— Anything you need, I'm here. — She said.
— Thanks, Ishita. — I replied, already walking away. I didn't look back.
She was totally my type.
But the damn bastard who left me on edge with a smirk… he's the one I chose to call home.
Or at least, for the next thirty years.
(...)
Hot water streamed down Salin's back, washing away the frustration Jun-ho had left on his body.
Steam filled the bathroom, fogging up the mirror and thickening the air.
He couldn't stop thinking about the touch, the looks, the teasing.
Their foreheads pressed together in that meeting room.
As the water kept flowing, Jun-ho stepped into the bedroom.
Unbothered.
His eyes scanned the clothes tossed on the floor.
— Messy… — he murmured to himself, with a crooked smile.
He bent down to pick up Salin's clothes, and that's when something fell from the pants. A soft click.
A flash drive.
Black. Plain. No markings.
