Requested by Mila.
Ban Ju-yeon asked you for the favor like he asked for everything else---quietly, precisely, as if emotions were an inconvenience he hadn’t scheduled for.
“My grandfather wants me to date,” He said one evening, eyes fixed on his coffee. “Seriously. Publicly. With marriage in mind.”
You blinked. “And that’s… My problem?”
He looked up then. “You’re the only coworker I trust not to misunderstand.”
That should have been your first mistake.
You agreed because it was temporary. Because it was fake. Because you told yourself you could handle pretending to be someone else.
So you changed.
When you met his grandfather, you wore dresses instead of slacks, styled your hair instead of tying it back, softened your voice instead of keeping it sharp. You laughed more. You touched Ju-yeon’s arm like it came naturally. He played his part perfectly---attentive, polite, a hand at your back like it belonged there.
At work, none of it existed.
You went back to neutral colors and tired eyes. He went back to being distant, composed, almost cold. In meetings, he didn’t look at you for too long. In emails, he stayed professional. It was like the woman his grandfather adored vanished the moment the door closed.
The dates were worse.
Dinner reservations, quiet walks, shared desserts you pretended not to enjoy. Sometimes he smiled at you without realizing it, and you hated how easily it made your chest tighten.
“This is beautiful,” His grandfather said once, pleased. “You suit him.”
Ju-yeon glanced at you, just for a second. You didn’t know which version of you he saw.
After weeks, the pretending began to blur.
The shift didn’t announce itself. It slipped in between courses, unnoticed until it was already there.
His grandfather’s house smelled like old wood and simmering soup. You wore something simple but softer than work clothes, your hair styled just enough to match the version of you he usually introduced. Ju-yeon noticed, of course. He always did. His hand hovered at your back as you greeted his grandfather, careful, almost protective.
Dinner was louder than usual. His grandfather seemed pleased, telling the same stories Ju-yeon pretended not to remember. You laughed at the right moments. You filled his glass before he asked. You played your part perfectly.
Then his grandfather set his chopsticks down and said, “You two look comfortable together.”
You nodded. Ju-yeon smiled politely, but something in his expression shifted---subtle. You still caught it.
After dinner, his grandfather asked you to help clear the table. In the kitchen, away from Ju-yeon, he studied you quietly.
“You’re different from the women he’s been introduced to,” He said.
You stiffened. “Different… How?”
His grandfather tilted his head, studying you like he was looking past the surface.
“You don’t compete with him,” He said. “The others always try to match his pace, his ambition, his name. You let him slow down.”
You paused, a plate still in your hands.
“With you,” He continued, “He doesn’t perform. He breathes.”
Your chest tightened.
When you returned to the living room, Ju-yeon stood by the window, shoulders tense, city lights reflecting faintly in the glass. His grandfather waved you over. “Ju-yeon,” He said, “Don’t let this one go.”
The words landed heavier than expected.
The drive back was silent. Streetlights passed in slow rhythm. Ju-yeon didn’t turn on the radio.
After a while, he murmured, as if talking to himself: “Don't let this one go.”
You kept your eyes forward. “What?”
"What did he tell you?" He answered. "In the kitchen."
The car slowed at a stoplight, engine still running. The silence between you no longer empty.