Chapter Text
If there’s one thing you should know about office life, it’s that gossip travels faster than company memos.
If there’s one thing you should know about our office in particular, it’s that gossip usually starts with us— the Prettyz Line.
I’m Zhang Shuaibo, resident designer, chronic overthinker, and one-half of the Bokkiz duo— the office’s most stylish and least productive pair according to HR. My best friend, housemate, and chaos twin, Cha Woongki, works in the same cubicle row, a flamboyant PR coordinator who claims every problem can be solved with lip gloss and a dramatic sigh.
Together, we form two-thirds of the Prettyz.
The final member? Jay Lawrence Gaspar— our sweet, awkward, soft-hearted baby of the trio. “Yence” to us, “JL” to most people, and to one very specific man…
“Jaeyelie.”
That specific man?
Park Han.
Otherwise known as the bane of JL’s existence.
Or, at least, he was.
**********************************
Every morning at exactly 10:45 a.m., like clockwork, our department pantry transformed from a quiet corner of caffeine dependence into a stage for one man’s emotional breakdown.
That man? Jay Lawrence Gaspar— our Yence, our precious baby Prettyz, who looked too soft for corporate life but somehow survived it through pure spite and caffeine.
He’d barge through the pantry door with a dramatic push, one hand clutching his iced americano like it was life support, the other gesturing wildly as if he’d just come from a battlefield.
And honestly? He kinda had.
“Guys,” JL announced, breathless. “You will not believe what THAT Park Han said today.”
Across the room, my fellow Prettyz, the other half of our Bokiz duo— Cha Woongki, PR extraordinaire and self-proclaimed face of the department— shot me a knowing look over his mug. It was the same look we exchanged every morning.
Here we go again.
I set my spoon down, pretending to be deeply fascinated by my instant coffee mix.
“Alright, hit us. What did he do this time, darling?”
JL huffed, pushing his glasses up his nose with the indignation of a man wronged by fate. His hair was slightly messy, his tie loose— a clear sign he’d already been emotionally terrorized before lunch.
“He told me,” he began dramatically, “that my report ‘had potential.’”
I blinked. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“But in that condescending tone!” JL slammed his coffee cup on the counter. “And then he smirked! Who even smirks in meetings?!”
Woongki didn’t even look up as he applied lip balm, his voice dripping with unbothered amusement. “To be fair, I’d smirk too if I looked like that.”
JL gawked. “Whose side are you on?!”
“Fashion,” Woongki said, snapping his compact mirror shut with flair. “Always fashion.”
I choked on a laugh and earned a half-hearted glare from JL.
He started pacing the pantry, waving his cup around like a conductor. “You don’t understand! He does this every day. Every meeting. Every email. He’ll correct my phrasing, or my format, or say something like, ‘Good effort, Jaeyelie.’ Like he’s my teacher!”
“He is your department lead, your superior,” I pointed out helpfully.
“Still! He doesn’t have to sound so… so smug about it!”
Woongki leaned back against the counter, sipping his caramel latte like a reality show judge. “Describe smug.”
JL scowled. “You know that thing he does with his mouth? That little half-smile like he knows something I don’t?”
“Oh,” I said lightly. “You mean flirting?”
JL froze mid-sip, expression scandalized.
“What?”
“I mean, come on,” I continued, shrugging. “The teasing. The looks. The casual little compliments he throws in meetings like they’re grenades? Classic flirting.”
“Classic annoying, you mean!” JL snapped. His voice pitched an octave higher, which meant we’d hit a nerve. “He’s just trying to get under my skin!”
“Mission accomplished,” Woongki muttered.
JL glared. “He’s the worst! Always strutting around with his rolled-up sleeves, like—like he’s in some magazine spread called Corporate Crush of the Month!”
I smiled into my mug. “You noticed the sleeves, huh?”
“Of course I noticed! They’re distracting!”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he wears that cologne — you know, that kind that smells expensive but not in-your-face. Ugh, it’s annoying!”
“Sure, babes, it’s the cologne’s fault," Woongki said dryly, patting JL’s arm like he was consoling a drama queen. “Not your repressed attraction.”
“Attraction? I’m repulsed!” JL insisted, voice cracking. “He’s infuriating! I swear, if he smiles at me one more time, I’ll—”
“—smile back?” I suggested.
He glared harder. “No! I’ll spill coffee on his stupid perfect shirt!”
There was a pause.
Then Woongki grinned. “...so you’ve imagined it.”
“WHAT—”
Before JL could explode, the pantry door opened, and the man himself appeared— tall, broad-shouldered, calm as a whisper.
Park Han.
A human black hole of professionalism and quiet chaos. His white shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow, exposing veins that had their own fan club in accounting. His hair was slightly tousled, tie loosened just enough to look effortless.
He nodded politely at us. “Morning.”
JL went completely still.
Han walked over to the coffee machine, pressed a button, and waited silently. Then, without looking up, he said, “Good report in the meeting earlier, Jaeyelie. Nice analysis on the engagement metrics.”
JL blinked, caught off-guard. “O-oh. Thanks.”
Han smiled faintly, glancing sideways. “See? It had potential.”
The smirk.
The same one.
JL turned red so fast I thought he might combust.
When Han left, Woongki and I exchanged a slow, silent look.
JL set his americano down and groaned into his hands. “I hate him.”
I stirred my coffee and hid my grin. “Sure you do.”
Woongki leaned over, whispering like a gossip columnist, “He flusters you, babes. There’s a difference.”
JL peeked through his fingers, voice muffled. “I’m sooo going to throw myself off the balcony.”
**********************************
Truth be told, we don't understand Yence's hatred, not at all.
Sure, Park Han was intimidating: tall, sharp-eyed, always calm under pressure, the kind of man who could make a marketing strategy sound like a bedtime story.
But mean? Not exactly.
Teasing, yes.
Possibly flirty.
Okayyy— definitely flirty.
But Yence? He is allergic to teasing. He practically throttled my boyfie, Steven, when he teased him too much before.
And, apparently, he is also downright dense to realizing when someone liked him.
TBC~