excited explaining something.
That her clumsiness wasn’t born from carelessness but from momentum, like her mind moved too fast for her limbs to keep up.
She noticed that no one else from Accounts ever volunteered to come to IT as often as Jinsol did.
And she noticed that it never bothered her. Not once.
By mid-April, the weather turned soft.
Light jackets. Cherry blossoms dusting the sidewalks. Coffee runs swapped to iced americanos by default.
Yoona showed up at Jinsol’s floor more often now—officially for routine system checks, but she lingered by her desk longer than necessary. Jinsol, emboldened by the gentler looks Yoona gave her lately, teased her more openly.
“Careful, Seol Yoona. If you keep coming down here, people might think you’re checking on me and not just my system,” she’d said one afternoon with a grin.
Yoona blinked once.
Then, in a rare move, she tilted her head and deadpanned, “I am.”
Jinsol had choked on her water for a solid ten seconds.
Yoona, entirely unbothered, had simply handed her a napkin and sat on the corner of Jinsol’s desk like it was the most normal thing in the world.
_____
If anyone had asked, Yoona would’ve sworn she didn’t make a habit of spending unnecessary time outside her department.
She was efficient by nature. Structured. Methodical. Her weeks were mapped out in neat blocks of server maintenance, system upgrades, and user support tickets. Detours weren’t her style.
But lately, her routines bent in quiet ways.
An unscheduled security sweep just happened to coincide with Jinsol’s floor more often than statistically probable.
Monthly password audits, which could’ve been emailed, turned into brief in-person reminders. Always delivered straight at Jinsol’s desk.
And when Jinsol flashed her that lopsided grin and teased, “You’re really spoiling us down here, Yoona. What would we do without your personal visits?” — well.
Yoona found herself answering, deadpan but honest, “I’d like to see for myself that everything’s running smoothly.”
And Jinsol’s eyes always crinkled like she knew exactly what Yoona wasn’t saying.
It crept up on her slowly, that realization.
That the soft lift in her chest when she spotted Jinsol across the open floor plan wasn’t just professional satisfaction.
It was… something else.
It was the way Jinsol’s voice got warmer when she said Yoona’s name. The way she tilted her head when she listened, as if nothing in the building could pull her attention away.
It was how Jinsol always managed to ask the kinds of small, offhanded questions no one else did.
“Yoona, what got you into IT in the first place?”
“Do you actually like sitting in server rooms all day, or do you just pretend because it sounds cool?”
“Do you ever get tired of fixing things for people?”
They were casual. Teasing, most times.
But they weren’t surface-level. They landed in Yoona’s memory and stayed lodged there long after the workday ended.
By late April, Yoona had accepted that whatever this was…
It wasn’t going away. Well, shit.
On a Thursday morning, the building’s shared Wi-Fi went down across three floors. Nothing catastrophic—just a switchboard misfire—but enough to keep IT scrambling for a few hours.
By noon, Yoona was crouched behind a network cabinet on the eighth floor, sleeve pushed up as she rewired a faulty port. Her phone buzzed quietly in her pocket.
Bae Jinsol:
heard about the wifi crash.
hope it’s not eating u alive up there.
if you survive, i owe you coffee.
Yoona’s lips twitched. She exhaled slowly through her nose, tucking her phone away before her smirk could get too obvious.
She finished the repair in half the estimated time.
And by 1PM sharp, she was standing at Jinsol’s desk, dusting her palms off against her slacks.
Jinsol’s eyes widened when she looked up.
“You lived!” she grinned. “Hero of the office returns.”
“I did.” Yoona tilted her head just slightly, gaze direct. “Where’s my coffee?”
For the first time in weeks, Jinsol was the one caught off guard.
Her ears flushed pink almost instantly, her mouth parting in a half-laugh.
“You—wow, you’re fast. I thought you’d forget.”
“I don’t forget promises,” Yoona said simply.
Jinsol stood so quickly her chair squeaked. “Okay. You win. One coffee coming right up. Black, right?”
Yoona nodded once, pleased.
And for the first time since she’d started wandering down to Accounts, she followed Jinsol out of the office— no pretense, no fabricated work excuse. Just because she wanted to.
The café on the ground floor was quiet for once. The lunch rush had ebbed and most employees were trickling back to their desks.
Jinsol tapped her card to pay without blinking, despite Yoona’s faint eyebrow raise.
