Author's Notes:

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who decided to give this story a chance.

As someone who usually hesitates with OC fics, I truly don't take your support for granted. I understand it's not always easy to see your favorite characters through someone else's lens - be it an author or their original character.

Thank you for trusting me to deliver a compelling story despite that. I promise that my love for Heero is the guiding force behind every twist and turn in this plot.

Sincerely,
Elle

Internship (in) Love

A Gundam Wing K-Drama

Chapter 2

Days turned into a blur as Soo Jin gradually settled into her role at the Cyber Threat Analysis Department. Each morning, she found herself more confident in her tasks, the initial nerves easing into a routine that felt almost second nature. The stack of incomplete reports on her desk dwindled as she learned to navigate the quirks and habits of the agents she assisted. Though the work was demanding, Soo Jin took pride in the small victories—each successfully completed task a step toward proving her worth in this male-dominated environment.

Agent Yuy's desk, however, remained a constant enigma—empty, immaculate, and untouched. Soo Jin couldn't help but glance at it every so often, her curiosity about the mysterious agent growing with each passing day. Still, she focused on getting to know the other agents, making it her mission to understand their needs and preferences.

Agent Kang, with his gruff demeanor and injured arm, preferred his coffee black—strong and bitter, just like his outlook on life. Agent Lee, ever the vulgar joker, always opted for a double shot of espresso, the bitterness suiting his coarse humor. Agent Kim, harried and always in a rush, needed his coffee with two sugars and a dash of cream, something quick and easy to keep him going through his hectic day. Agent Baek, who was no stranger to scowling at her, surprisingly favored a cappuccino, though he'd never admit to enjoying the frothy milk.

Soo Jin made sure to write down each preference meticulously, making mental notes whenever she had a chance to observe them in the kitchenette. Her list was almost complete—all except for Agent Yuy's, of course. She sighed whenever her gaze drifted to his untouched desk, wondering what kind of coffee, if any, the elusive agent might prefer.

Once she felt confident in her notes, Soo Jin decided it was time to put her plan into action. On the morning of a scheduled department briefing, she left her apartment early, stopping by a café near the office. The barista's hands moved swiftly, filling her order with precision as Soo Jin read off each agent's coffee preference. With the take-away cups balanced carefully in a cardboard holder, she made her way to the office, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the elevator as she ascended to the seventh floor.

As she entered the meeting room, the agents were beginning to gather, chatting quietly among themselves. Soo Jin moved quickly, setting each cup next to the corresponding seat. Agent Kang's black coffee, Agent Lee's double shot of espresso, Agent Kim's coffee with two sugars and cream, and Agent Baek's cappuccino, and so on. By the time the agents took their seats, they found their favorite coffees waiting for them.

Agent Lee was the first to react, raising an eyebrow in surprise as he picked up his cup. "What's this?" he asked, looking at Soo Jin with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"A little something to start your day," Soo Jin replied with a polite smile, her hands clasped in front of her.

Agent Kang took a cautious sip of his black coffee and nodded approvingly. "Not bad," he muttered, though there was a hint of appreciation in his tone. Even Agent Baek, though he said nothing, seemed less scowly than usual as he took a sip of his cappuccino.

Their boss, Director Jeong, looked over the room, his eyes landing on Soo Jin with a nod of approval. "Nice initiative, Miss Park. This is a good way to start the day."

Soo Jin's heart swelled with pride. Finally, she was doing something right. She took her seat at the far end of the table, her laptop open and ready to take the minutes. As the briefing began, she typed quickly, her fingers flying over the keys as she captured the discussion points and action items.

Preventer couldn't rely on AI to transcribe meetings due to the sensitive information discussed, so they did it the old-fashioned way—by hand. Soo Jin's attention was focused, her mind fully engaged in the task at hand, until Director Jeong sighed and mentioned something that made her pause.

"I would've liked to assign Yuy to this project, but we can't rely on him. He's been pulled upstairs too often lately."

Soo Jin's fingers hovered over the keys, her curiosity piqued. She'd heard the rumours about Agent Yuy—some casting him as a modern-day James Bond, others going even further, describing him as a ghost agent who slipped in and out of missions without a trace—but this was the first time she'd heard anyone speak so openly about his absences. Unable to suppress her curiosity, she hesitated for a moment before daring to interrupt the briefing, her voice soft and uncertain.

