Work Text:
The corner office on the eighty-fifth floor of Edwards Global Enterprises was bathed in the glorious, warm amber glow of a Tuesday afternoon sunset.
Or, at least, Martin Edwards assumed it was a warm amber glow, considering the massive blob of faint orange currently burning through his retinas.
Martin Edwards was a titan of industry, a ruthless negotiator, and a man who could bankrupt a rival company with a single arch of his left eyebrow.
He was also, for all intents and purposes, entirely helpless without his glasses.
He stood behind his massive desk, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and unseeing as he glared down at the blurry, dark silhouette sitting motionless in the leather armchair across from him.
"Cancel them, Winston," Martin commanded, his voice ringing with the desperate, dramatic fervor of a Shakespearean tragic hero.
"Cancel every single one of them. The four o'clock budget review, the five thirty merger call with Tokyo, the dinner with the Minister of Finance—wipe the slate clean. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, the rest of my life!"
The silhouette remained completely silent.
"Do not give me that passive aggressive silence, Winston!" Martin snapped, taking a threatening step forward.
He slammed a palm onto the edge of his desk.
"I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’ve lost my mind. You’re thinking, ‘Oh, Mr. Edwards is acting recklessly again.’"
"Well, I don't care! Some things in this wretched life are more important than quarterly earnings reports! Some things transcend the mundane boundaries of corporate governance!"
The dark shape before him did not offer so much as a twitch.
"Answer me!" Martin shouted, throwing his hands into the air.
"Are you just going to sit there like a lifeless, wooden lump while my entire world crumbles into ash? "
"Have you no soul, man? Have you no empathy for the agonizing torture currently ripping through the chambers of my heart?!"
The heavy door to the office clicked open.
"Mr. Edwards?" came the dry voice of Winston, his actual executive assistant.
He was standing near the doorway with a leather bound iPad tucked neatly under his arm.
"Were you... screaming at the plant again, sir?"
Martin froze. His hands remained suspended in air.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the sound of Winston’s voice near the door, then turned back to squint aggressively at the blurry dark lump sitting in the armchair.
Upon closer, excruciatingly squinted inspection, the lump was not Winston. It was a potted ficus that had been delivered to his office three months ago.
Martin cleared his throat, smoothed down the front of his tailored blazer, and pulled his posture up to its full height.
"I was not screaming at the plant, Winston. I was... testing the acoustic resonance of the room. The leaves absorb sound differently depending on the decibel levels."
"Of course, sir," Winston said flat as he stepped further into the room.
"And does the ficus know that you’ve requested to cancel the Tokyo call, or should I be the one to inform the board?"
"Inform them immediately," Martin declared, striding toward Winston—or what he hoped was Winston.
He steered slightly to the left to avoid a large, shadowy blob that turned out to be a marble statue of Hermes.
"I am leaving. Right now."
"Leaving, sir? To go where?"
"To stop a wedding," Martin announced, his voice dropping into a heroic register.
He stared straight ahead, gazing passionately into the distance (which was actually a framed picture of the company stock chart).
"The wedding of the love of my life."
Winston blinked behind his glasses.
"You mean Mr. Kim Juhoon?"
The mere sound of the name sent a sharp, agonizing pang straight through Martin’s chest.
Juhoon. Kim Juhoon. The man with the soft black hair, the quiet smile, the brilliant analytical mind, and the infuriating habit of laughing at Martin’s terrible, dry jokes.
Juhoon, who had worked as Martin’s chief legal advisor for three years.
Juhoon, whom Martin had secretly, desperately loved from the very moment he had walked into this building.
And Martin, a man who commanded thousands of employees and dictated global financial markets, had been too much of a pathetic, spineless coward to ever confess his feelings.
He had hidden behind professionalism. He had hidden behind schedules and reports.
And now, Juhoon was standing at an altar somewhere, about to tie his life to another man, forever slipping beyond Martin's reach.
