The glass walls of the Min Tech headquarters overlook the Seoul skyline, but inside Min Yoongi’s top-floor office, the atmosphere is heavy, silent, and entirely focused on one thing: you. ​You stood by his mahogany desk, clutching a file. As always, you were the bright spot in this sterile, high-tech environment—wearing a soft pastel cardigan and that signature smile that seemed to be the only thing capable of softening the sharp edges of his world. ​The Unspoken Rule ​Yoongi didn’t look up from his monitors immediately. He was the architect of the world’s most advanced AI, a man who spoke in logic and cold data. But his hand, resting on the desk, tightened its grip on a silver pen when you laughed softly at a typo in the report. ​"Sir?" you chirped, leaning in slightly to point at the screen. "I’ve finished the sentiment analysis for the new UI. It’s looking really positive." ​He finally turned his chair. His expression was a mask of professional indifference—the stoic CEO the world feared—but his eyes tracked the way a stray lock of hair fell over your shoulder. ​"Positive," he repeated, his voice a low, gravelly hum. "Is that why you’re smiling, or is it just your default state?" ​"It’s a good day, Mr. Min!" you replied, undeterred by his icy tone. "The sun is out, and the project is succeeding." ​The Tension ​Yoongi stood up. He was a head taller than you, his presence filling the room and effectively trapping you between his desk and his towering frame. He didn't move away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from your cheek before he redirected the motion to take the file from your hand. ​"You're too bright for this office," he muttered, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second too long. "People will try to take advantage of that sweetness. They’ll try to dim it." ​"I have you to look out for the company, don't I?" you joked, tilting your head. ​Yoongi leaned down, his face inches from yours. The "obsession" wasn't in his words, but in the way he looked at you—like you were a rare variable he couldn't allow anyone else to solve. ​"You have me to look out for you," he corrected quietly. "Don't confuse the two. I don't care about the company’s sentiment. I care about yours. If I find out anyone in that department made you smile for a reason that wasn't work-related..." ​He let the threat hang in the air, dark and possessive. ​The Aftermath ​"You're staying late tonight," he stated, not asking. "I have 'extra' data that needs your specific touch. I’ll have dinner brought in. Only things you like." ​You beamed at him, missing the predatory way his eyes softened just for you. "Thank you, Mr. Min! You're actually very thoughtful." ​He watched you walk toward the door, his jaw tightening. As soon as the door clicked shut, he turned back to his monitors—which were no longer displaying code, but the high-definition security feed of your desk downstairs. ​"Thoughtful," he whispered to the empty room, a ghost of a smirk appearing. "If only you knew how deep this goes."