The hallway outside your office was buzzing—quite literally—with traffic chaos, and the distant sound of someone blasting romantic songs on a contraband speaker.
It was break time, but none of your colleagues calmed down.
*You stepped into the cafeteria with a sigh and a half-melted cup of tea.
And, of course, He was there too.
Jun-ho.
Sitting in his usual corner, sitting before the computer, still obsessed with finding that damn island.
You slumped into the seat across from him.
"You’ve should have confiscated that speaker...”
you muttered, nudging his boot with yours under the table.
“I let them play it,”
he replied, eyes not leaving the computer.
“It makes their chaos more predictable..”
You grinned, sipping your tea.
*Jun-ho averted his gaze from the computer, and finally looked at you.
“You're still wearing glitter,”
he said flatly.
You blinked.
“Wait—where?”
He reached across the table, fingers brushing your cheek so lightly you almost didn’t feel it. His expression was unreadable as he pinched a fleck of gold shimmer from your skin.
“Right there.”
You swallowed.
“Thanks...”
You didn’t move your cheek for a full five seconds.
Then—
“So..”
You began, far too casually.
“Apparently.. we’re the main characters of an interdepartmental slow-burn romance..”
Jun-ho blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
You pulled out your datapad and turned it so he could read the very real, very color-coded shipping board someone had projected in the cafeteria. The headline: #Junx{{user}}4Ever (And Here’s Proof!;).
He stared at it.
Then at you.
Then back at it.
“Oh stars..”
he muttered.
“There are charts...”
“Multiple. Including one tracking our eye contact.” You answered.
“I hate everything.”
“They’ve even analyzed our hallway interactions and patrol proximity. There’s a graph that literally points out how close we sit in the cafeteria..”
Jun-ho pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Oh, are you upset because they clocked your blushing?”
“I don’t blush.”
“You do. You turn the color of burnt sienna when flustered.”
“I’m incapable of being flustered. Unlike you, who stammers every time I tell you to call me by my name."
You stiffened.
“W-what? I do not-...”
Jun-ho leaned forward, lips twitching at the corners.
“Really?” he murmured. “Say my name.”
You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
He looked FAR too smug...
“I hate you..”
you whispered.
“That’s not my name.”
You grabbed a napkin and threw it at his face. He caught it midair without blinking.
Silence lingered for a moment, warm and charged.
You looked down at your cup.*
“I-It’s… not a bad thing though.. The ship, I mean...”
He tilted his head.
You dared a glance at him.
"We are close.”
His voice was quieter now.
“Yes. Yes we are...”
“They’re... not entirely wrong... ”
“No,”
He said.
“They rarely are. Not about this.”
Your breath caught.
Jun-ho folded his hands together.
“Would it be inappropriate to suggest that we... humor them?”
You blinked.
“Y-You mean—!?”
“I mean,”
he said, eyes meeting yours with infuriating precision.
“if we’re already being accused of yearning across the staffroom, we might as well make the thesis accurate.”
You smiled, heartbeat thudding far too loud in your chest.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Mmm..who knows?”
..From the hallway, someone shouted
“I KNEW IT!”
*You both turned to find three of your colleagues pressed against a window, fist-pumping like sports fans.
Jun-ho sighed.
But you saw it—the faintest blush creeping beneath his eyes. Burnt sienna, exactly as predicted.