"Yes," Martin whispered, his voice laced with profound tragic weight.
"Juhoon. He is getting married today, Winston. In a church downtown. At this very moment."
"Right," Winston said slowly.
"Well, sir, if you are planning on driving down there to interrupt a holy sacrament and publicly ruin a man's wedding day... perhaps you should take your glasses?"
Winston reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a sleek, black leather eyeglass case, extending it toward his boss.
Martin stared at the blurry leather case. Then, he scoffed.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. He raised a hand and dramatically pushed Winston’s arm away.
"No, Winston," Martin murmured, his eyes shining with a delusion so profound it was almost majestic.
"I will not wear them. Love does not need glasses. Love is not seen with the eyes, old man—it is felt with the heart."
"The heart sees clearly when the eyes are blind! I do not need corrective lenses to navigate the tempestuous ocean of my own soul!"
The assistant stared at Martin.
"Sir, you literally fought a coat rack in the lobby last week because you thought it was a mugger."
"That coat rack was shaped aggressively and you know it!" Martin snapped back, turning on his heel.
"I have no time for your cynicism! The clock is ticking! My love awaits!"
"Mr. Edwards, you can't even see where the door—"
Martin threw his full weight against the heavy door, shoving with heroic fervor.
Nothing happened.
The door remained firmly locked in place. He shoved again, grunting in mounting frustration, until Winston reached past him, grabbed the brass handle, and pulled it inward.
Flustered, Martin immediately surged forward through the opening. He walked shoulder first straight into the heavy oak doorframe.
"I am fine!" Martin bellowed from the hallway, rubbing his bruised shoulder as he adjusted his jacket.
"The frame was out of alignment! I am going!"
The Cathedral of St. John was an architectural masterpiece of gothic stone, soaring stained glass windows, and rich mahogany pews.
It was currently filled to capacity with the absolute elite of high society.
Elegant women in pastel silk dresses and men in dark, bespoke tuxedos sat quietly in the soft light filtering through the altar windows.
At the front of the nave stood the priest, father Gregory.
Father Gregory was seventy-two years old, had served the diocese for forty-five years, and was, quite frankly, bored out of his mind.
He was tired of christenings. He was tired of bake sales. He was tired of quiet, dignified, polite high society weddings where everyone smiled pleasantly and nothing interesting ever happened.
Father Gregory craved chaos. He craved scandal. He lived for the kind of jaw dropping, gossip generating visual spectacles that sustained small town parishes for decades.
He smoothed down his ceremonial vestments, adjusted his half moon spectacles, and looked down at the young couple standing before him at the altar.
The groom standing on the right was a striking, incredibly handsome young man with golden hair that caught the light like a halo.
He was wearing an ivory tuxedo that practically screamed old money.
On the right side of the priest stood the second groom. He was a sharply structured man with dark, polished hair styled flawlessly off his forehead.
He was dressed in a midnight black, tailored designer tuxedo complete with a silk bow tie.
"Dearly beloved," father Gregory began, his voice echoing sonorously through the vast stone arches.
"We are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this man in holy matrimony..."
The priest rambled through the standard liturgy, keeping his eyes peeled, hoping against hope for a miracle.
A secret lover bursting through the windows?
A dramatic confession?
A tragic secret coming to light?
Alas, the congregation sat in somber silence.
Father Gregory sighed inwardly and arrived at the dreaded, boring part.
"Therefore," the priest proclaimed, leaning slightly closer to the microphone, "if any person present can show any just cause why these two may not lawfully be joined together... let them speak now, or forever hold their peace."
He paused, as required by law.
He counted to three in his head.
"One... two... three... "
"Ah, well. Another boring day at the office—"
The massive, double oak doors at the back of the cathedral were slammed open with such violent force that the heavy brass latches shrieked in agony.
The sound echoed through the high stone arches like a crack of thunder.
