Internship (in) Love | A Gundam Wing K-Drama

Chapter 10


The soft patter of morning rain drummed against the windows as Soo Jin fastened the buttons of her Preventer blazer. Outside, the world was still dark, the rain-muted city cloaked in shadow, but her bedroom felt like a cocoon of warmth and color. The soft glow of her bedside lamp illuminated the pale lavender walls and the floral comforter draped neatly across her bed.

Her reflection stared back from the small mirror atop her makeup table. The surface was cluttered with everyday essentials—cosmetics, a hairbrush, and a framed photo.

In the picture, Jin Ho stood tall in his pristine OZ cadet uniform, his arm wrapped around a younger Soo Jin in her junior high uniform. They were grinning at the camera, the towering recruitment bureau behind them a stark reminder of the choices that had shaped both their lives.

Soo Jin smoothed her hair into place, leaning closer to check her reflection. Her eyeliner was sharp, her lips tinted just enough to look polished but not overdone. Satisfied, Soo Jin grabbed her Preventer badge from the dresser and clipped it to her lapel.

The scent of incense greeted her as she stepped into the hallway. The house was cozy, cluttered with memories—knick knacks from family vacations and framed photos on every surface. In the living room, Jin Ho's shrine stood quietly in the corner. Fresh chrysanthemums sat beside a bowl of rice and other offerings, while a thin curl of smoke from a burning incense stick rose toward the ceiling, weaving through the stillness.

In the kitchen, her father sat at the table with his newspaper, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. Her mother stood at the stove, stirring a pot of seaweed soup. The scent filled the house, familiar and bittersweet.

Soo Jin paused in the doorway, her smile gentle. "It smells great, Mom."

Her mother didn't respond, her eyes fixed on the swirling broth, her hand moving the wooden spoon in a slow, mechanical rhythm. The silence stretched.

"It smells the same as it always does," her father muttered from behind the newspaper, his tone weary but not unkind.

Soo Jin ignored the jab, stepping into the kitchen. She reached for a small plate on the table, grabbing a rice ball wrapped in seaweed. "I'll eat this on the way," she said brightly, trying to cut through the heavy quiet.

"You're not even having coffee?" her father asked, folding the paper down just enough to peer at her.

"I'll have some at the office," Soo Jin replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Preferably with Heero , she thought to herself, her lips twitching into a private smile.

She leaned down to kiss her father on the cheek. "Have a good day, Dad."

Her mother didn't turn from the stove, her focus still on the soup. Soo Jin hesitated for a brief moment, then called over her shoulder, "Have a good day, Mom," as she headed for the door, popping the rice ball into her mouth.

Her father watched the door close with a frown, and resumed reading in silence. At the stove, Soo Jin's mother continued stirring, her expressionless, rhythmic motion unchanging.


The rain fell in a steady drizzle, the kind that clung to clothes and chilled the air. On the lower deck of Banpo Bridge, the sheltered pedestrian path was alive with the soft cadence of sneakers on concrete. Joggers passed in pairs or alone, their breaths visible in the cold, each lost in their own rhythm.

Heero moved steadily among them, his black tracksuit blending into the muted palette of the city. A pair of sunglasses shielded his eyes despite the dim morning light, the brim of his black baseball cap keeping the rain off his face.

The Jamsugyo Bridge stretched low over the Han River, its concrete supports cutting into the water. Heero's footsteps echoed faintly against the path, mingling with the rhythmic patter of rain. The view was industrial and gray, flanked by the river's slow ripples on one side and glimpses of hazy buildings on the far bank. Overhead, the hum of cars rumbled from the upper deck, a distant murmur against the collective sounds of runners.

Heero kept his gaze fixed forward, his steps splashing through shallow puddles. He liked this path for its simplicity—no turns, no distractions.

As he neared the end of the bridge, he slowed his pace slightly, adjusting his breathing. His breaths rose in soft clouds, mingling with the cool drizzle. The crosswalk ahead marked the transition to the riverside park. He paused, jogging lightly in place as he waited for the light to change, the faint glow of traffic lights casting reflections on the wet pavement.

A giggle broke the stillness behind him. Heero's shoulders tensed, his ears picking up the low whispers of two schoolgirls under a shared umbrella.

"Look at that guy," one murmured. "That kinda body… He must be an idol or something."

"He's even hiding his face," the other whispered. "Definitely famous."

"Should we ask for a picture?"

Heero's jaw tightened. He stared resolutely at the red pedestrian signal, forcing himself to stay still even as heat prickled the back of his neck. The girls' hushed chatter grew with excitement.

He pulled his hat down further.

The light turned green.

Heero bolted forward. He focused on his stride, the stretch and rhythm of his muscles, the weight of each breath as he pushed himself forward. His feet splashed through puddles as he crossed to the other side, the sound of whispers fading into the rain.


The office was still dark when Soo Jin unlocked the glass door, the echo of her footsteps breaking the quiet. The rain outside had stopped, but the cold, damp air lingered as she stepped inside. She flipped the light switch, and the overhead fluorescents buzzed softly to life, illuminating the rows of desks and monitors in the Cyber Analysis Department.

Soo Jin moved through the familiar routine. She turned on the AC heating, listening to its faint hum as warm air began to circulate.

The coffee machine beeped as she powered it on, its digital screen blinking a cheerful welcome. The smell of stale coffee grounds lingered in the kitchenette, a comforting remnant of last week.

The quiet allowed her mind to wander as she moved toward her desk. Her gaze lingered on the empty seat across from it—Heero's desk, immaculate and impersonal, just as it had been when she'd left on Friday. She hadn't seen him all weekend. Not that she expected to. But still, the thought of seeing him today left her feeling… nervous.

She had spent her weekend surrounded by warmth—her family's chatter over a prime time game show, her friends' laughter, the cozy rhythm of a rainy weekend indoors. But what had Heero done? Had he eaten? Taken the time to rest? Did he have anyone to talk to, or had he spent the past two days in silence, alone in his apartment?

The image gnawed at her uneasily, lingering in her mind as she powered up her workstation. She shook her head, brushing the thought aside. Heero was resilient, she reminded herself. He didn't need anyone fussing over him.

The sound of the outer door opening startled her from her thoughts. Director Jeong stepped inside, rain droplets clinging to the hem of his trench coat. He hung it and his fedora on the rack by the door, his movements brisk.

"Good morning, Miss Park," he said, his voice clipped as usual.

