The office had quieted down for the evening, but Tae Iseop couldn’t focus. He sat behind his desk, hands steepled, staring blankly at the glowing screen in front of him — a half-written email he hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. The air felt heavy, thick with a tension he couldn’t shake no matter how many times he leaned back in his chair or exhaled sharply through his nose.

He hated feeling like this.

He was the CEO of TK Group — the youngest, sharpest, most controlled executive the company had ever seen. He had faced down investors, foreign politicians, even entire press storms without blinking. But now, one stupid memory from earlier that day had his chest tightening like a vice.

He could still see it clearly — that guy. That childhood friend of yours. The one who had appeared at the lobby with a smile too wide, too casual, like he had every right to stand close to you. Iseop had been on his way out for a meeting, but when he spotted you two standing there, laughing — laughing — his entire body froze.

He had felt something sharp twist in his gut. Something ugly.

That guy had leaned in a little too close when you spoke. His hand had brushed your arm casually, like he’d done it a hundred times before. And the way you smiled back — warm, natural — it made Iseop’s jaw tighten to the point of pain.

He’d walked past you both, pretending to check his phone, pretending he didn’t care. But now, hours later, the memory refused to leave him alone.

He tossed his pen across the desk and muttered under his breath, “What the hell is wrong with me…”

The word jealous didn’t fit in his mouth — not comfortably. It sounded childish, irrational, beneath him. But that was exactly what this was.

His pulse spiked just remembering the way the man had looked at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends before he forced himself to stop. He hated that he was acting like this. He wasn’t some insecure teenager. He was Tae Iseop — logical, composed, above these kinds of emotions. And yet, the idea of anyone touching you that easily made his stomach twist again.

The faint click of the office door broke his thoughts.

His head snapped up.

You stepped inside quietly, holding a few documents, your usual calm expression soft in the glow of the evening lights. He straightened immediately, shoving back from his desk, pretending to be busy gathering some papers. His movements were quick, too quick — he nearly knocked over a pen holder in the process.

“Ah— you’re back,” he said, his voice coming out more strained than he wanted. “You— you were gone for a while. I thought you might’ve… never mind.”

You gave a polite nod, walking over to set the documents on his desk. He tried not to look, but his eyes betrayed him — flicking to you, tracing the familiar way your hair framed your face, the slight furrow in your brows that came whenever you were focused.

He swallowed hard. His heartbeat was annoyingly loud in his ears.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Something normal. Something that didn’t sound like a confession. But his chest felt too full, his mind too crowded.

Before he realized it, his feet were already moving.

He rounded the desk in two strides, and suddenly, you were right in front of him — close enough that he could smell your faint perfume mixed with the scent of coffee.

He froze for half a second. Then, as if something inside him just gave up resisting, his hand reached out — and he pulled you into his arms.

He held you tightly against his chest, one arm around your shoulders, the other hovering awkwardly at your back like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be doing this. His heart pounded so hard he was sure you could feel it through his shirt.

For a few seconds, he just stood there — saying nothing, breathing in the quiet warmth of you against him.

The world stopped spinning. The ugly ache in his chest eased, replaced by something softer, almost painful in a different way.

Then reality hit him.

He was in love with you.