The entire crowd gasped in unison, turning around in their seats.
Standing in the light of the open doorway was a figure. He was tall. He was broad shouldered. His blonde hair blew majestically in the afternoon breeze.
He stood framed against the sunlight like a fallen angel, or a very lost Calvin Klein model.
Martin stood at the entrance, panting heavily.
The trek up the cathedral steps had been arduous, mostly because he had tripped over two stone statues and a stray cat on his way in, but he was here.
He had made it.
His eyes swam with blurry, unrecognizable shapes.
The entire nave was a giant, smudged watercolor painting of black and white smudges.
At the far end of the long center aisle, sitting beneath a massive blur of gold light, were two shapes standing at the altar.
One of them was wearing a white suit.
"Juhoon," Martin thought, his heart weeping with agony.
"Juhoon, my love. You always did look breathtaking in light colors."
Martin raised one arm, pointed a trembling finger directly toward the altar, and let out a roar that shook the stained glass saints in their frames.
"STOP THE WEDDING!" Martin screamed.
A collective gasp rippled through the church.
Father Gregory’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. He gripped his holy bible tightly to his chest, his heart fluttering with pure joy.
"Oh, sweet Lord above, " the priest thought wildly.
"It’s happening. It’s actually happening! Thank you, Jesus!"
With trembling hands, father Gregory immediately ducked beneath the wooden lip of the pulpit.
He pulled out a velvet bound, gold embossed journal hidden inside his vestments, and flicked open a fresh, blank page.
He grabbed his pen, leaned heavily against the altar railing, and began scribbling with frantic, speed.
'Dear diary,' father Gregory wrote feverishly, his eyes darting back and forth between the page and the back of the chapel.
'My prayers have been answered. The Almighty has blessed me today with pure, unfiltered catastrophe.'
'A mysterious, stunningly handsome blonde man has just shattered the doors and demanded an absolute halt to the proceedings. I am vibrating with sacred thrill.'
Down below, Martin began his dramatic march down the central red carpet aisle.
His stride was purposeful. His head held high, his eyes filled with burning passion—though he did have to subtly extend his foot forward with every step to ensure he didn't trip over.
"I OBJECT!" Martin roared.
"I object to this union! I object to this farce! I object to the tragic, unspeakable lie that is taking place in this holy sanctuary today!"
The congregation was completely frozen. Whispers broke out like wildfire.
"Who is that?"
"Is he a movie star?"
"Look at his jawline!"
"Is he part of the family?"
Martin paid the peanut gallery no mind.
His vision was a terrible fog, but his heart was a laser guided missile directed straight at the altar.
He stopped roughly ten feet from the steps, throwing his arms wide open, gazing upward at the blurry shape in the ivory suit.
"I love you!" Martin confessed, his voice cracking with emotion.
"I have loved you from the very first moment you stepped into my life! I was a coward! A fool!"
"I hid behind my pride, my work, my stupid, empty corporate empire because I was terrified—terrified that someone as brilliant, as beautiful, as utterly perfect as you could never love a man like me!"
Father Gregory clasped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement.
"We have an entire ocean of memories together!" Martin cried out, tears welling in his blurry eyes.
"Do you remember the late nights in the office? Do you remember the rain pouring down outside while we shared that cold coffee? Do you remember the way you looked at me when we solved that impossible case together?! You cannot throw all of that away! You cannot marry him!"
"DON'T MARRY HIM!"
Martin fell back into a dramatic stance, breathing heavily, his hair falling softly over his forehead.
He had laid his soul bare.
He had torn his own heart out and placed it upon the altar of truth.
Now, he waited for the fall out.
The Cathedral of St. John fell into a silence so profound you could hear a pin drop on the marble floor.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Martin squinted hard through the haze, trying to gauge the reaction.
Why wasn't Juhoon saying anything? Why was the blurry dark shape next to him completely motionless?
Then, breaking the suffocating silence, a voice rang out from the altar.