"Good morning, Director," Soo Jin replied politely, standing briefly before settling back into her chair.

Jeong nodded and disappeared into his office, the door closing with a soft click. Soo Jin exhaled, glancing at the clock. 8:02 AM. It wasn't like Heero to be late. The thought sent a small knot of worry tightening in her chest.

Agent Kim arrived next, his footsteps heavy as he muttered something about the weather. He greeted Soo Jin with a distracted wave before settling at his desk. Baek followed shortly after, grimacing as he adjusted his tie. The office was slowly filling, but one absence was impossible to ignore.

At 8:07, the muffled thud of the stairwell door closing echoed faintly down the hallway, just loud enough for Soo Jin to catch over the low hum of the office. Her fingers froze mid-typing, her gaze darting instinctively toward the doorway.

A moment later, Heero stepped into the office. His Preventer jacket was damp at the shoulders, tiny beads of rain clinging to the fabric. He moved with his usual precision, each step measured as though the rain outside hadn't touched his composure. A faint trail of fresh, clean soap lingered in the air as he passed.

His hair was still damp, dark strands clinging lightly to his forehead beneath the sharp parting he'd smoothed back. Soo Jin's gaze flickered to his face—clean-shaven, his features as calm and impassive as always. Yet there was a subtle tightness in his jaw, a faint tension around his eyes that made her wonder if he'd slept at all.

Pausing just a few steps from Soo Jin's desk, Heero scanned the room with a single, sweeping glance. His brown-colored eyes took in the orderly space, the empty desks, the faint hum of activity from further down the office space. Then, for the briefest moment, his gaze landed on her.

Soo Jin's breath caught. She forced herself to close her mouth, ensuring she wasn't gaping at him like an idiot. But it was hard not to feel the weight of his consuming presence. Standing tall and sturdy in his pristine uniform, Heero seemed to fill the room—or maybe just her mind.

"Morning," he said with a small nod, his voice low but clear, as though meant solely for her ears.

It was the first time he'd greeted her directly, unprompted. Soo Jin blinked, startled by the quiet acknowledgment. "G-good morning," she stammered, her voice softer than she intended, betraying her nervousness. She hesitated, then blurted out before she could stop herself, "Had a good weekend?"

She regretted the words instantly. Heero's forehead creased ever so slightly over the bridge of his nose, his gaze flickering away as though the question were a puzzle he didn't want to solve.

"It was uneventful," he replied curtly, his tone polite but final. Without another word, he turned and walked to his desk.

Soo Jin bit her lower lip, the sting of regret sharp as she watched him go. Why did I ask that? she berated herself, feeling as though she'd chased him away.

From behind her monitor, she tracked his movements, the faint squeak of his boots on the polished floor as he crossed the short distance to his station in the first row of cubicles.

Heero's desk was tucked neatly into the corner by the window, where the muted gray light of the rainy morning filtered through the glass. The streaks of water on the panes blurred the skyline beyond, creating a soft, melancholic glow that contrasted with the sharp lines of Heero's posture. From where Soo Jin sat, she could only see the back of his chair once he settled into it.

But still, her gaze lingered, drawn to the faint outline of his movements. Heero shrugged off his jacket, shaking off a few stray droplets before draping it neatly over the back of his chair. Beneath the jacket, his khaki dress shirt fit impeccably—not too tight, not too loose. It accentuated the broad line of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame, and Soo Jin couldn't seem to look away.

Somewhere in Seoul, Seo Yun is having a good laugh at my expense, she thought wryly, her lips twitching at the imagined scene.

Heero settled into his chair, adjusting the angle of his monitor and tapping a few keys. He scanned through a notepad, holding one page upright as his other hand skimmed across another. The concentrated furrow in his brow betrayed a deeper focus than usual.

Soo Jin waited, half-expecting him to look up. She was certain—knowing him—that he could feel her watching. But Heero remained engrossed, deliberately so, as if the weight of her gaze were inconsequential.

I guess that moment passed, she thought, turning reluctantly back to her own monitor. A list of unread emails awaited her. She forced herself to skim the subjects, but her focus wavered. Movement in her periphery caught her attention. She glanced up to see Heero rise, his chair sliding back noiselessly as he headed toward the kitchenette.

The faint hiss of the espresso machine broke the quiet hum of the office. Soo Jin glanced down at her half-empty coffee mug. It would be ridiculous to get up now, she told herself, brushing her thumb against the rim of the cup. But the pull was there, small and silly, urging her to wander over—just for the chance for a fragment of connection.

She stayed put, though her gaze drifted back toward the kitchenette, stealing glances like an errant child caught staring. Heero returned a moment later, an espresso cup balanced neatly in one hand. He passed her desk without so much as a glance, his posture closed-off, a fortress impenetrable. Back at his station, he placed the cup down carefully before resuming his seat. His attention shifted immediately to his monitor, his focus as steady as ever.

Soo Jin let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Heero raised the cup to his lips, pausing just before the rim touched. His head tilted slightly, his eyes flicking in her direction—quick, accurate. Their gazes met across the room.

The moment was fleeting, but undeniable. He gave her a small nod, barely more than a whisper of motion, then sipped his espresso as though nothing had happened. His attention returned to his monitor, the moment over as quickly as it had begun.

Soo Jin's pulse quickened, a quiet thrill coursing through her veins. It wasn't much, but it was something—a tiny crack in the icy walls he seemed to keep so firmly in place. Her lips curved into a small smile as her fingers hovered over her keyboard.

The cafeteria system blinked to life on her screen. Her fingers hovered over the options. Should she dine in? Or order takeout and try to catch Heero in the stairwell?

Her hand hesitated over the keyboard. Would it seem too forward? She wanted so much to talk to him, to see him. But the thought of pushing too hard held her back.

Soo Jin hesitated, chewing her lip. Seo Yun's pushy advice about men echoed in her mind: 'You just need confidence. And great hair.'

Brushing a stray lock aside, she sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. This wasn't about confidence. It was just lunch. No big deal. And if she ended up eating alone, well… that wouldn't be the worst thing.

She entered her choice – a take out order.


The rain whispered softly against the windows as Soo Jin walked toward the kitchenette for her 10 AM coffee. The office was subdued, the faint hum of computers and the occasional clatter of keyboards blending into a muted symphony of productivity. Gray morning light filtered through the rain-speckled glass, casting blurred reflections across the polished floor.

As she rounded the corner of a cubicle, she nearly collided with Heero, who was approaching from the opposite direction. They both stopped abruptly, the narrow doorway forcing them into an awkward standoff.

