Work Text:
The firm was quiet that night, except for the rain falling against its walls. Most of the building had emptied hours ago, but Kang Hyo Min was still hunched over her desk, stubbornly combing through case files as rain streaked the wide office windows. And besides her there was one office still faintly lit upstairs. His.
She hesitated for a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek, before gathering the draft in her hands. The document was something she could have easily left on his desk in the morning, but some irrational pull, curiosity or defiance, maybe both pushed her to her feet. The building groaned faintly with the storm as she climbed the narrow staircase, her footsteps echoing far too loudly in the empty hall.
When she reached his door, she paused again. A thin line of golden light seeped from beneath it, and through the glass panel she could see him. Bent over his desk, jacket discarded, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes fixed on the papers before him, as if even the storm outside didn’t dare disturb him.
She cleared her throat softly and knocked once. He didn’t look up.
“Attorney Yoon,” she called, pushing the door open. “I need your signature on this before tomorrow.”
Finally, his gaze lifted, dark and steady. For a beat, he just stared at her, as though surprised she was still here at all. She crossed the room, holding the draft out. He took it without a word, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange, enough to make her pulse skip.
And then, without warning, the lights died.
The office was swallowed in darkness. The steady hum of electricity cut out, leaving only the pounding of rain against the windows and the low growl of thunder overhead. Hyo Min sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively clutching the sides of her jacket.
“What’s happening?” she whispered into the dark.
His voice came back low, steady, somewhere in front of her. “Don’t worry. I am here.”
Relief loosened her chest, but only slightly. The storm outside seemed louder now, battering against the tall windows, lightning flashing faintly through the blinds and casting fleeting shadows across the room. She could barely make out his outline; broad shoulders, tall frame as if he belonged in the dark.
Moving two careful steps forward her fingers tightened on the edge of his desk. “Guess it’s raining really hard,” she tried to form a coherent sentence or maybe crack a joke, her voice thinner than she’d meant it to be. But he didn’t laugh.
“Don’t move until the emergency lights kick in. The stairs will be dangerous.”
“Is that your way of telling me you’d rather I stay put?” she teased, but even to her own ears, it sounded softer, uncertain.
What's wrong with her and her voice.
Every being of Hyo Min’s self was aware, conscious of being stuck in dark with him in his office. His space. And it was not good for her nerves which were haywire.
Something shifted in the dark, maybe the scrape of his chair, maybe just the air itself. His voice came closer, lower, carrying an edge she wasn’t used to. “I’d rather you weren’t here at all.”
The words stung more than she expected. She blinked at him through the faint silver glow bleeding in from the storm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before either of them could speak, the thunder roared again, casting a shadow of his face. He was standing mere inches away from here. Another thunder stroked much louder than the last one and Hyo Min involuntarily grabbed him tightly. His arm.
‘’You shouldn’t be here Attorney Kang. Especially not now.’’ His voice came low and dangerous and very very close.
‘’And you definitely should not be doing this’’ he whispered then.
The only sounds echoed in Hyo Min’s ears were of his and her own breathes then. He was standing that close to her.
Her fingers were still curled into his sleeve, the solid heat of him grounding her in the pitch black. She should have let go. She didn’t.
“I didn’t mean to...” she began, but her voice cracked, thin, betraying her.
“You did,” he cut in, the words rough, a low whisper that seemed to vibrate through the space between them. He didn’t pull away, but his arm was tense under her grip, his whole body wound tight like he was holding himself back. “You always do. You step in where you shouldn’t.”
Her chest tightened. “If I’m such a problem, you should have pushed me away a long time ago.”
His laugh was bitter, humorless, exhaled against the side of her face. “Do you think I haven’t tried?”
Both knew they weren’t just talking about her hand on his arm now.
The storm raged louder, rain striking the glass in angry sheets. A flash of lightning lit the room for a heartbeat enough for her to see him clearly. His face so close, his jaw taut, his eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to name.
She swallowed hard. “Then why don’t you?”
The darkness swallowed them again, but his silence was heavier than the thunder. Finally, his voice dropped, ragged, fraying at the edges.
“Because I don’t know what will happen if I do.”
Her heart stuttered, her nails digging into his sleeve without meaning to. “You’re not making sense.”
“I’m making too much sense,” he shot back, low and sharp. He leaned closer, and she felt his breath ghost across her cheek. “You shouldn’t be here, Hyo Min. Because when you are near me, I forget everything else I’m supposed to remember. Rules. Boundaries. Restraint.”
Her lips parted, her pulse hammering in her throat. “Then maybe… maybe stop trying to remember it all.”
His breath hitched, just barely, but enough for her to hear it. His hand twitched at his side, as if caught between reaching for her and holding back.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he whispered, almost desperate.
“Then tell me,” she pressed, her voice trembling but unyielding. “Tell me to leave. Tell me you don’t want me here. And I’ll go.”
The silence that followed was brutal. Her every nerve screamed, waiting for his verdict. The storm outside howled, lightning flaring again, and in that split second of light she saw it. The truth written all over his face. Hunger. Anger. Yearning. A war he was losing.