It was a deep voice, rich with theatrical flair.
"FINALLY!" the groom shouted.
Martin blinked.
Finally?
"I WAS WAITING FOR YOUR CONFESSION!"
Before Martin could even begin to process the unfamiliar timbre of that voice, the blurry shape in the ivory tuxedo practically threw his wedding bouquet into the air and came sprinting down the altar steps like a runaway freight train.
"Wait—what?" Martin managed to utter.
The blonde groom hurled himself onto Martin with the force of a professional football player. Martin’s eyes went wide as two arms wrapped around his neck in a crushing embrace.
The sheer momentum forced Martin back two steps before he managed to catch his footing, his arms flailing wildly in the air before settling awkwardly around the stranger's back.
Martin froze.
The man hugging him... was noticeably shorter than Martin’s frame.
The man hugging him... was wearing floral cologne.
And, most importantly, as Martin squinted down at the back of the man’s head currently buried in his shoulder... the man had bleached blonde hair.
Juhoon had black hair. Juhoon had very black hair. Juhoon’s hair was dark as the midnight sky.
This man’s hair was the color of a fresh lemon.
Martin stood entirely paralyzed, his jaw dropping open, his brain making frantic, dial up internet noises as he tried to reconcile his life choices.
He had just delivered a soul baring declaration of love to a stranger.
The blonde groom pulled back slightly, his hand resting dramatically on Martin’s chest.
He looked up at Martin with big, shining brown eyes full of hero worship and passion.
"What took you so long?" the groom whispered breathlessly, his eyes searching Martin’s confused face.
"I was beginning to think my sister was going to abandon me entirely!"
Martin’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Your... sister?" Martin squeaked out.
The groom let out a melodic laugh, reaching up on his tiptoes to gently pat Martin’s cheek.
"Oh, stop playing coy, you handsome devil! I didn't know my sister was going to send an actual demigod to save me!"
Martin blinked, his vision still entirely unhelpful as he stared at the brilliant yellow blur in front of him.
"I... I think there's been a—"
"Shh!"
The groom pressed an index finger against Martin’s lips, leaning in close with an intense gaze.
"Do not undermine the poetry of this moment! Did she hire you through an agency? Or are you one of her secret theatrical friends?"
"Honestly, the monologue about the rain and cold coffee? Breathtaking. The conviction! The raw agony in your eyes! You deserve an award, darling!"
Martin removed the man’s finger from his lips, his hands trembling slightly.
"Sir... I am not an actor. I am the CEO of Edwards Global—"
"Oh, stay in character! I love a man who commits!"
The groom beamed, wrapping his arm tight around Martin's elbow like an ivy vine and resting his chin on Martin's shoulder.
"My name is James, by the way. I don't care what my sister is paying you, I am doubling it the second we get out of this chapel of doom. Just keep looking passionately into the distance and pretend you want to ravish me."
"I don't want to ravish you!" Martin hissed frantically under his breath, desperately trying to detach himself from the human parasite currently clinging to his arm.
"I don't even know who you are! Where is Juhoon?!"
"Juhoon?" James whispered back, fanning himself with his free hand.
"Is that your stage name? Ooh, exotic! I like it! Work it, Juhoon!"
From the top of the altar steps, a loud, angry, voice shattered their frantic whispering.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"
Martin squinted toward the altar. The other man was taking furious steps down the aisle.
"James!" Seonghyeon demanded, pointing a finger at the blonde groom clinging to Martin.
"Who is this man?! What is he talking about?! What late nights in the office?! What coffee in the rain?!"
The blonde groom, James, turned around keeping one arm wrapped tightly and possessively around Martin’s waist.
He threw his chin up with supreme disdain.
"You heard him clearly, Seonghyeon!" James announced, his voice carrying to the very back pews.
"Our love is far stronger than this barbaric, cold, unfeeling arranged marriage our families forced upon us!"
