She was asking Jay to pick up her dry cleaning again.

Sunghoon heard it through the half-open door as he walked past her office—same sing-song voice, same cheerful laugh, like she hadn’t already forgotten she asked him to do the exact same thing last week. Except last week, it was him who’d jogged three blocks in the rain because the place was closing.

This time, Jay got the honor.

Sunghoon didn’t stop walking. He dropped the signed contracts off at legal, grabbed a bottle of water from the break room fridge, and leaned back against the counter for a second, staring at the buzzing fluorescent light overhead.

He wasn’t angry.

Not really.

He was… annoyed. A little resigned. Maybe tired.

Jay had only been around for three years. He still smiled like everything was easy. Still said things like “I got it” without realizing what it meant to always be the one who’s “got it.”

Sunghoon twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long drink. Cold water, warm resentment. Great combo.

He didn’t blame her. That’s the worst part—he never really could. She was like that. Messy, forgetful, sweet in the most infuriating way. People wanted to help her. He’d wanted to help her, once. Then again. And again. And somewhere along the way, it just became part of his job—even the parts that weren’t in his contract.

That’s when he realized he needed to say it. Not because he was serious. But because he needed to know how it would feel to say it out loud.

“I’m thinking of quitting.”

The words came out that afternoon. She’d just handed him her tablet without looking, asking him to update a presentation she hadn’t even opened. He said it casually. Like he was asking for a half-day off.

He shut the laptop a little too hard.

“I’m not trying to guilt you,” he said, finally looking at her. “You’ve got Jay now. You’ll be fine.”

And there it was—that flicker. Not on her face, but in his chest. That stupid little ache.

He looked away before it grew.