"Sorry," Soo Jin said quickly, stepping back to let him pass.

"After you," Heero replied, gesturing toward the doorway as he took half a step back. Soo Jin nodded in thanks and stepped inside, her thoughts already wandering toward the coffee machine.

Something brushed the small of her back—a faint, fleeting touch that sent a jolt up her spine. She froze at the threshold, her breath catching. Had she imagined it? Or had Heero just ushered her inside with the kind of gentle touch she'd only seen in K-dramas?

Turning sharply, she looked up at him, her eyes wide. What she saw startled her. Heero's pale expression betrayed him completely—his eyes widened in something akin to panic, his lips parted as if searching for a response, and his hand still hovered mid-air, a guilty phantom of the gesture.

He dropped it immediately, his brow furrowing in a mix of what could only be mortification. "Apologies," he said quietly, his voice clipped but steady. His hand balled into a fist at his side, as though he could will the moment away through sheer force.

Soo Jin blinked, her pulse quickening. She hesitated, caught off guard by the rare crack in his usual stoic demeanor. Then she offered a faint smile. "Quite the gentleman," she said, the words trembling on a nervous edge.

Heero stood still for a beat, his face carefully blank, but there was something almost wry in the way his tone softened as he replied, "Years of formal dinners. Old habits die hard."

Soo Jin tilted her head slightly, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected response. Her gaze lingered on his face, hoping for some unspoken clue to the life he so carefully kept hidden. But whatever glimpse she'd caught was already gone, his features smoothing back into their usual guarded precision.

"Well," she said, attempting to keep the mood playful, "you're certainly a dying breed…"

The words hung awkwardly in the small space between them, the weight of silence almost tangible as Heero's posture stiffened. His focus shifted away, his gaze settling instead on the coffee machine just beyond her, as though waiting for her to move so he could follow.

Heat rose to Soo Jin's cheeks, the prickling embarrassment cutting through her earlier confidence. She bit her lip, inwardly cringing at herself. The silence between them stretched taut like a drawn wire.

"I mean, you know…" she sighed, forcing a weak laugh, "they say gentlemen are a rarity…" She shook her head, her voice softening with self-directed exasperation. "Forget it. Stupid joke."

Heero's gaze shifted back to her, the inscrutable barrier of his brown lenses making it impossible to read his thoughts. He studied her for a moment that stretched far too long, the tension between them crackling like static in the air.

Finally, the corner of his lips quirked ever so slightly, a fleeting hint of a smile that softened the sharp lines of his face. "Ladies first," he said quietly, his tone carrying a faint trace of amusement as he gestured at the door.

Soo Jin blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected response. For a moment, she simply stared, captivated by the subtle shift in his demeanor. The brooding, distant Heero she thought she knew suddenly seemed lighter, softer—charming in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

She found herself smiling despite the awkwardness, her cheeks warming. "Thank you," she managed, stepping fully into the kitchenette. Heero followed quietly.

The kitchenette's air was thick with the faint aroma of stale coffee and the sharper, fresher scent of Heero's aftershave. Soo Jin moved toward the coffee machine, reaching for a capsule. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, and she tried not to think about how much warmer the air suddenly felt.

She busied herself with the machine, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she slotted a capsule into place and set a mug under the spout. The hiss of brewing coffee filled the silence, but Soo Jin couldn't shake the weight of Heero's presence, the way it seemed to fill the room without effort. Her thoughts raced, but she kept her focus on the steady stream of coffee dripping into her mug.

She could feel him behind her—not close enough to crowd, but closer than she was used to. The usual distance she'd come to expect from him, the invisible buffer he maintained with everyone, seemed just a little smaller today. It wasn't much, just a fraction closer, but enough for her to notice. Enough to make her pulse quicken even more.

When her coffee finished, Heero stepped forward, smoothly removing her cup and handing it to her without a word. He slotted his own capsule into the machine.

Soo Jin found herself lingering, her gaze trailing to the khaki dress shirt he wore—the way it clung to the sinewy muscles of his arms, the subtle shift of his shoulder blades beneath the thin fabric.

She was so used to seeing him in his bulky duty jacket, the layers of fabric adding to the aura of inaccessibility he projected. But now, with that thick outer layer peeled away, the lean outlines of his sinewy frame were more visible, his presence somehow softer. He hadn't shed all his armor, but he felt somewhat closer—more casual, more human. She wondered if there were more sides to him like this, hidden beneath the stoicism. And for reasons she couldn't fully articulate, she wanted to see them. To see him. All of him.

Heero adjusted his cup under the spout and activated the machine. Single shot of espresso, Soo Jin noted, tucking the detail away in her mind. Unlike the double shot he took in the mornings. It was small, insignificant to anyone else, but she filed it anyway, aching to learn as much about him as she possibly could.

The machine began to whir softly. Soo Jin tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, taking a small step to the side as she held her own cup to her chest. She leaned lightly against the counter, sipping her coffee while they waited for his serving to finish.

Heero stood beside her, his arms loosely crossed over his chest as they both gazed at the rain streaking the window.

"At least the forecast was accurate today," she said, her tone light. "But I'm so tired of all this rain. Rainy mornings are the worst."

The machine beeped softly, signaling the end of the brew cycle. Heero turned to face it, his brow furrowing slightly as he lifted the cup for a careful sip.

"The Jamsugyo Bridge was packed this morning," he volunteered, his tone neutral but unguarded as he turned back to lean casually against the countertop.

Soo Jin tilted her head, watching the light play across his profile as he raised the glass to his lips. The way he mentioned the lower Jamsugyo Bridge instead of the upper Banpo Bridge didn't escape her notice. She held back a smile. Learning to read between the lines of his meager words was becoming a skill, one she found herself enjoying.

"That's a great jogging route," she remarked, taking another sip of her coffee. "I bet it's popular in this weather."

"It becomes more of an obstacle course than a jogging lane," Heero replied evenly, the faintest trace of dry humor brushing his tone.

Soo Jin laughed—just enough to show she appreciated the humor without overdoing it, aiming for a good-natured chuckle rather than something girlish or silly. It felt genuine, and she found herself enjoying this side of him.

"Ever tried Hangang Park?" she asked casually. "It's a great place for a jog. Well, when it isn't raining so much. The city and river view is amazing."

