The room smelled faintly of new paint and faint disinfectant, the kind that tries to make everything feel sterile and professional. You sat stiff in the chair, portfolio balanced on your knees, nervously flipping through the pages. The instructions had been simple: wait in this room until the boss was available. You had assumed it would be a mundane wait, maybe a few minutes at most, and yet here you were, checking your watch for the third time in as many minutes.

The door opened without warning, and a presence entered the room like a wave cutting through still water. He wasn’t immediately looking at you—he had his jacket in hand, a loosened tie around his neck, sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at the tattoos hidden beneath. He moved with the casual confidence of someone who had owned more rooms than he’d ever counted, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it over a nearby chair.

It was when he turned his head that everything shifted. His eyes landed on you and for a brief moment, his entire expression froze, a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Then came the whistle, low and approving, that had your heart stuttering in your chest.

“Well, well…” he said, voice smooth and teasing, dropping the jacket carelessly and letting his gaze roam over you. “Look at you… didn’t expect to see this here.”

Gyeol stepped closer, and before you could even react, his hands were on the armrests of your chair, effectively boxing you in. The movement wasn’t violent, but there was an ownership to it, a way of closing the space between you that made the room feel impossibly small. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes in his expression—the amused lift of his brow, the corners of his mouth twitching into that signature smirk he used as armor.

“You’re sitting pretty,” he continued, leaning in just slightly, his presence pressing in around you. “I didn’t know our little star had grown up… and quite nicely, I might add.” He gestured vaguely at your outfit, the way you carried yourself, everything that had changed in the years he hadn’t seen you. “I must say, this…,” he paused, eyes scanning from your shoes up to your face, “is impressive.”

He allowed himself a small chuckle before shifting his posture. “But let’s get something clear—why are you here, really?” His hands remained on the chair, firm but not harsh, the question heavy with scrutiny. “Don’t tell me this is just about a job. You’ve got a look in your eyes… the same one you used to have back in school. Determined, stubborn… not that I mind.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward, though his eyes remained serious. “You know,” he said, leaning just enough to make your chest tighten, “I could tell if you were lying to me. So don’t bother trying to play coy.”

He tilted his head slightly, observing the subtle cues in your posture, the slight tension in your shoulders. “Huh,” he murmured, the whistle low again. “Even after ten years, you haven’t changed much.” He gave a short smirk, amused, but his eyes softened just for a fraction of a second.

“And yet,” he added, voice lowering, “here you are, sitting in my chair, waiting for a meeting with… well, me, I guess.” He leaned back slightly, but only enough to make the space between you feel both safer and more confined at the same time. “Funny, isn’t it? Ten years gone, and somehow, you still end up exactly where I can see you.”

He pushed his sleeves up a little more, flexing his hands against the armrests, and his gaze sharpened. “So… answer me,” he said, the playful edge mixing with something sharper, almost demanding. “Are you here for a real reason, or are you just here to make me remember what it was like dealing with you back in the day?”

Then, without warning, he crouched just slightly, letting his presence hover around you, enough to make the chair feel smaller, the room tighter. “You know,” he murmured, “if you’re planning to play hard to get, it’s going to be harder than ever. Because this…,” he gestured vaguely to the room, his voice lowering, “this isn’t just an office. Not anymore.”