“Don’t even try,” Jinsol said smoothly, sliding the receipt into the trash before Yoona could protest. “You earned this. And anyway, I like buying you coffee.”
Yoona blinked. Slowly. Thoughtfully.
Then, evenly, “You don’t do this for anyone else, do you.”
It wasn’t really a question.
Jinsol stilled—not panicked, not flustered this time—rather quietly soft. Like the joke had peeled back something gentler.
“No,” she said after a beat, her voice warm.
“I don’t.”
Their coffees came up, and Yoona took hers wordlessly.
They walked back together slower than necessary, their steps syncing without effort.
Halfway to the elevators, Jinsol bumped her elbow lightly against Yoona’s arm.
“I’m glad you didn’t forget.”
Yoona exhaled slowly, her lips curling despite herself.
“I couldn’t,” she murmured.
After that, it wasn’t subtle anymore.
Yoona still didn’t move fast. It wasn’t her style. But where she’d once convinced herself her ‘check-ins’ were incidental, she didn’t bother with the façade anymore.
By early May, she sat at Jinsol’s desk once or twice a week. Not long, fifteen, twenty minutes maybe. But long enough to sip half her coffee and listen to Jinsol vent about budget meetings or laugh about office gossip.
Jinsol’s clumsy flirtations got bolder, too. Still playful, still light. But there was a new confidence under it, like she’d started trusting that Yoona wasn’t going anywhere.
And she wasn’t.
Not anymore.
The first time Yoona caught herself smiling at her phone without realizing it was a quiet Sunday morning.
She was reviewing software audit logs at home when a notification popped up.
Bae Jinsol:
went hiking today T-T
thought of u when i saw this ^^
[image attached]
Yoona tapped it open.
A photo of a cliffside trail, pale stone curving into a view of open sea—clean sky, calm water. In the distance, a small red lighthouse. Sokcho.
Her thumb hovered over the screen longer than necessary.
Her chest warmed, slow and steady.
Seol Yoona:
It’s a good view.
Thanks for sending it.
I was thinking of you today, too.
She hit send before she could second-guess herself.
Jinsol didn’t reply right away. But when she did, hours later, it was a single-line message.
Bae Jinsol:
me too!~
Yoona’s heart tugged sharply behind her ribs, unfamiliar and aching in a way she didn’t know how to name yet.
But she didn’t need to.
By the time late spring settled in fully—warm breezes, longer daylight, sandals replacing loafers—everyone in their departments had quietly given up pretending not to notice.
Minji cornered Jinsol near the copy machine one afternoon and grinned knowingly.
“So. You and IT?”
Jinsol snorted.
“Define ‘me and IT.’”
“Don’t play dumb.” Minji tapped the stack of papers in her hand. “Yoona comes down here twice a week minimum, and I haven’t seen your computer break in months. If you’re not dating, you’re working harder than you ever have in your life just to flirt.”
Jinsol had flushed to her ears, but she didn’t deny it.
And when Yoona’s team lead gently ribbed her about “frequent field visits,” Yoona simply adjusted her cuffs calmly and said,
“It’s important to monitor consistent user engagement.”
Which, in a roundabout way, wasn’t even a lie.
Neither of them rushed anything.
Neither of them had to.
Yoona didn’t need grand gestures or dramatic confessions to know that what they were building, though painfully slow, was real.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t plan ahead. Carefully and intentionally.
So when May tipped into June, and Jinsol mentioned offhandedly she’d be in Sokcho visiting her family over the long weekend, Yoona didn’t hesitate.
“I have vacation days to use,” she said easily.
“I could be there, too.”
Jinsol blinked. Wide, hopeful, disbelieving.
“You’d do that?”
Yoona tilted her head, lips tugging gently.
“I don’t forget promises, remember?”
Jinsol’s answering grin could’ve lit every floor of the office twice over.
_____
Sokcho was quieter than Yoona expected.
Not in a sleepy way, more so unhurried.
Cafés lingered open long past sunset, their soft yellow lights smudging against the early summer dusk.
The sea breeze curled down alleyways and lifted strands of her hair even as she tucked them back, watching from the boardwalk.
She had arrived late Friday afternoon, just before the long weekend rush. Jinsol met her at the bus terminal in an oversized hoodie and jeans, hair a little messy, smile easy and bright in the slanting light.
“You actually came,” Jinsol said as they both stood there, neither in a hurry to move first.