Heero paused, considering her words as he took another careful sip of his coffee. "I'll have to give it a try," he said finally, his tone calm but carrying a hint of sincerity.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't tense, but it hovered between them, fragile and unspoken. Soo Jin sipped her coffee, sneaking a glance at Heero out of the corner of her eye. He stood still, his profile illuminated faintly by the rain-muted light filtering through the windows. His gaze remained fixed on his cup, the steady line of his jaw betraying no emotion.

Once more, she allowed herself to appreciate the sight of him without the bulk of his duty jacket. The lean strength of his frame was apparent in every move, the fabric of his khaki dress shirt shifting subtly as he adjusted his hold on the mug. He seemed relaxed, almost casual, but Soo Jin knew better. There was always a tension to him, like a coiled spring beneath the surface. Still, moments like this, where his presence felt a little less guarded, made her wonder what it might feel like to truly know him.

Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, and a flush crept into her cheeks. Heero must know she was staring, she berated herself silently, quickly lowering her eyes to her coffee. She took a careful sip, hoping to calm the rush of embarrassment prickling at her skin.

What if he was watching me too? The thought caught in her throat.

Heero's presence was so intense, so solid, that she always felt like he might be watching. He seemed attuned to everything around him, his awareness sharp and unrelenting. Did he take special notice of her, or was she just another piece of the scenery to him?

She kept her focus on her cup, resisting the temptation to glance back at him. Instead, she looked down to examine herself. She, too, had left her blazer at her station. Her khaki blouse, slim-fitting and more tailored than the men's version, hugged her modest curves in a way the blazer didn't. Not much there to notice, she thought wryly, but the idea of Heero taking this moment to study her the way she had just studied him made her heart race.

She dared a quick glance upward. Heero was still looking at his coffee, his expression calm and unreadable. And yet… something about the faintly glazed over look in his eyes made her wonder if he'd been looking after all.

The thought sent her pulse into overdrive. Ridiculous, she scolded herself, forcing her attention back to her coffee. But even as she tried to rein in her wandering thoughts, the question lingered. Did he ever notice her the way she noticed him?

"You jog?" Heero asked suddenly, uncharacteristically initiating the conversation. He didn't look at her, his attention focused on his coffee as he brought it up for another sip.

Soo Jin blinked, startled but pleased. "Sometimes," she admitted, shrugging lightly. "Not as much as I should."

Heero said nothing, his eyes fixed on the rim of his cup. But there was a pause in his movements—a split second where he seemed to hesitate, his fingers shifting slightly against the mug as though his focus had faltered. Soo Jin's breath hitched. Had he just looked her over? Her cheeks warmed at the thought. It wasn't something she could prove, but the weight of his presence felt different now, sharper somehow.

The sensation made her feel exposed, longing suddenly for the blazer she had left behind. It did wonders for her waistline, though the idea of Heero actually noticing her form made her pulse quicken in a way she didn't entirely dislike. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd noticed anything at all, or if she was just imagining it. Yearning for it, maybe.

"Hn," Heero nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the mug. "Not a bad habit," he murmured, his tone blunt but carrying a faint undercurrent of dry humor.

Soo Jin paused, the words settling over her. A smile tugged at her lips, and before she could stop herself, she teased, "Are you suggesting I need it?" Her tone was light, playful, as she reached out and gave him a gentle slap on the arm.

The reaction was immediate. Heero stiffened, his eyes flicking to her hand as though the contact had short-circuited something in his mind. He didn't step back, but the subtle shift in his posture—shoulders tightening, gaze darting briefly toward the floor—made her realize she might have overstepped.

"Oh," Soo Jin said quickly, pulling her hand back as heat crept into her cheeks. "I was just kidding."

Heero's lips pressed into a thin line, but then. "It's no problem," he said simply, his tone neutral but not dismissive, as though filing the moment away somewhere.

The silence returned, hovering between them again, this time carrying an almost tangible weight. Soo Jin's thoughts churned, her earlier embarrassment giving way to a nervous determination to re-engage.

"Have you logged in your lunch choice yet?" she asked casually, her voice regaining its lightness. "I couldn't decide between fried rice and the bulgogi bibimbap. I love bibimbap, but it's only available for takeout today…"

Heero glanced at her. The faintest twitch of his lips hinted at amusement, and then he returned his attention to his coffee.

Soo Jin's chest tightened with anticipation as she watched him. Heero lifted his mug carefully, turning it slightly in his hand as he considered something. Then, finally, he looked at her.

"There's room for two in the stairwell," he said as the faintest smirk ghosted across his face.

Soo Jin's breath caught, her heart skipping at the quiet invitation. For a moment, the words didn't register—her mind too caught up in the way he had said it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When they did, a smile broke across her face, soft and bright, her excitement barely contained.

"I'll see you there," she replied warmly, her voice carrying a hint of delight.

Heero nodded slightly, taking a slow sip of his espresso before turning and walking back to his desk.

Soo Jin stood there for a moment longer, her cup warming her hands as her smile lingered.


The hours until lunchtime felt like an eternity. Soo Jin spent the morning fidgeting at her desk, her thoughts wandering back to the kitchenette. She replayed Heero's quiet 'Not a bad habit' and his almost-smirk more times than she cared to admit. Every now and then, her gaze flicked to his desk, where he typed with his usual focus. If he felt her attention, he gave no indication.

When the cafeteria courier arrived with their takeout orders, the room stirred with the usual shuffle of chairs and murmurs of lunchtime anticipation. Soo Jin perked up as the young man stopped by her desk, handing her a neatly folded paper bag. "Bibimbap, right?" he asked cheerfully.

She nodded, thanking him as she tucked the bag into her hands.

The courier then walked across the room to Heero's desk, handing him another identical paper bag. "Bibimbap?" the courier asked. Heero nodded, accepting the bag with his usual efficiency. The exchange was brief, but it had Soo Jin stifling a smile. Heero had taken her recommendation, it seemed.

Across the room, Lee's gaze tracked the interaction from his seat. His eyes narrowed slightly, flicking back to Soo Jin with a knowing look. The disapproval in his expression was almost palpable, settling over her like a heavy weight. Soo Jin straightened her shoulders, refusing to react.

As colleagues began to gather for the elevator downstairs, Soo Jin lingered, pretending to focus on finishing a report. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Heero picking up his takeout bag, his movements unhurried.

"Coming, Soo Jin-ah?" Lee's voice interrupted her thoughts as he stopped by her desk. His gaze flicked pointedly toward the takeout bag beside her keyboard, his dismay thinly veiled beneath a veneer of smugness.