"Excuse me, Director Jeong," she began, her voice soft but steady. "Where is Agent Yuy? I haven't seen him once since I arrived."

The room fell silent for a moment before the agents began to scoff and mutter among themselves. "He's only here on paper," someone grumbled under their breath. "Here for show," another added, their tone dripping with disdain.

Director Jeong raised a hand to quiet the room, his expression thoughtful. "Agent Yuy was transferred on temporary assignment from HQ," he explained, his voice carrying a tone of respect mixed with frustration. "Due to his special set of skills, he's often called upstairs to aid in more high-priority and high-stakes assignments. We don't see him much because of that."

Soo Jin nodded slowly, processing this new information. So, Agent Yuy wasn't just a ghost—he was someone of significant importance, someone with skills that the higher-ups relied on. She was impressed, though she kept her expression neutral, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself.

"Thank you, Director Jeong," she replied quietly, before returning her focus to her laptop, typing down the action items and project assignments.

But even as the meeting continued, her thoughts drifted back to the mysterious agent. Who was Heero Yuy, really? What kind of skills did he possess that made him so indispensable? And when, if ever, would she finally get to meet him?

The unanswered questions lingered in her mind, intertwining with her growing curiosity about the man who seemed to be a legend in his own right.

Soo Jin's family home was a blend of tradition and quiet dignity. Nestled in the suburbs of Seoul, the old hanok-style home stood as a testament to a different era, with its wooden beams, sliding glass doors, and a small courtyard garden that could be seen through the open windows. The walls were adorned with simple, tasteful artwork—ink brush paintings of cranes and mountains—adding a serene touch to the space.

The dining room had changed over the years. Once, they had all sat on the floor around a low, traditional wooden table, sharing meals in a warm, familial atmosphere. Soo Jin could still remember those evenings when Jin Ho was home, his laughter filling the room as they ate together in that close, intimate setting. But now, they sat around a more modern dining table, the kind with straight-backed chairs that seemed to amplify the distance between them. The shift had happened gradually, a subtle response to the changing dynamics in the family after Jin Ho's departure.

Tonight, as they ate in silence, the room felt stiffer, colder. The traditional floor cushions were still stacked neatly in the corner, unused for years. The table was set meticulously, each place setting perfectly aligned, the colorful side dishes arranged in matching bowls set neatly in a row. But the warmth that had once characterized their family meals was conspicuously absent.

The clinking of utensils against porcelain plates echoed softly in the modest dining room. The evening was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of leaves from the open window. Soo Jin sat across from her parents, her movements careful and deliberate as she picked at her dinner. The silence between them was heavy, almost tangible, as if the air itself held the weight of unsaid words.

Soo Jin's father broke the silence first, his voice hesitant as he gestured toward the kitchen, where a pot sat on the stove. "The seaweed soup… it's starting to smell," he murmured cautiously, casting a nervous glance at Soo Jin's mother.

Soo Jin's heart tightened at his words. She quickly glanced at her father, her eyes warning him to tread carefully. She shook her head slightly, signaling him not to push the issue. Across the table, her mother's expression hardened, her chopsticks pausing for a moment before she resumed eating, her eyes fixed on her bowl.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Soo Jin's father sighed deeply, the sound filled with a quiet resignation. Under the table, Soo Jin reached out and gently touched his arm, offering him a silent comfort that went unspoken but was deeply felt. Their eyes met briefly, and in that moment, Soo Jin understood the weight of his burden. He was trying, in his way, to hold the family together, but the cracks were too deep, and they both knew it.

They resumed eating, the clatter of chopsticks against porcelain the only sound in the room. The meal felt more like a ritual than a time to enjoy each other's company. As the silence stretched on, Soo Jin's gaze wandered to the closed door leading to Jin Ho's room. Beyond that door lay a time capsule, untouched by grief yet steeped in it—a room her mother maintained with meticulous care, as though Jin Ho might walk through the door at any moment. The bed sheets were always fresh, the dust never allowed to settle, a shrine to a past that could never be reclaimed.

Soo Jin's eyes then moved to the family shrine in the corner of the room. There, a portrait of Jin Ho in his OZ officer uniform stood proudly, his bright smile captured in the image. The shrine was simple but reverent, with small bowls of food offerings, a dish of fresh fruit, and a vase of white chrysanthemums placed before the photograph. A stick of incense burned slowly in an ornate holder, the thin wisp of smoke rising gently into the air, carrying with it the faint scent of sandalwood. Soo Jin smiled sadly at her brother's portrait, her eyes welling with unshed tears.

