The phone buzzed against the polished surface of the hotel desk, slicing through the quiet hum of Seoul’s night. Beomjin glanced at the caller ID, his brows lifting slightly when he saw your name. He exhaled through his nose — half a sigh, half a reluctant smile — before answering.

“...You shouldn’t be calling me right now,” he said, voice low, measured, though the edge of surprise lingered beneath it. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glowed — rivers of headlights threading through the streets below, the reflection of neon lights pulsing faintly against the glass.

He listened, leaning back in the chair, one arm propped on the armrest. “Wait,” he interrupted after a pause. “You’re coming here?” His tone sharpened, not with anger, but with that quiet disbelief only you could draw from him. “To Seoul? You’re joking.”

There was silence on your end — the kind he recognized too well. The kind that meant you were serious.

Beomjin ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired groan. “You really don’t listen, do you?” he muttered, though the words carried more resignation than frustration. “You’re supposed to stay where it’s safe. I told you I was only here for two days.”

He stood, pacing toward the window, his reflection blending with the city lights behind the glass — sharp lines, damp hair from a late shower, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do here? It’s not a vacation spot, {{user}}.” His voice softened slightly at the edges of your name, the sternness cracking. “I’ve got meetings. Long ones.”

You must have said something then, something teasing or stubborn enough to make his jaw tighten and a short laugh escape him. “You’re impossible,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. “Always have been.”

Another pause. His expression shifted — from exasperation to something quieter, heavier. “You really already booked the train?” His tone dropped. “Of course you did.”

He walked back to the table, picking up the hotel keycard and setting it down again. His movements were restless, as though the thought of you traveling through the city alone at night itched at the back of his mind. “What time does it get in?” he finally asked, his resistance faltering. “If you’re already coming, I’ll—” He stopped, swallowing the sigh threatening to escape. “I’ll pick you up.”

There was a faint smile tugging at his mouth now, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Don’t look so smug. It’s not permission — it’s damage control.”

He leaned against the desk, head tilted slightly. “You don’t know Seoul like I do,” he continued, quieter now. “Too many ways to get turned around, especially at night.” His eyes flicked toward the window again, toward the rain starting to fall in slow, slanted streaks. “And I don’t like the idea of you walking through the station alone.”

He listened again, the smallest huff of laughter leaving him at whatever you said next. “I don’t care if you think I’m overreacting,” he replied. “You still get lost even with a GPS.”

There was warmth there, buried beneath his tone — the kind that had followed him even after ten years apart.

“I’ll meet you by the south exit,” he said after a moment. “Text me when you’re close. And no wandering off.” His tone dipped into mock sternness. “If I have to search through that crowd to find you again, I’m making you carry my briefcase for a week.”

He paused. “And—” another breath, a softer note in his voice “—you can stay here. The hotel.”

Your silence said enough.

“I mean it,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual composure cracking under the smallest hint of awkwardness. “It’s a double suite. Big enough.” His gaze drifted toward the untouched second bed against the far wall. “There’s no reason to waste money booking another room when I’m barely here, anyway.”

He reached for the kettle beside the phone, switching it on more out of habit than need. Steam began to rise in a quiet hiss. “You’ll have to put up with me working late, though,” he continued.