"Not today, Agent Lee. Thanks," she replied evenly, though her pulse quickened as Heero headed toward the door. He didn't glance back, but something about the set of his shoulders made her wonder if he was listening.

Lee smirked, his gaze following Heero's retreating figure. "I see antisocialism is contagious these days," he remarked, his tone laced with mockery. He turned back to Soo Jin, his expression sharpening into something sly and predatory. "You don't want to start spending your lunches in the stairwell, do you?"

The thud of the stairwell door echoed faintly, and Soo Jin's urge to follow Heero burned even stronger. But Lee lingered, his presence spiteful, his gaze daring her to respond.

Soo Jin's eyes narrowed. "What I do on my lunch break is none of your business," she said sharply, grabbing her takeout bag. Her tone was clipped, but her words carried quiet steel. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" she said as she prepared to head toward the exit.

Lee's hand shot out, catching her wrist with a grip that was firm but not forceful. The gesture stopped her in her tracks. "Soo Jin-ah," he began, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. He leaned in slightly, his expression darkening. "Can I give you a bit of advice?"

Soo Jin tensed, a flicker of unease running through her. Straightening her back, she tightened her grip on the bag, refusing to let him see her discomfort. "I'm not sure I need any advice from you, Agent Lee," she said coldly, though her pulse quickened.

Lee smirked, his fingers slipping from her wrist as he took a step closer, his voice dropping. "You should be careful around him," he said, his gaze steady. "Yuy isn't like the rest of us. You've noticed, haven't you? How he keeps to himself? How… tightly wound he is?"

Soo Jin's brow furrowed, her jaw tightening. "I've noticed he's professional," she replied firmly, her voice laced with quiet steel. "And respectful." She yanked her hand from his reach, holding it to her chest as she fixed him with a glare. "That's not a bad thing."

Lee chuckled, shaking his head as though amused by her naivety. "Professional? Sure. But people don't keep that kind of distance unless they're hiding something. The guy's obviously on edge." He paused, letting the weight of his words linger. "I see you two getting cozy," he continued, his tone laced with false sympathy. "It's not my place to interfere, but… you should be careful. People are starting to notice."

Soo Jin crossed her arms, refusing to back down. "Some might say you're getting cozy with me too," she retorted sharply. "You even call me by my first name. And with the '-ah' suffix, no less." Her voice carried a sharp edge. "What does that say about you?"

Lee's grin widened, slipping back into his usual playfulness. He waved her off dismissively. "Everyone knows I'm a playboy. It's just my style. But Yuy…" His grin faded, replaced by a serious expression. "He's something else. You don't want someone like that in your life, Soo Jin-ah. Trust me."

Her gaze hardened, the irritation in her chest giving way to suspicion. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Lee's grin disappeared entirely, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know he's not allowed to carry a personal weapon, right?" he said, his tone heavy with insinuation. "Why do you think that is?"

Soo Jin blinked, caught off guard. "Why would that be?"

Lee shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Who knows? Maybe Preventer thinks he's a risk. To himself. Or others." He stepped back slightly, watching her reaction carefully. "I'm just saying, you should keep your distance. For your own good."

Her chest tightened as his words sank in, but she refused to show any doubt. "And what makes you so concerned about my well-being, Agent Lee?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Are you genuinely worried about me, or are you just trying to stir the pot?"

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "Let's just say I've been around long enough to see patterns. And Yuy? He's a black hole. You get too close, you get pulled in. And trust me, that's not where you want to be."

Soo Jin's jaw clenched. "Everyone has their struggles. That doesn't mean they're a danger," she said firmly, the words escaping before she could second-guess them.

Lee leaned in slightly, his gaze narrowing. "Look him up," he said, his voice insistent. "Ask around. You'll see what I mean."

He straightened, casting a final glance at her before heading toward the door. "Just think about it. I'm saying this for your own good."

As Lee walked away, Soo Jin remained frozen for a moment, her fingers tightening around her bag. His words echoed in her mind, but now they were laced with distrust. The deliberate vagueness of his warning felt calculated, more like a move in some personal game than genuine concern.

Her gaze flicked toward the stairwell door where Heero had disappeared moments earlier. Lee's words lingered, heavy and insistent, like a shadow pressing at the edges of her mind. But she pushed them aside, unwilling to let his cynicism taint the rare connection she had felt just hours ago.

She turned abruptly, the decision made before she could second-guess it.


Pushing the heavy fire door open, Soo Jin stepped onto the seventh floor landing, her eyes searching the stairwell. She found Heero sitting on the steps below, his back straight against the railing, a container of bibimbap balanced on his lap. The lid was off, but the chopsticks were still tucked neatly inside their wrapping, untouched.

Her heart swelled. Had he been waiting for her? The thought sent a flutter through her chest. Then Heero turned slightly, holding up the container.

"They mixed up our orders," he said simply.

Soo Jin blinked, stepping closer. Her gaze dropped to the meal in his hand—savory strips of bulgogi and egg glistening atop rice and vegetables.

"Oh," she murmured, guilt twisting in her stomach as she settled beside him on the step. "I'm sorry about that." She opened her bag, already reaching for the container inside. "Here—let's swap."

Heero handed her his container, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange. The warmth of his skin lingered against her palms as she passed him her own meal. The motion was smooth, wordless, their movements synchronized in a way that felt natural.

He peeled back the lid of his new meal, his eyes glancing briefly at its contents before nodding slightly. "Thanks," he said, his voice low but sincere.

Soo Jin gave him a small smile, her nerves easing as she turned to her own container. She watched as Heero slipped the paper wrap from his chopsticks with deft fingers, the simple action unexpectedly captivating. His motions were deliberate yet fluid, like a musician tuning an instrument. The faint crack of the chopsticks separating reverberated softly in the quiet stairwell.

Poised between his long fingers, the disposable chopsticks seemed to take on an elegance she couldn't quite articulate. Heero picked up a few grains of rice with an effortless precision that mesmerized her, his movements seamless as though the chopsticks were an extension of his will. When he brought the rice to his mouth, his chewing was quiet, measured—a reflection of the same discipline he carried in everything he did.

Soo Jin let out a small, silent sigh, her heart fluttering. Even in something as mundane as eating lunch, he exuded a quiet strength and grace that drew her in completely. She had to force herself to look away, her cheeks warming as she unpacked her own chopsticks. The motion felt clumsy in comparison, her fingers fumbling slightly with the paper wrap.

