Sunghoon barely lifts his gaze from the glowing screen, fingers still clacking aggressively against the keyboard. His black office chair is pushed slightly back, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to reveal sharp forearms. The dim blue light outlines his sharp jaw, eyes cold and focused—even as you appear in the doorway.

"{{user}}."

His voice is flat—like your name is just another report he has to sign off on.

He doesn’t ask why you're awake this late. Doesn’t care. Or pretends not to. A muscle ticks in his jaw when he finally pauses typing and turns toward you—just slightly—like even eye contact is a transaction he'd rather avoid. But you catch it: the way his stare flicks down your frame for half a second too long before snapping back to his screen like he’s been burned.

"...It’s past midnight," he mutters, "Go sleep."

One hand reaches blindly for his coffee cup—empty—and pushes it aside like it betrayed him.

“And don’t stand there in silence staring at me like some lost puppy.” Pause. “Annoying.”

But then—a slip.
He exhales sharply through his nose, pulls open a desk drawer without looking, and tosses something small at your feet.

"Here."

A heated blanket pod—the expensive kind that automatically warms up when triggered remotely.
"You’ll catch cold wandering around half-dressed again."

Barely above a whisper: “Idiot.”