But when the dark swallowed them again, his words came out strangled, controlled, almost pained.
“…I can’t. never when it comes to you.”
The admission broke something open between them. The air grew unbearably tight, breaths shallow, as though the walls of his office had closed in. She felt his hand finally move, hesitant, trembling and hovering near her arm as if a single touch would set the whole world ablaze.
“Attorney Yoon…” she whispered, his name sounding foreign and fragile on her lips.
“If you knew,” he murmured, so close she could feel the vibration of his voice through her bones, “if only you knew what it costs me to stop right here… you’d run before I could take another step.”
But neither of them moved.
Her chest rose and fell, uneven, every breath tangled with his. The storm outside pressed harder, its thunder rolling like a warning neither of them could heed. His hand hovered near her arm, so close, trembling. Before finally, with a kind of quiet surrender, it brushed her sleeve. Barely a touch, yet enough to unravel every ounce of composure she had left.
She should’ve pulled away. Instead, she leaned closer, like gravity had betrayed her.
“Why do you always stop at the edge?” she whispered, the words barely audible over the rain.
His jaw flexed, his voice breaking. “Because once I cross it, there’s no undoing it.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Not when his face inched closer, not when she felt the warmth of his breath ghosting against her cheek, then her mouth. The space between them shrank until it was unbearable, until she could count the beats of his heart in the silence.
“Then don’t stop,” she breathed.
That shattered him.
The air between them snapped, and in one reckless move, his hand cupped the side of her face, pulling her closer. His forehead brushed hers, his nose skimmed hers, so close that the shape of his mouth hovered over hers, their breaths colliding in jagged, hungry pulls.
The storm cracked open the sky above them. And then. Just then.
The lights flickered back on.
Harsh fluorescent brightness flooded the office, laying bare everything they had kept hidden in the dark. For one suspended second, both of them froze, eyes locked, chests heaving as though caught mid-crime.
But neither pulled back.
If anything, the sight of each other; the flush on her cheeks, the storm in his eyes, was their final undoing. The pretenses they’d both clung to crumbled, and before she could think, before he could stop himself, his lips finally crashed onto hers.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was sharp, starved, years of restraint breaking all at once. She gasped into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer as though she could drown in the storm of him. He angled her face higher, deepening the kiss, his other arm sliding around her waist, holding her as if letting go was no longer an option.
Fluorescent lights hummed above. Rain battered the windows. The world could’ve been watching, and still they wouldn’t have stopped.
Because once the line was crossed, there was no turning back.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t because they wanted to. It was because they needed air.
Her lips were tingling, swollen, her chest heaving as she stared up at him. His forehead rested against hers, both of them gasping, the storm outside echoing the chaos inside them. His hand was still at her waist, gripping too tightly, like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.
She was the first to speak, barely, her voice shaky, caught between disbelief on herself and defiance.
“You can’t keep doing this to me… telling me I shouldn’t be here, pushing me away, and then…”
“And then what?” he cut in, his voice raw, jagged. His eyes burned into hers, dark and desperate. “And then falling apart every time you’re too close? Pretending I don’t…pretending I can’t.. ” He stopped, breath shuddering as if the words themselves were dangerous.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt. “Then say it. Just say it. Please.”
“Don’t make me say words I can never take back Hyo Min.” He whispered.
Lightning split the sky, thunder rolling so loud the windows rattled. He flinched, not from the storm, but from the look in her eyes and the inevitability of what he was about to surrender. His jaw clenched, his eyes closed for the briefest moment, and then…
“Pretending that I don’t want you. Pretending that I can stop myself.”
The words ripped out of him, like they’d been buried too long. His voice cracked, stripped bare of the armor he wore every day. “Every damn night I tell myself to let you go. To keep the line where it should be. And every damn day, you stand in front of me and I…” He broke off, his hands digging into her as if anchoring himself. “I lose. I lose every single time.”
Her throat tightened, tears threatening though she refused to let them fall. “Then why torture both of us? Why keep pretending?”
“Because you don’t deserve this,” he whispered, his forehead pressing harder to hers. “You don’t deserve someone like me…someone who…”
“Stop deciding what I deserve,” she snapped cutting him off, her voice trembling but fierce. Her hands cupped his face now, forcing him to look at her. “You think I don’t know what I’m walking into? That I don’t feel it too? You think I don’t lose every single time too?”
He froze.
The storm outside crashed, but it was nothing compared to the silence that followed. His eyes searched hers, frantic, desperate, as if trying to find a lie and failing.
Finally, his voice came out hoarse, breaking. “Hyo Min… if I say it, there’s no going back.”
Her thumb brushed across his cheek, her lips trembling but steadying with her words.
“Then don’t go back.”
And just like that. Everything he’d been holding collapsed. He kissed her again, fiercer, deeper, pouring every unsaid word, every unspent yearning, into her mouth. Her tears mixed with his breath, her hands trembling against his face, his grip unrelenting at her waist.
It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a confession. It was surrender.