A collective, scandalized wave of murmurs ripped through the nave like wildfire.
High society matriarchs snapped their lace fans shut in synchronized disbelief, while elderly men choked on their collar pins.
In the second row, James’s aunt gripped her pearl necklace so tightly the string nearly snapped, whispering frantically to her husband, "I knew it! I told you it was all fake!"
Up at the altar, father Gregory’s eyes flared with unholy delight.
He pressed his hand against his vestments to suppress a giddy squeal, leaning over the pulpit to get a betterangle.
Beside James, Martin felt his soul slowly detach from his body.
His jaw hung slightly open as he stared helplessly at the ceiling, wondering what specific sin in his past life had led him to this exact moment.
Seonghyeon, meanwhile, looked like he was about to suffer an aneurysm.
His eyes bulged, his knuckles turning stark white as his fists trembled at his sides.
"James, I’ve known you since we were in diapers!" Seonghyeon bellowed.
"I know every single person in your social circle, and I have never seen this guy before in my entire life!"
For a heartbeat, the atmosphere stretched taut with tension.
James stood unfazed, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he subtly shifted his weight, pulling the frozen form of Martin a fraction of an inch closer to his hip.
He lifted his head with arrogance, letting out a sharp breath that turned into a scoff.
"Oh, but I DO know him!" James dramatically countered, pressing a delicate hand to his heart.
"Our relationship was... secret! Intimate! Conducted in the shadows away from the prying eyes of society!"
The entire congregation gasped again.
A woman in the third row fainted into her husband's lap.
"He is my secret lover!" James proclaimed boldly, smiling dazzlingly up at Martin.
"Look at him, Seonghyeon! Look at his magnificent golden locks! Look at his brooding, mysterious gaze! A man does not barge into a cathedral and scream his heart out unless he is consumed by the fires of passion!"
Martin opened his mouth to say 'Sir, I am blind and I think I am in the wrong church,' but James squeezed his waist so hard it cut off his oxygen supply.
"Isn't that right, my shining knight?" James purred, fluttering his eyelashes at Martin.
Seonghyeon took a threatening step down the aisle.
"This is ridiculous! James, tell me his name! If he's your secret lover, tell me his name right now!"
James froze. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
He glanced frantically up at Martin, then back at Seonghyeon, throwing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest in a desperate bid for confidence.
"His name?" James challenged, his voice ringing across the nave with breathless dramatic flair.
"You want his name, Seonghyeon? Fine! His name is... Juhoon!"
A sharp choke rippled through the pews.
Martin’s head snapped toward James so fast he nearly got whiplash.
His eyes went wide as saucers in his blurry vision.
"What?!" Martin strangled out in a choked whisper.
"No, that’s my—"
"Yes, Juhoon!" James declared loudly, effectively drowning Martin out while patting Martin’s chest reassuringly.
"My sweet, mysterious, enigmatic Juhoon! A man of quiet passion and breathtaking beauty! A man whose very name rolls off my tongue like poetry!"
"Juhoon?!" Seonghyeon yelled, his face turning an alarming shade of red.
"James, that doesn't even sound like a real person in your life! Where did you meet a 'Juhoon'?! At a dramatic reading club?!"
"We met under the cover of night!" James countered wildly, clutching Martin’s arm even tighter.
"In the dim light of the city, where our souls intertwined! Isn't that right, my precious Juhoon? Tell him!"
Martin, currently trapped in a tight, floral scented grip, was having a complete internal system failure.
His brain was spinning in hyperdrive. He’s using Juhoon’s name.
"He’s telling the entire church that I am Juhoon.!?"
"Sir, please," Martin pleaded in an urgent, hushed tone, leaning down toward James.
"My name is not Juhoon! Juhoon is the man I came here to—"
"Shh, Juhoon, darling, let me handle the negotiation," James purred loudly for the audience, winking at Martin before turning back to face his infuriated fiancé.
