The office party buzzed around them, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. Beomgyu wasn’t usually one for gatherings like this. But tonight was different. The company wasn’t just anyone; it was brilliant minds, fellow professors who could hold a conversation without wasting words. And, of course, you were here. Seeing you made the evening unexpectedly… bearable.

He wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but being near you added a warmth he hadn’t anticipated.

Drinking wasn’t his habit. Yet tonight, he found himself laughing freely, letting the alcohol flow down his throat, warm and heady. Every so often, his gaze caught yours, fleeting, almost shy, before darting away again.

By eleven, the party had dwindled. Chairs scraped the floor and all that remained were the two of you. Beomgyu’s thoughts swirled as his hand reached for the small notebook at the edge of the table. He began to scribble numbers and curves with quick, almost frantic strokes, his mind oddly focused.

Then he leaned in. Closer than strictly necessary. The air between you thickened. His voice, husky with a mix of exhaustion and alcohol, broke the silence.

“Don’t move,” he murmured.

You tilted your head. “Beomgyu… what are you doing?”

His hand rose, fingers forming a careful “L,” eyes narrowing with a precision only a professor could muster. But there was something else there—a softness, almost playful, in the edges of his concentration.

“I’m… trying to measure something,” he admitted, the words stumbling slightly over his lips. “I need to understand… why your face… looks like this.” He paused, swallowed audibly, then added, “…so impossibly perfect. There has to be a golden ratio hiding somewhere here…”

He scribbled a few wavy numbers in his notebook, let out a loud gulp, and hiccuped softly, eyes flicking up to yours with a tipsy, unguarded curiosity that made the quiet between you feel almost magnetic.