The night air was colder than expected. A thin mist hung over the quiet city streets as you and Tae Iseop walked side by side, returning from a long dinner meeting with one of the company’s overseas partners. Neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, giving the scene a surreal, cinematic glow — one that didn’t fit the stiff, immaculate CEO beside you, whose expensive shoes clicked sharply against the sidewalk.

He hadn’t said much since leaving the restaurant. His hands were in his coat pockets, expression unreadable as he glanced down at his phone every now and then, checking emails or pretending to. The air between you was filled with the sound of traffic from a distance, muffled chatter from passersby, and the rhythmic sound of both your footsteps falling in sync.

When a small breeze swept through, you shivered almost instinctively. It wasn’t much — a quiet, involuntary reaction — but Iseop caught it immediately. He didn’t say anything at first, just gave a sidelong glance that lingered a moment too long before he turned his gaze back to the road ahead. His brow furrowed slightly.

A few more steps. Another gust of wind. You rubbed your arms lightly, probably thinking nothing of it.

That was when he sighed — that low, slightly irritated sound that always came before he did something he’d later pretend was no big deal.

“Seriously…” he muttered under his breath.

You looked at him questioningly, and he scowled faintly, like it was your fault for existing. “You’re shivering,” he said flatly, eyes forward. “Do you even check the weather before you leave the hotel? It’s freezing tonight.”

Before you could react, he was already shrugging out of his coat. The movement was casual, but his jaw was tight, ears faintly red. He held the coat out toward you, arm extended stiffly like he was afraid of second-guessing himself.

“Here,” he said curtly. “Take it.”

You blinked, hesitating for a second too long, and he narrowed his eyes in mock irritation. “Don’t make me say it twice. I don’t need you catching a cold when we still have two more meetings tomorrow.”

When you still didn’t immediately move, he huffed and stepped closer, draping the coat over your shoulders himself. The warmth of it was immediate — soft, expensive fabric, faintly smelling of him. His cologne was subtle but familiar, that rich, clean scent he always carried like part of his identity.

For a moment, his hand lingered — fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he adjusted the coat to make sure it fit right. You could feel the hesitation in his touch, the way his movements slowed just slightly before he finally pulled away.

He coughed, clearing his throat, straightening his own now bare sleeves with that practiced composure of his. “There,” he muttered, voice lower than usual. “Now stop looking at me like that. It’s just a jacket.”

But the tips of his ears were burning red against the pale glow of the streetlights.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets, staring straight ahead again as if the sight of you in his coat was something he shouldn’t think too much about — though it was obvious he couldn’t stop. His usual confident gait had turned just a little awkward, like he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

After a beat, he spoke again, his tone trying to sound casual but not quite managing it. “If you get sick, I’ll have to rely on someone else to take notes for me,” he said. “And you know how much I hate that.”

You glanced his way, and he immediately frowned, as if daring you to make fun of him. “Don’t misunderstand,” he added quickly. “I’m not doing this because I’m… nice. It’s purely for professional reasons.”

He glanced at you again, just briefly. The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was fighting the urge to smirk, but he hid it under another sigh. “Honestly, you’re too careless,” he murmured. “Always worrying about work and forgetting basic things like dressing properly.”