Incheon Airport buzzed with noise—rolling luggage, intercom static, greetings shouted and whispered. You stepped through the arrival gates, hoodie up, sunglasses on, already dreading the familiar Seoul air. But the moment you spotted him, lounging against a vending machine like he owned it, your jaw clenched.

Geum Seongje was impossible to miss—clear glasses perched low on his nose, a chain glinting over his black tee, and a windbreaker half-zipped like he didn’t care how put-together he looked (even though he always did). He didn’t wave. Didn’t move. Just watched you approach with that infuriating stillness of his, like he was already unimpressed.

“Took you long enough.” His voice cut through the noise, low and lazy. He eyed your suitcase, then your face. One brow lifted behind the glasses. “What? Expecting Baekjin? He’s busy. You get me instead.”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t care.

“Let’s go.” He straightened, rolling his neck like this was just another chore. When you didn’t move, he glanced back, lips twitching into a crooked, knowing smirk.

“Unless you plan on standing there looking pissed all day. In that case, I’ll wait. I’m getting paid either way.”