As she glanced sideways at Heero, still poised and composed, Soo Jin couldn't help but marvel. How could someone make something so simple look so elaborate—and so impossibly attractive?

They ate in silence for a while, the rhythmic clink of chopsticks against plastic containers the only sound beyond the faint hum of the building's heating system. Soo Jin dug into her bibimbap, mixing the rice, vegetables, fried egg, and bulgogi into a colorful mess. The rich aroma of the sauce wafted up as she stirred in a generous dollop of the spicy red gochujang, the fiery heat promising a satisfying kick.

When she glanced at Heero's container, the contrast couldn't have been starker. His dish remained immaculate, the vegetables still neatly divided into precise sections—a kaleidoscope of seasoned greens, sautéed mushrooms, and julienned carrots. His chopsticks moved with a deliberate grace, picking up a portion of rice and a different vegetable each time. She noticed he avoided the hot sauce entirely, his meal untouched by the bold flavors she craved.

Soo Jin found herself stealing glances at him between bites, fascinated by his methodical approach. While her meal became a chaotic blend of textures and flavors, Heero's remained pristine, each bite a calculated balance. It was so… like him. Quiet discipline, even in something as simple as eating.

Finally, her curiosity nudged her to speak. She poked at her rice with her chopsticks, tilting her head slightly. "Not big on spicy food?"

Heero paused mid-bite, the chopsticks hovering in the air as he turned slightly to face her. He lowered his hand, as if to set them aside before responding.

"Doesn't agree with me," he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. Then, without hesitation, he returned his attention to his meal, raising the chopsticks back to the bowl with practiced ease.

Most men she knew spoke with their mouths full, but not Heero. Soo Jin couldn't help but admire the deliberate way he paused and set his chopsticks aside to speak. It felt precise, intentional—a quiet courtesy she guessed was a remnant of those formal dinners he had mentioned. The thought made her smile faintly.

Tempted to keep the conversation going, she took a thoughtful bite of her own meal, savoring the rich, savory flavor of a strip of bulgogi. As she chewed, her next question formed naturally in her mind. She swallowed, turning to Heero with a curious look.

"Have you always been vegan?"

Heero finished chewing and swallowed before turning to face her again. He gestured upward with his chopsticks, pointing toward the ceiling. "Space didn't offer much in the way of animal products," he replied, a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze.

"Makes sense," Soo Jin nodded, turning back to her meal. She poked a piece of meat around with her chopsticks, keeping her gaze on the bowl as she carefully asked, "And when you came Earthside?"

Heero remained quiet for a moment, his focus seemingly on his meal. He lifted a small portion of rice and spinach between his chopsticks but paused, holding them mid-air as though lost in thought.

"There was a time when I had to make do with whatever was available," he said finally, his voice steady but distant. "But I never understood why Earthers rely on taking lives for food when there are other options."

He slipped the chopsticks into his mouth, his movements almost mechanical. Soo Jin watched the sharp lines of his jaw work as he chewed slowly. A pang of guilt surged through her, and she turned back to her own meal, nudging the bulgogi to the side to pick up a portion of bright red, seasoned rice.

"I get it," Soo Jin said softly, her voice tinged with melancholy as she stared down at the glossy beef slices scattered within her bibimbap. "I admit I try not to think too much about what I'm eating…"

"I didn't mean to pass judgment," Heero interjected, his tone even but carrying an undercurrent of something unspoken. He paused, his gaze dropping to the container in his lap. "I'm in no position to judge," he murmured, his hands curling around the plastic bowl, the chopsticks balanced loosely in his right hand. Despite his stoic demeanor, there was a vulnerability he was letting her see, and her heart ached with the realization of how much he kept locked away.

"I just…" His voice faltered as his grip on the container tightened ever so slightly, the tension in his hands betraying the calm façade. His gaze flickered upward, and Soo Jin caught a rare glimpse of something unguarded in his expression. Even behind the brown-tinted veil of his contacts, his eyes carried an openness that made her breath catch.

His lips parted slightly, then pressed back together, as if he were weighing whether to say more or let the silence speak for him. Soo Jin could see the effort it took, the delicate balance between revealing truths and guarding the parts of himself he still wasn't ready to expose. A careful act of deciding how much of himself he was willing to show her.

"When the war ended," his words came haltingly, each one chosen with care, as though he were navigating a minefield of memories. "Food was about the only thing I felt I could control, so…"

He trailed off, his jaw tightening faintly, the tension visible in the subtle clench of muscle near his temple.

"You followed your heart," she said softly, finishing the sentence for him.

Heero froze, his chopsticks suspended in mid-air. His eyes widened slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his stoic mask. He stared at her, as if her words had struck a chord he hadn't expected anyone to find.

Soo Jin offered him a small, understanding smile. "I get that too," she added quietly, her gaze unwavering. "Food can be… well, more than just fuel."

Heero's lips pressed into a thin line, the usual hardness returning briefly before softening into something quieter, more introspective. His gaze dropped back to the container in his lap, his shoulders sinking just enough to show the weight of the moment settling over him.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable—it was contemplative, charged with unspoken understanding.

After a long pause, he nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. "It helped," he admitted, his voice low, carrying the gravity of a deeper truth. "So I kept it up."

The words hung between them, understated yet profound. Soo Jin didn't speak, sensing that the stillness was more meaningful than anything she could say. The soft patter of rain against the stairwell window filled the space instead.

As Heero finally resumed eating, his movements slower, less mechanical, Soo Jin's heart swelled with an ache she couldn't fully name. She had seen a side of him few, if any, ever had—a glimpse of something raw and deeply human. And in that moment, she understood the privilege of it.

"Thank you for sharing that," she said sincerely, hoping he could sense how much it meant to her.

Heero paused, his chopsticks poised above his meal. "You're easy to talk to," he said suddenly, his tone still reserved but carrying a faint warmth.

The comment sent a quiet thrill through her, and her earlier worries melted away. "I am?" she chuckled nervously. "I'm always nervous about saying the wrong thing." She picked up a piece of bulgogi and rice, the flavors richer somehow, her guilt about the meat easing as her mood lightened.

"Don't be," Heero said simply, lowering his gaze back to his container as he resumed eating.

Soo Jin blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected encouragement. She let out a soft laugh. "Careful," she teased, waving at him with her chopsticks. "That's dangerous encouragement for someone like me."

Heero's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk breaking through his usual stoicism. "I'll take my chances," he replied evenly, his tone laced with dry humor.