"You see, Seonghyeon? He is so modest! So reserved! He blushes just hearing me speak his name!"
"He's not blushing, he looks like he's going to pass out!" Seonghyeon shouted back, taking two more furious steps forward.
"He doesn't even look like a 'Juhoon'! He's six foot three, blonde, and built like a brick wall!"
"Love knows no structural boundaries, Seonghyeon!" James proclaimed passionately.
"Juhoon is a state of mind! Juhoon is the fire in my heart!"
Up at the altar, father Gregory was writing at such a frantic pace that the paper caught fire from a nearby candle flame on the pulpit altar.
"Holy Saints above!" father Gregory shrieked, instantly dropping his pen and violently waving the flaming notebook through the air.
"Water! Bring the holy water! My scandal archives are ablaze!"
He frantically beat the burning notebook against the altar railing, completely abandoning his priestly composure as small puffs of black smoke billowed toward the vaulted ceiling.
Martin, standing amidst the drifting smoke, felt his pulse hammering frantically against his ribs.
He needed an exit strategy. He needed to execute an immediate damage control protocol before the press caught wind of this, before his board of directors held an emergency vote on his sanity.
Or before Seonghyeon decided to test whether CEO suits were bulletproof.
As Martin was frantically trying to figure out how to extradite himself from this nightmare without getting sued, shot, or featured on the local news, the heavy cathedral doors at the back of the church slammed open again.
"STOP THE WEDDING!" a voice screamed from the entrance.
The entire church froze. Again.
Father Gregory, currently swatting at a lingering spark on his sleeve with a holy water bowl, gasped loudly.
"A second one?! Oh, glory be!"
Martin turned his blurry gaze back toward the doorway.
Another silhouette was standing in the doorway, panting heavily, out of breath, as if he had just run ten blocks.
"I OBJECT!" the new arrival bellowed, his voice echoing loudly through the nave.
The congregation turned around in a synchronized wave of neck snapping intrigue.
The man in the doorway caught his breath, stomping down the center aisle with determination.
He was wearing a slightly disheveled grey business suit, his hair messy, his necktie flying over his shoulder.
"James!" the new man yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the blonde groom.
"I loved you for a long time! This whole thing is a lie!"
James’s eyes widened in shock.
"Keonho?!"
Keonho finally reached the bottom of the altar steps. He ignored every glare, and marched right up to James.
He leaned in close, his voice dropping into an urgent, fierce whisper that was still wildly audible to Martin.
"Your sister sent me!" Keonho whispered loudly.
"She told me to stop you from marrying this guy! She said if I didn't get down here and stop this right now, she was going to kick me off her Netflix Premium account!"
James stared at Keonho, completely dumbfounded.
"My sister's Netflix account?!"
"Yes!" Keonho huffed, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"I'm in the middle of rewatching my favorite show, James! Do you know how expensive subscription tiers are these days?! So I'm objecting! I object!"
Up on the altar, Seonghyeon’s stared at Keonho with an expression of utter confusion.
"Keonho?!" Seonghyeon blurted out, his voice cracking with shock.
"What are you doing here?!"
Keonho snapped his head toward Seonghyeon, suddenly freezing.
His eyes went wide as he processed who the other groom was. He opened his mouth, closed it, and took a small step back, looking completely derailed.
"Wait..." Keonho stammered, looking back and forth between James and Seonghyeon.
"You... you two are..."
Before Keonho could navigate the terrifying labyrinth of his own surprise, his eyes drifted slightly to the right
They landed directly on the tall blonde man standing right beside James.
Keonho breath caught in his throat. The color completely drained from his face until he looked like a ghost in a grey suit.
"B-Boss...?" Keonho squeaked, his voice pitching up three octaves.
Martin blinked through his blurry fog.
The smudge in the grey suit looked vaguely familiar. The voice was definitely familiar.
