Yosan HQ – Friday, 6:48 PM
The office was emptying, the sky outside streaked with fading gold.
Kwon walked briskly through the underground garage, bag slung over his shoulder, earbuds in, mind locked in a singular goal:
Get home. Avoid Tae. Survive another day.
He'd managed it all week. Ignored the extra meetings. Took the stairs instead of the elevator when he saw Tae's reflection in the glass. Ate lunch at odd hours. Left early when he could, stayed late when he had to — just to avoid him.
But tonight, fate was less forgiving.
As Kwon approached the exit, the sleek black door of a limousine creaked open ahead of him.
And there he was.
Tae.
Leaning against the open door in a sharp black suit, no tie, sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, like he hadn't been obsessing all day over how this would go.
"Kwon," he called softly, as if the name alone could stop him.
It didn't.
Kwon's pace didn't falter. He walked right past, like he didn't see or hear him. His face was a mask.
"Kwon," Tae repeated, firmer now.
Still nothing.
So Tae moved.
In a flash, he caught up to him — one long stride, then another — grabbing his wrist just as Kwon reached the pedestrian gate.
Kwon yanked away. "Don't touch me."
"Then don't run," Tae said breathlessly. "Just one minute—"
"You've had years."
Kwon kept walking. Faster now. Practically jogging up the sidewalk.
But Tae didn't stop this time.
He chased.
And when Kwon spun around to shut him down again, Tae made a split decision — desperate, irrational, soaked in a longing he could no longer bury.
He grabbed Kwon again.
This time, he lifted.
Kwon's feet left the ground for a half-second as Tae swept him up, bridal style, his grip strong but not harsh.
"What the hell—?! Tae!" Kwon struggled in pure disbelief, slamming his fists weakly into his chest. "Put me down! Are you insane?!"
"Absolutely," Tae muttered, voice tight. "I've gone completely crazy, thanks to you."
He carried him back toward the limo, Kwon twisting in his arms.
"Tae, I swear to God—!"
"You don't have to talk. Just sit. Just let me see you for five minutes without you disappearing."
The driver, long used to seeing wild things in the rearview, wordlessly opened the back door.
Tae practically shoved Kwon inside — not violently, but with the kind of urgency only a man on the edge could have — and slid in after him, locking the door before Kwon could throw it open again.
The car began to move.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Kwon hissed, breathless, furious, cheeks flushed from shock and rage.
"Kidnapping you," Tae said without blinking. "Very gently."
"You've lost your damn mind."
"I've already lost you. This is me trying not to lose the chance to explain why."
Kwon sat frozen on the leather seat, fists clenched in his lap, jaw tight. His pulse was everywhere — in his ears, his neck, his chest. He felt like the world had tilted and thrown him into a moment he never asked for.
"You don't get to do this, Tae," he said, voice shaking. "You don't get to ignore me for years and then drag me into your car like I'm some unfinished chapter in your fantasy."
"I never ignored you," Tae said quietly. "I froze. I was scared."
Kwon scoffed. "Of what? Me?"
"Of wanting you too much."
The air between them snapped like static.
Kwon looked away, chest heaving.
The silence was unbearable — electric, heated, thick with memories and things unsaid.
Tae leaned forward, voice gentler now. "You don't have to forgive me. But please don't pretend this… whatever's still between us… isn't real."
Kwon looked him in the eye, fierce, vulnerable, shaking.
"It was real. And I buried it. I bled to let it go. You don't get to come back and make it harder."
Tae reached out slowly, palm up, not touching him — just waiting.
"I just want to know if you ever thought about me, too."
Kwon's voice cracked.
"I think about you every damn time I try not to."
He shoved Tae's hand away and turned to the window.
And in that breathless, painful stillness, the truth hung between them — raw, aching, and far from over.
Inside the Limo – 7:22 PM
The car moved in silence, tires whispering against the pavement, the windows painting streaks of city lights across their faces.
Kwon sat rigid, pressed against the door, as if he could disappear into it. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. He stared out the window like it was the only thing anchoring him.
Tae sat on the opposite side, not leaning forward anymore — just watching him. Quiet. Controlled.
But not calm.
The tension in his shoulders was coiled. Every second Kwon refused to look at him felt like punishment. Deserved. But unbearable.
"I didn't plan to see you again like this," Tae said finally, voice low. "But when I saw your name on that list… I couldn't ignore it. I didn't want to."
"You should've," Kwon snapped.
His voice wasn't loud. But it was sharp, carved from pain. "You should've left me alone."
Tae exhaled, chest rising and falling in frustration. "And if I did, would that have been better? Living in the same city, walking the same halls, pretending we're strangers?"
"That's exactly what we are now."
Tae's jaw tensed. "No. Don't do that. Don't pretend the past didn't mean anything."
"I'm not pretending," Kwon hissed, finally looking at him. His eyes were wet but fierce. "I lived through it. You think you're the only one who regrets? I waited. I watched you walk away. You didn't even say goodbye. I was just a stupid kid with a crush and a heart too full to carry it."
Tae leaned forward. "You were never just a crush."
Kwon laughed bitterly. "Then why didn't you say something?"
"Because I was afraid that if I touched what I felt for you, I'd ruin everything."
Kwon shook his head. "You ruined it anyway."
Silence dropped again, heavier this time.
Tae looked at him, truly looked — at the guarded pain, the walls, the fire behind his eyes that hadn't dimmed even after all these years.
"I'm not asking for us to go back," Tae said softly. "I know we can't. I just want to know you now. Even if it's only as friends. Even if it's just as someone who once meant something."
"You meant everything," Kwon said before he could stop himself. The words slipped out like a wound finally breaking open.
Tae's breath caught.
Kwon looked away quickly, biting the inside of his cheek.
"I worked so hard to forget you," he whispered. "Don't make me start over."
Tae's voice broke. "Then let me be something different this time."
Kwon turned to him — eyes raw, lips trembling, face inches away from breaking.
"You don't get to decide that."
"No," Tae agreed quietly. "But maybe you do."
They stared at each other for a long second. A beat suspended in everything they didn't say in high school. Everything they buried. Everything still pulsing under their skin.
The limo slowed to a stop. The driver didn't say a word.
Kwon stood up and reached for the door.
"Kwon—"
"Thank you for the ride," he said, voice even but eyes shining. "But don't do this again."
Tae didn't answer. He just watched as Kwon stepped out of the car and walked away — this time slower, shoulders tense, like part of him wanted to look back.
But he didn't.
He kept walking until he disappeared into the night.
And Tae sat alone in the limo, his hand still resting on the seat where Kwon had been, the ghost of his warmth lingering like a punishment.