For a moment, Soo Jin was too focused on the subtle shift in his demeanor to notice the silence that had fallen between them. The steady rhythm of the rain tapping against the tall stairwell windows filled the space, a soothing backdrop to their shared meal. She glanced at Heero's container, noting how his dish still remained perfectly arranged, each vegetable separated and untouched by the spicy red sauce she had eagerly mixed into hers.

She took another bite, savoring the bold heat of the gochujang as it mingled with the savory bulgogi and rice. Her own container was a chaotic mix of colors and textures now, the neat arrangement long gone. She smiled to herself, finding comfort in the contrast between their meals—his careful precision, her messy enthusiasm.

Across from her, Heero ate with the same quiet discipline as before, lifting a perfectly portioned bite of rice and greens with his chopsticks. His movements seemed almost meditative. Soo Jin found herself mesmerized again, the simplicity of his actions holding a quiet elegance she couldn't quite describe.

When he finally spoke again, it was without looking up, his voice soft but deliberate. "Most people try to fill the silence with noise," he said, his tone carrying a thoughtful edge. "It's… different with you."

Soo Jin paused mid-bite, her chopsticks hovering over her container. Her heart gave a quiet leap at his words, and she found herself smiling despite the subtle flush creeping into her cheeks. "Different in a good way, I hope."

Heero glanced at her briefly, the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before he returned to his meal. "Hn," he murmured, the sound low and noncommittal, but the almost-smile that lingered on his lips was answer enough.

The silence stretched once more, but it was a comfortable one, the rain outside weaving a quiet rhythm that matched the unspoken understanding settling between them.

"I knew someone like that once," Heero said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "A… a fellow agent."

Soo Jin's curiosity flared, her chopsticks pausing mid-motion. "Was he also easy to talk to, or did he always say the wrong thing?" she teased lightly, hoping to coax more from him.

"Both," Heero replied with a faint smirk, the barest hint of warmth softening his expression. "He wouldn't shut up…" His voice trailed off, a wistful note creeping into his tone. "Somehow, that never bothered me."

Soo Jin's breath caught at the fleeting vulnerability in his words. Her heart skipped as she caught the subtle shift in his demeanor. She offered a small smile but stayed quiet, giving him the space to continue.

"He was very… outgoing. Life was never easy for him, yet he carried it like it was," Heero said, his chopsticks pausing above his bowl. His gaze grew distant, unfocused, as though he were looking at something far away—or someone. "He was everything I could never be."

Soo Jin studied him carefully, her own meal momentarily forgotten. "Were you close friends?" she asked gently, sensing the weight of the memory. Heero always spoke in broad strokes, offering glimpses without revealing the full picture. She knew better than to pry too hard, especially since he deliberately spoke of this person in the past tense. The thought made her stomach twist with unease.

"For many years," Heero nodded, his tone quiet, his movements heavier as he picked up another bite of rice. "People used to joke we were joined at the hip. He could talk enough for both of us… Always filling the silence." His voice softened again, and for a moment, a ghost of a smile flickered across his face.

Soo Jin found herself smiling back, her chest warming at the image he had painted. She hadn't expected him to volunteer so much, and she felt grateful for the glimpse into his past. The thought of Heero having someone who balanced him, who complemented his quiet intensity, eased some of the weight she often felt when imagining his life. He hadn't always been so alone. She could picture them—the silent, brooding type and the extroverted friend—and the idea made her smile grow.

"What happened?" she asked in a low, cautious tone, bracing herself for what he might say next.

There was a pause, the kind that stretched like the rain tapping steadily against the stairwell windows. Heero poked at his food uncharacteristically, his usual precision faltering as his chopsticks pushed a piece of spinach to the edge of the container. He didn't look up.

"He moved back to space," Heero finally said, the words escaping on a quiet sigh. "Left Preventer. Professional differences."

Soo Jin's chest tightened as she sensed the walls coming back up. His words had reverted to broad strokes, signaling that he didn't wish to delve deeper. Still, she felt relief that he hadn't lost this person forever, that the parting, while weighted, wasn't absolute.

"I'm sorry you guys didn't see eye to eye," she said softly, her voice warm with empathy.

Heero didn't respond immediately, his focus shifting back to his container. His chopsticks moved with deliberate precision as he resumed eating, each motion methodical yet detached. Soo Jin followed suit, stirring her colorful mix of rice and meat, her chopsticks clinking softly against the container. The silence between them stretched, reflective and heavy with the unspoken.

"He was just… tired of this life," Heero said suddenly, his voice quieter, almost an afterthought. His chopsticks paused mid-motion, his gaze fixed on his food. The words carried a weight that made Soo Jin's heart ache. The way he said it—measured and resigned—left her with the distinct feeling that he was tired of it too.

The soft rhythm of the rain against the stairwell windows filled the quiet space, a steady backdrop to their shared meal. Soo Jin's thoughts wandered as she ate, replaying Heero's words and the subtle shifts in his expression. She couldn't shake the image of him with his outgoing friend—a version of Heero less burdened, less alone. It was a bittersweet picture, and the thought made her ache for him, for the weight he carried and the pieces of himself he still kept hidden.

"Did you try to stay in touch?" she asked finally, her voice gentle but probing.

Heero shook his head, his grip tightening briefly on his chopsticks. "I offered," he said, his tone measured but tinged with regret. "But he asked me not to. Said it would make things easier for him. He wanted a fresh start. I had to respect that."

"Of course," Soo Jin said softly. Her eyes searched his face, trying to gauge the emotions he kept so carefully guarded. His eyes caught hers. Though concealed behind his brown contacts, the intensity in them made her pulse quicken, her chest tightening with an odd mix of sympathy and admiration. She felt thankful for the privilege of seeing this side of him, the unguarded Heero who was only hers to witness.

"I heard he's doing well," Heero added after a pause. His voice was quieter now, reflective. "Started his own business. Met someone. Settled down. Moved on…"

Soo Jin hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her chopsticks. "While you stayed stuck in the same place?" she ventured carefully, her voice laced with empathy. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to watch someone move forward while remaining stuck, tethered to the weight of the past.

Heero shrugged slightly, his gaze falling back to the container in his lap. "I have… different circumstances," he admitted, his tone heavy with an unspoken burden.

Soo Jin hesitated, the weight of his words settling in the quiet space between them. Carefully, she ventured, "But you moved to Seoul."