"Keonho?" Martin said, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Keonho stared at Martin.
"Mr. Edwards?! What—what are you doing here?! Why are you at James's wedding?! Why are you holding James?!"
James’s head snapped around like a swivel chair.
He looked at Keonho.
Then he looked up at Martin.
Then he looked back at Keonho.
"Wait a minute," James said, his dramatic demeanor suddenly fracturing into confusion.
He looked up at the towering, handsome blonde CEO currently squinting down at him like he was trying to read microscopic text on a distant galaxy.
"If my sister sent him," James asked, blinking up at Martin, "then who are you?!"
BONUS
The office was blissfully quiet.
Winston adjusted his glasses, smoothed down the lapels of his suit, and picked up a small, polished brass watering can from the sideboard.
He walked over to the corner of the room, standing before leafy green silhouette of the potted plant.
Winston leaned in slightly, pouring a precise, gentle stream of water into the soil.
"I hope you appreciate the sacrifices made for your care," Winston murmured.
"Mr. Edwards was prepared to offer you an executive severance package. He believed your silent judgment was undermining his authority."
The ficus rustled faintly as the water settled.
"Yes, I agree," Winston continued dryly, adjusting a broad, waxy leaf.
"He should have taken his glasses. But you know how he gets when he reads too much Lord Byron. The man becomes entirely unmanageable."
A knock sounded at the heavy mahogany door.
Winston paused, setting the watering can down on a coaster.
"Come in," he called out, assuming it was a courier or perhaps a traumatized intern delivering the afternoon correspondence.
The heavy door swung inward, revealing a man standing on the threshold.
He was wearing a sharp navy suit that fit his lean frame with effortless elegance. He carried a sleek leather document folder under one arm.
Juhoon stepped into the grand office, his eyes scanning the empty desk, the pristine glass coffee table, and the panoramic windows overlooking the city skyline.
"Winston?" Juhoon asked, a slight, polite smile touching his lips.
"Is Martin... not here?"
Winston froze.
His eyes widened behind his glasses. His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline with alarming speed.
"Mr... Mr. Juhoon?" the assistant squeaked out, his voice cracking slightly on the second syllable.
Juhoon blinked, looking faintly amused by the assistant's unusual reaction.
"Yes? Is everything alright, Winston? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost."
"I..." the old man swallowed hard, taking a step away from the ficus.
"I am... functional, sir. Just... surprised."
"Is Martin in a meeting?" Juhoon asked, stepping further into the room and placing his folder on the corner of the mahogany desk.
"I checked his calendar, but it showed his entire afternoon was abruptly wiped clean thirty minutes ago. I assumed there was an emergency call with the European board, but his car wasn't in his reserved spot downstairs."
"He... left," Winston said slowly, choosing his words with the extreme caution of a man walking through a landmine field in silk slippers.
"He had... urgent personal business to attend to."
"Ah, I see," Juhoon said, nodding understandingly.
He buttoned his jacket and adjusted his sleeve cuffs.
"That’s fine. It’s nothing that can't wait. I’ll just come back later, or catch him first thing tomorrow morning."
Juhoon turned on his heel, preparing to head back toward the elevator bay.
"Mr. Juhoon, wait," Arthur blurted out, stepping forward instinctively.
Juhoon stopped, turning back with an inquiring tilt of his head.
"Yes?"
Winston stared at him, his analytical mind spinning in wild, desperate circles.
"If... if you don't mind me asking, sir... are you here to submit your paperwork for your honeymoon leave?"
Juhoon paused. His soft, dark brows furrowed in genuine, unadulterated confusion.
He looked at Martin's assistant as though the assistant had suddenly sprouted a second head.
"My... honeymoon leave?" Juhoon repeated.
"What honeymoon?"
Winston blinked behind his glasses.
"Your honeymoon, sir. You... you got married today, right?"
Juhoon stared at the old man before breaking into a light laugh, shaking his head.
