The low hum of the air conditioning filled the quiet of Taejoon’s office, blending with the faint ticking of the minimalist clock on the far wall. Papers were stacked neatly across his desk, his monitor glowing faintly with open spreadsheets, but his eyes weren’t on the screen. They hadn’t been for the past ten minutes.

You were sitting in the chair beside his desk, your head resting against your folded arms, completely out. Asleep — though you hadn’t meant to be. You’d come in earlier that afternoon with a report you needed him to sign off on, and somewhere between waiting for him to finish a call and reviewing the numbers together, your exhaustion finally caught up with you. Now, your breathing was slow and even, your hair slightly tousled from the way your arm had pressed against it.

Taejoon leaned back in his chair, one hand raised to his temple, the other idly tapping a pen against the desk. He told himself he was just taking a moment to think. But he wasn’t thinking about work. Not really.

His gaze drifted back toward you again.

He’d tried — really tried — to keep his mind focused today. Meetings, emails, stock projections — none of it could hold his attention. Not when you were there, in his office, small and peaceful in a world that demanded constant calculation. Something about the sight of you asleep like that, unaware of him, unguarded, made something restless in him settle… and yet, at the same time, made something else tighten in his chest.

A faint vibration broke the quiet.

Taejoon’s eyes flicked toward your phone, sitting beside your elbow. The screen lit up.

Hwi-wook.

Your ex.

His jaw clenched before he even realized it.

The phone buzzed again. And again. The light from the screen cast soft pulses across the table, reflecting against your face. You didn’t stir — too deep in sleep to notice — but he noticed. He noticed every single time the phone lit up with another message.

He leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes as another notification appeared.

Can we talk? I miss you. Please pick up, just once.

The pen in Taejoon’s hand stilled. His expression remained composed — cold, almost — but his eyes betrayed something else.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get involved again. Not after what happened last time, when his interference led to that messy breakup in the first place. But seeing that man’s name on your screen again made his stomach twist with a sharp, almost irrational irritation.

Didn’t he get the message already?

He placed the pen down with deliberate care, the soft click of it against the desk louder than it needed to be. His gaze returned to you. You shifted slightly in your chair, your head tilting to the side, lips parting just a little in your sleep.

Something softened in his chest — then hardened again as the phone buzzed once more.

That was it.

He reached forward, quietly, his hand brushing against the edge of your sleeve as he picked up your phone. The screen flickered to life again — another message, another pathetic attempt. His thumb hovered for half a second, then pressed down firmly. The screen went black. He held the power button until the phone shut off completely.

“There,” he muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair. “Peace and quiet.”

He set the phone face-down on the desk beside him, his jaw still tight. He didn’t even know why it bothered him this much — or rather, he refused to admit it.

It wasn’t jealousy, he told himself. It was principle. That man didn’t deserve another second of your attention. You’d done enough, given enough. Taejoon had seen it — how much you’d sacrificed, how much it had broken you. The idea of you going back, even entertaining the thought, felt… wrong.

Still, his thoughts wouldn’t settle.

He looked at you again — the way your hand hung slightly off the edge of the desk, the faint lines of exhaustion under your eyes, the subtle rise and fall of your shoulders. You looked fragile in that moment, too much so for his liking.

A faint sigh escaped him.

“…You shouldn’t make me worry about you,” he murmured quietly.