With a sigh, she forced her gaze back to her plate, stifling her tears with a bite of food. The weight of grief pressed heavily on her chest, but she blinked away the tears, determined not to let them fall. The meal, like so many before it, was something to be endured—a small, daily act of survival in the face of overwhelming loss.

After a few more bites, her father cleared his throat, trying once more to bridge the gap between them. "How's work, Soo Jin?" he asked, his voice careful, as though he feared even this innocuous question might upset the delicate balance in the room.

Soo Jin forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "It's fine, Dad. I'm getting used to it." The words felt hollow, a mere formality meant to ease his worry. She could see the concern etched into the lines of his face, but he nodded in response, choosing not to press further.

Soo Jin's mother, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke, her voice sharp with barely concealed resentment. "You never should have enlisted," she muttered, not looking up from her bowl. "Not after what happened to Jin Ho."

The mention of her brother's name was like a physical blow, and Soo Jin flinched inwardly, though she kept her expression neutral. Her father, however, wasn't as composed. He shot her mother a firm look, his tone gentle but resolute as he intervened. "That's enough," he said, leaving no room for argument. He quickly changed the subject, asking something trivial about the weather, but the tension lingered, thick and oppressive.

Soo Jin pushed the food around on her plate, her appetite gone. The rest of dinner passed in awkward silence, the only sound the clinking of utensils. Finally, Soo Jin couldn't bear it any longer. She excused herself from the table, carefully gathering her dishes before retreating to the kitchen.

Soo Jin stepped into her room, a calm, organized sanctuary. Soft lavender walls and a simple cream duvet with lavender accents created a serene atmosphere. At the foot of the bed, a quilt her mother had made added a touch of family warmth. A clutter-free desk by the window held a framed photo of her and Jin Ho as children, smiling brightly at the camera. Nearby, her tidy makeup station, adorned with fairy lights, added a soft glow, while a small bookshelf with neatly arranged books and potted plants brought the space to life.

Soo Jin flopped onto the bed, the softness of the mattress embracing her tired body. She stared up at the ceiling, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Despite the calm surroundings, she couldn't shake the unease that had settled in her chest. The day had been exhausting, and the pressure of fitting in at work weighed heavily on her. But it was more than just the challenges at work that troubled her—there was something about Heero Yuy's empty desk that gnawed at her, something that felt hauntingly familiar.

Her eyes drifted to the photo of Jin Ho on her desk, and she felt a pang of grief. Jin Ho's absence had left a void in her life, one that she had tried to fill with her work at Preventer. But now, that same sense of loss seemed to echo in Heero's empty desk, a reminder of the sacrifices that often went unnoticed, the lives that were touched by the shadows of war.

Soo Jin's phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. She reached for it, seeing her friend's Mi Cha's name on the screen. She smiled faintly and answered the call.

"Jin-ah!" Mi Cha's voice was bright and bubbly, instantly lifting Soo Jin's spirits. "How did the coffee plan go?"

Soo Jin couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm in her friend's voice. "It went well, actually. They seemed pleasantly surprised. Thanks again for the idea."

"I knew it would work!" Mi Cha replied, her tone triumphant. "You're winning them over, one cup at a time!"

Soo Jin laughed softly, the sound tinged with a mix of relief and lingering doubt. "Maybe… It's a start, at least. I'm still figuring out my next move."

Mi Cha's voice softened, sensing her friend's hesitation. "You'll get there, Jin-ah. Just keep being yourself, and they'll see how amazing you are. Don't stress too much, okay?"

Soo Jin sighed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thanks, Mi Cha. I just… I want to get this right, you know? I need to make it work, or I'll never be able to look my mother in the eye again.

"You will," Mi Cha reassured her. "But you also need to take care of yourself. You've been preparing for this position for years. All you do is study and work hard. How about we go out for drinks? You deserve a break."

Soo Jin's smile faltered as the exhaustion of the day settled back in. "I'd love to, but I'm really tired. And I have to be up early tomorrow. Maybe another time?"

Mi Cha huffed playfully. "You're such a workaholic! Don't let them work you into the ground. But okay, another time. Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too."