"Married?! Winston, what on earth are you talking about? I’m not married! I’m single."
Winston felt the room tilt slightly on its axis.
"You... you didn't get married today?"
"No!" Juhoon chuckled, leaning against the edge of a leather armchair.
"I came up to drop off the quarterly compliance reports, and... well, to ask Martin for a short leave of absence, actually. But definitely not a honeymoon."
"A leave of absence," Winston repeated mechanically.
"Yes," Juhoon smiled warmly, his dark eyes lighting up with genuine affection.
"My younger brother is getting married this weekend down in the countryside. I’m the best man, so I need to head out a couple of days early to help with the preparations, manage the venue logistics, and... well, relax a little."
"It’s been a crazy few months around here with the new acquisitions, and I thought a little countryside air would do me good."
Winston stood frozen in the middle of the rug.
"Your... brother," Winston said out loud.
"Yes, my brother," Juhoon said softly, looking at the assistant with mounting pity.
"Winston... are you sure you’re feeling alright? Have you been taking your lunch breaks? You seem exceptionally dazed today. Did Martin give you a mountain of last minute filing again?"
"No, Mr. Juhoon," Winston murmured, his eyes drifting toward the desk.
Then, a thought struck him.
"Wait... what about the envelope? The one I handed to Mr. Edwards?"
Juhoon blinked, taking a second to recall, then let out a small sigh.
"Oh! That envelope? The one I dropped off on your desk a few days ago?"
"Yes," Winston whispered.
"That one."
"Martin's sister sent that over by courier last week," Juhoon explained smoothly.
"It was an invitation from their cousin's wedding. She specifically texted me back then to make sure it got put directly on Martin's desk because she knew he’d completely ignore his personal mail otherwise."
"I handed it to you on Friday, didn't I?"
Winston walked over to the desk. His eyes landed on the neat stack of mail sitting near the brass pen holder.
The stack containing the heavy, cream colored envelope that Martin had finally snatched open today, misread with his terrible uncorrected vision, and dramatically thrown across the room before sprinting out the door.
Winston reached down, picked up the envelope, and opened the flap.
He pulled out the embossed card, adjusted his glasses, and read the calligraphic script in his head:
You are cordially invited to celebrate the holy matrimony of Kim Jihoon and Park Sora at the Cathedral of Saint Saint-John..
Winston stared at the paper.
Kim Jihoon.
With an 'i'.
Not Kim Juhoon with a 'u'.
Winston slowly lowered the invitation. He looked up at Kim Juhoon.
Winston looked back down at the invitation.
Kim Jihoon.
Arthur looked back up at Kim Juhoon.
Kim Juhoon.
A single letter. A microscopic, phonetical difference of a single vowel.
Winston closed his eyes. He took a long, deep, cleansing breath through his nose, holding it for four seconds, and then releasing it slowly through his mouth.
"Mr. Edwards," Winston thought with profound, majestic pity, "you absolute, blind idiot."
Across the room, Juhoon tilted his head, watching the assistant’s silent internal crisis with open curiosity.
"Winston? What's wrong with the invitation?"
"Nothing, sir," the old man said instantly, smoothly sliding the cream colored invitation into his suit jacket pocket, completely out of sight.
"Just... confirming a detail regarding the guest list."
"Right..." Juhoon said slowly, clearly not believing him, but far too polite to push the matter.
"Well, as I said, I'll just leave the compliance documents on his desk. If you could just have Martin sign the leave of absence form whenever he gets back from... whatever urgent business he's handling, I’d greatly appreciate it."
Juhoon set the folder down on the dark wood, gave Winston a pleasant nod, and turned toward the exit once more.
"Mr. Juhoon?" Winston called out.
Juhoon stopped at the door, looking back over his shoulder.
"Yes?"
Winston straightened his tie.
"Do you mind..." Winston asked softly, "...if I come to your brother's wedding?"