“I said I would,” Yoona answered simply.
They hadn’t labeled what this trip was supposed to be. They didn’t need to.
It was enough to stand side by side, bags forgotten at their feet, warm breeze threading between them.
Jinsol had suggested they rent bikes the next morning.
“There’s a trail that loops around the harbor,” she’d said the night before, their shoulders brushing as they walked back from dinner. “I used to ride it when I was a kid. You’d like it.”
Now, Saturday morning, Yoona followed Jinsol’s lead past the fish markets and out along the coast.
Her legs worked steadily against the incline. She wasn’t as athletic as Jinsol by any stretch, but she could hold her own—and something about the open road and clear sky made her chest lift with a quiet kind of ease.
At the top of a gentle hill, they dismounted. The sea stretched endless and blue below, gentle waves combing the shore.
Jinsol pulled her hoodie off and sat down on the low stone ledge. “I like it here,” she said after a long pause. “It’s always felt simple. You know? Like I don’t have to be anything in particular.”
Yoona sat down beside her, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
“I know the feeling.”
Jinsol tipped her head, watching her carefully.
Yoona didn’t look away.
“You don’t have to be anything in particular with me, either,” she added quietly.
Jinsol’s throat worked around a swallow.
For a second, the usual quick-witted grin faltered—not from discomfort, but from something heavier and more certain behind her eyes.
“That’s funny,” Jinsol said finally, voice gentler than Yoona had ever heard it. “Because with you, I want to be… more.”
Yoona exhaled steadily. “You already are.”
It wasn’t flirtation anymore. Not playful, not coy. Just true.
And it settled in the space between them like something inevitable.
They didn’t rush back.
Instead, they sat on the stone ledge for nearly an hour, the bikes forgotten behind them.
At some point, Jinsol’s hand brushed Yoona’s, deliberate, cautious. Yoona didn’t hesitate before curling her fingers loosely around hers.
Jinsol’s palm was warm. Callused in spots, steady and familiar.
“I used to think I was good at falling first,” Jinsol murmured, thumb tracing the back of Yoona’s hand slowly. “It’s easy when you don’t expect anything back, you know?
Just harmless. A crush is…safe.”
Yoona turned her gaze from the water to meet her eyes.
“And now?” she asked, even though her chest already knew the answer.
Jinsol’s smile was soft and sure.
“Now I think you might’ve ruined me. Because I fell first, but… you made me fall harder.”
Yoona’s throat tightened, thick and warm.
Without thinking, she laced their fingers tighter.
“I didn’t mean to ruin you,” she said simply.
Jinsol’s grin tugged wide and bright again, the easy charm Yoona knew so well. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
For a long stretch, neither of them spoke. It didn’t feel necessary.
The sea moved steadily below. Gulls wheeled lazy arcs overhead.
Jinsol’s thumb stroked over Yoona’s hand in a slow, grounding rhythm.
When they returned to the city a few days later, nothing about them changed dramatically.
Neither of them made an announcement, neither started parading through the office like a new couple.
But their pace was different.
Where Yoona had once lingered near Jinsol’s desk under the excuse of tech support, she now sat comfortably at the edge of it during lunch breaks, unhurried and unbothered by who might see.
Where Jinsol had once tripped over her words or dropped her pen three times in a row trying to look cool, she now just smiled warmly and handed Yoona her coffee with a quiet, “It’s your usual.”
Everyone still noticed, of course.
But no one bothered them about it anymore.
Minji grinned and winked once in passing. Yoona’s team just exchanged knowing glances and adjusted their schedules without comment when Yoona spent longer downstairs.
Weeks stretched into months gently.
By October, Yoona had built a second toothbrush into Jinsol’s bathroom drawer.
By December, Jinsol knew the passcode to Yoona’s apartment without asking.
It wasn’t flashy.
It was steady. Comfortable. Earned.
And on an unremarkable Wednesday evening, as Yoona shut her laptop and turned to see Jinsol already waiting by her door — coffee in hand, smile soft and familiar — she felt the kind of certainty she’d always quietly craved but never admitted aloud.
“I’m here to fix your computer,” Jinsol teased gently, lifting her brows.
Yoona stepped closer, tugged the coffee from her hand, and leaned in without hesitation to press a brief, unhurried kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“No,” she murmured, lips brushing against hers.
“You’re here to stay.”