"I won't," Soo Jin promised. "And I'll think of a way to keep winning them over. The coffee was just the first step."

Mi Cha laughed. "You've got this, Jin-ah. Fighting!"

Soo Jin chuckled, feeling a bit lighter. "Thanks, Mi Cha. I'll talk to you later."

As she hung up the phone, the brief warmth from Mi Cha's words lingered, but the emptiness soon returned. Her thoughts wandered back to Heero's empty desk, and the connection she had drawn to Jin Ho's absence. The similarity was unsettling—two figures who were present only in traces, whose impact was felt but whose presence was elusive.

She hugged her pillow tightly, a wave of determination washing over her. She didn't want to end up in a situation where the only agent who hadn't snapped at her was some mystery guy named Heero Yuy, and that was only because he was never there. She knew she was building him up in her mind into something that was probably false, but she couldn't help but hang her hopes on that empty desk. It was almost like waiting for Jin Ho to come home. She knew it wasn't possible, yet somehow, it felt like if Heero returned to that desk, it would be like he was taking Jin Ho's place in a way. She couldn't fully understand the amorphous feeling herself, but that desk… it kept nagging at her, just like Jin Ho's empty and untouched room.

With that thought, she hugged her pillow tightly and closed her eyes, letting the day's exhaustion finally pull her into sleep, where dreams of Heero's empty desk and the mysteries surrounding him awaited her.

Later that evening, the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards settling. Soo Jin tiptoed out of her room, careful not to disturb her parents. She moved toward the kitchen, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows on the walls.

The smell of the seaweed soup hit her before she even reached the stove. The once-fresh aroma had turned sour, a pungent reminder of how long the pot had been sitting there, untouched. Soo Jin hesitated for a moment, her heart heavy with the weight of the familiar routine. She lifted the lid and winced at the smell that wafted up. The soup had long gone bad.

With a quiet sigh, she dumped the contents into the sink, the dark, murky liquid swirling down the drain. She rinsed the pot thoroughly, the sound of running water soothing in the stillness of the night. When she was done, she wiped her hands on a towel and turned off the light, leaving the kitchen in darkness once more.

On her way back to her room, Soo Jin paused by the living room, where her mother lay asleep on the couch, a blanket half-draped over her. Soo Jin's heart tightened at the sight—her mother seemed so small, so frail. Gray streaked through her disheveled hair, the signs of aging accelerating painfully in the years since Jin Ho's death. Gently, Soo Jin pulled the blanket up to her mother's chin, tucking her in securely.

She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her mother's forehead, her lips lingering for a moment longer.

Soo Jin straightened up and quietly made her way back to her room. The house was silent once again, save for the faint rustling of leaves outside the window. She climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

With a deep, weary sigh, Soo Jin hugged her pillow close, her eyes finally fluttering shut. The emptiness of the desk, of Jin Ho's room, of her heart—they all merged into one in the quiet of the night. As she drifted into sleep, her mind clung to that last fragile hope, a whispered prayer that tomorrow might bring something—someone—to fill the void.

Late that next afternoon, Soo Jin glanced at the clock, her eyes widening in alarm. She had just a few minutes to get the stack of folders to the mail room before the courier arrived for the afternoon pickup. The elevator was taking its sweet time to reach her floor, and with each passing second, she felt the pressure mounting. Determined not to miss the deadline, she decided to take the stairs instead.

Clutching the stack of folders tightly against her chest, Soo Jin rushed toward the stairwell. The metal door clanged shut behind her as she began her descent, her mind focused on making it to the mail room on time. Her shoes clicked rapidly against the concrete steps, the sound echoing in the narrow space.

Halfway down, in her haste, she missed a step.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Her foot slipped, and in that suspended moment, Soo Jin felt the world tilt. The stack of folders slipped from her grasp, the papers within fluttering into the air like oversized snowflakes. They swirled in the narrow stairwell, caught in an invisible breeze, before slowly cascading to the floor. Her heart pounded in her chest, the panic rising as she braced for impact, her arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch herself.

But before she could hit the cold, hard steps, a strong arm shot out of nowhere, wrapping securely around her waist. The force of her fall sent her spinning into the embrace, her body crashing into the sturdy frame of someone she hadn't even seen coming.

