you knew heeseung better than anyone — how he took his coffee (two sugars, no cream), how he liked his schedule arranged down to the minute, how he kept a pack of gum hidden in the bottom drawer for when he was stressed. it was no surprise to anyone that you, of all people, ended up as his secretary.

his office now was sleek and spacious, sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. a far cry from the cluttered high school classroom where you’d first met him — where he used to scribble notes for you in the margins of your textbooks and split his lunch whenever you forgot yours.

he’d always been good to you. thoughtful, reliable, kind. so it never made sense to you how someone like him, with all his warmth and charm, wasn’t tied down yet.

that was, until the arranged marriage meetings started.

they came one after the other, and each time, you watched the tension build in his shoulders. heeseung didn’t say much about them, but it was written all over his face.

you were organizing the next file when you noticed him staring — not at the screen in front of him, but across the room, at you.

he leaned back in his chair, brows drawn together slightly. “will you fix my tie for me?” he asked, voice low and a little hoarse. “it’s starting to annoy me.”