In that split second, everything else faded away. The sensation of a solid, warm presence holding her steady, the comforting strength of the grip around her—it all felt surreal, as if she had fallen into a scene from one of those overly dramatic TV shows. Her hair, freed from the tight bun it had been in, swung out in slow motion, the strands brushing against her face before settling back into place.

Soo Jin's eyes widened in shock as she slowly lifted her gaze.

He was right there, holding her as if they were locked in some kind of choreographed dance. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, but the intensity of his gaze was anything but. Thick, dark lashes framed his deep brown eyes, both upper and lower, giving them a striking depth that almost mimicked the effect of eyeliner, amplifying their fierce intensity.

His arm, strong and unwavering, remained securely around her waist, preventing her from crashing to the floor. Messy black bangs framed his face, and as he looked down at her, they shifted slightly, revealing more of those intense eyes that seemed to pierce right through her.

She was trapped in that moment, unable to look away. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him, her heart racing, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The harsh fluorescent lights of the stairwell softened around them, casting a gentle glow that made the moment feel even more surreal. The papers that had scattered earlier finally settled on the steps around them, forgotten in the intensity of the moment.

The agent—judging by his worn out duty jacket—looked at her with a gaze that seemed to carry a weight far beyond what she could comprehend. His grip on her waist was firm, yet gentle, as if he was used to catching people in freefall.

Soo Jin's breath hitched. She could hardly believe this was happening. This man—this savior who had appeared out of nowhere—was holding her as if she were the most delicate thing in the world.

A moment passed, stretched out in the slow-motion haze of her shock, and then, with the same deliberate grace, the agent slowly straightened. He pulled her up, steadying her on her feet. The warmth of his touch lingered even after he let go, leaving her standing there, breathless and dazed.

"Are you all right?" His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried a depth that made her heart stutter.

Soo Jin blinked, her mind still spinning. "Y-yes… I'm fine… Thank you…" she managed to stammer, her voice trembling with the adrenaline coursing through her.

He nodded once, his expression unreadable, before he crouched down to gather the scattered folders. For a moment, Soo Jin could only watch, her body still humming with the residual energy of their sudden encounter. He moved with a precision that matched the control he had displayed in catching her, swiftly and efficiently stacking the papers back into order, tapping the folders on the floor to arrange them neatly.

As she snapped out of her stupor, Soo Jin quickly bent down to help him, her fingers brushing against his as she grabbed the last of the papers. The brief contact sent a spark through her, the touch of his hand against hers grounding her in a way that made the world feel just a little more real again. But she noticed it—how he recoiled slightly at the touch, his fingers tensing before he quickly handed over the papers and stood up, almost as if the contact had been too much.

"S-sorry… I didn't mean to…" she mumbled, her face flushing with heat as she fumbled with the folders, her hands shaking slightly.

"It's fine," he replied, his tone calm and steady, but there was a hint of something else—a restraint, perhaps, as if he was carefully controlling his reactions. He handed her the remaining papers, then stood up, waiting for her to do the same.

Soo Jin got to her feet, clutching the stack of folders to her chest, her heart still racing. She forced herself to meet his gaze again, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. There was something in his expression—something unreadable, yet strangely compelling. It was as if he knew something she didn't, as if he had seen a part of her that she herself wasn't aware of.

"Thank you… again," Soo Jin said, her voice a little steadier this time. She tried to offer him a smile, but it felt weak and shaky, a mere shadow of what she intended.

He didn't smile back, but he gave her a slight nod. "Be careful next time," he said, his tone neutral, lacking any obvious critique or concern. Yet, Soo Jin sensed the faintest trace of something softer beneath the surface—or perhaps it was just her imagination.

With that, he turned and continued up the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell as he disappeared around the corner, leaving Soo Jin standing there, her mind a whirl of confusion and curiosity.

As she finally shook herself out of her stupor and continued down the stairs, Soo Jin couldn't help but replay the moment in her mind—the feel of his arms around her, the intensity of his gaze, the quiet strength in his voice. Her cheeks burned, and her breath came in short, rapid bursts, her heart still racing as if she had just been swept away by Prince Charming himself.

Who was he?

She had no idea, but the thought of him lingered in her mind, making her wonder about the mysterious agent she had just encountered. As she hurried toward the mail room, she couldn't help but hope that this wasn't the last time she would run into him.