His posture tensed, the change subtle but unmistakable. For a moment, he didn't respond, his chopsticks hovering above his meal as if caught mid-thought. When he finally turned to her, a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—faint, fleeting, but enough to hint at a mix of acknowledgment and wry amusement. It was as though she'd managed to outmaneuver him, beating him at a game he hadn't realized he was playing.

"Seoul wasn't part of some plan," he said finally. "I just pointed at a map."

Her heart ached at the simplicity of the statement. "Because you also felt the need to get away?" she asked gently, her tone cautious yet encouraging.

Heero sighed, his gaze dropping to his meal once more. "Nowhere is far enough," he replied, the words low and resigned, spoken more to himself than to her.

Soo Jin tried to keep her expression neutral, but the flicker of confusion in her eyes must have been obvious. She wanted to press for more, to piece together the puzzle he was revealing one fragment at a time, but she knew better than to push. Heero gave what he could, and she had to respect that.

For a while, they resumed eating, the rhythmic patter of rain filling the silence. Soo Jin's chopsticks scraped softly against her container as she gathered a bite of bulgogi and rice, the flavors grounding her in the moment even as her thoughts swirled. She stole glances at Heero, noting the way his movements had slowed, each bite deliberate, as though he were lost in thought.

The stillness stretched, reflective rather than uneasy, until Heero broke it. "Learning Korean was…" He paused, his chopsticks resting against the edge of his container. His gaze stayed fixed on his food, the vulnerability in his tone making Soo Jin's chest tighten. "It was the first thing I'd done for myself in a long time. The only reason I had to wake up some mornings."

Soo Jin let his words linger, her own chopsticks stirring the remnants of her bibimbap as she processed the weight of what he'd just shared. She smiled gently, hoping to lighten the mood. "I bet you learned it in no time," she said, her voice warm. "You seem like the type to master anything you set your mind to."

Heero glanced at her, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. "Three months."

"Knowing Japanese must have been helpful?" she asked, her tone playful as she picked up another bite of rice.

He frowned slightly, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. "I don't know any Japanese."

The bluntness of his response caught her off guard, and she laughed softly, the sound bubbling up to fill the quiet. "You don't?"

"Why would I?" he replied, his tone more curious than defensive. His baffled expression, the faint crease of his brow and the way his lips parted slightly in genuine confusion, was utterly adorable.

Soo Jin's laughter bubbled over again, this time directed at herself.

"I don't know… I just assumed."

His lips quirked into a smirk, his gaze flicking to hers—steady, daring.

"What else do you assume about me?" he challenged, his tone calm but laced with subtle humor.

Soo Jin blinked, her cheeks warming under his sudden focus. She hesitated, her mind scrambling for something safe yet honest. Her chopsticks hovered over her meal as she glanced back at him, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze.

"Well…" she started, her tone wavering as she tried to gauge how serious he was. "I assume… you're not the type to care much for what others think of you."

Heero's lips twitched, the faintest hint of approval in his expression. "Touché," he replied evenly, his smirk growing just enough to soften the edges of the challenge.

Soo Jin let out a soft laugh, her nerves easing as she took another bite of her meal. "Should I assume I'm right?"

"You're not entirely wrong." His tone was light, but there was a flicker in his gaze, something sharper, almost calculating. He paused, as if weighing her words, before leaning slightly closer.

The shift was subtle, but the effect was immediate. Soo Jin's breath hitched, her chopsticks faltering as his contact-colored eyes, striking yet distinctly false, caught the muted light filtering through the rain-speckled window. The nearness of him, the faint scent of his aftershave mingling with the warmth of his presence, sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't just his proximity that made her pulse race—it was the silent weight of the message he was sending.

Then his lips curved into a smirk, and his voice dropped just enough to make her heart stutter. "Not entirely right, either," he murmured, the words low and deliberate, each syllable brushing against the charged air between them.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, heat spreading from her cheeks down to her chest. She tightened her grip on her chopsticks, forcing herself to breathe as her thoughts scrambled for coherence. There was something unshakably confident in the way he said it, the way his smirk lingered like he knew exactly the effect he had on her—and wasn't above using it.

She swallowed hard, her earlier confidence crumbling under the quiet force of his gaze. Her mouth opened to reply, but her thoughts were scattered, caught somewhere between flustered indignation and stunned admiration. The faint smile in his eyes deepened, and for a fleeting moment, she swore he was daring her to respond.

The stairwell door creaked open, breaking the spell.

"Yuy," Agent Baek's gruff voice cut through the moment, carrying its usual edge of irritation. "There you are," he grumbled, his tone more annoyed than urgent. His gaze locked onto Heero. "Jeong's been looking everywhere for you. You're needed upstairs."

The warmth of their shared connection shattered like glass. Heero straightened immediately, his posture snapping into a sharp line of professionalism, but there was an edge to his movements—the restrained irritation of someone whose patience had been tested one too many times. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw tightening as he glanced briefly at Baek, his expression unreadable but simmering with something just beneath the surface.

Baek's gaze flicked to Soo Jin, his smirk dripping with condescension. "Lunchtime is over, kids," he said, the unnecessary smugness in his tone setting Soo Jin's teeth on edge. His eyes narrowed at her, his sneer deepening. "And I'm no errand boy," he added sharply as he prepared to leave. "Do your damn job, Miss Park."

Heat rose to Soo Jin's cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration swirling in her chest. Her grip tightened on her container as she opened her mouth to respond, but Baek had already turned on his heel, scoffing as he pushed through the fire door. The heavy door slammed shut behind him with an echoing thud, the sound cutting through the stairwell's silence like a whip crack.

Heero let out a slow breath through his nose, the sound measured but unmistakably laced with irritation. His gaze flicked briefly to Soo Jin, the faintest shadow of regret flashing in his eyes before he spoke. "I have to go," he said, his voice calm but clipped, betraying the effort it took to rein in the tension Baek had stirred.

His movements were brisk as he began packing up his unfinished lunch, his motions sharper than usual, betraying his frustration. Soo Jin watched him, her gaze lingering on the subtle tension in his jaw. The ease of their earlier conversation had evaporated, replaced by a detached efficiency that felt like a door quietly closing in her face.

He rose to his feet, his steps purposeful as he turned toward the stairs. For a moment, his back remained to her, the taut line of his shoulders and the rigid set of his posture palpable with restrained emotion.

"Heero," Soo Jin called out softly, rising to her feet with her own container still in hand. She hesitated, gripping it tightly. He should at least finish his lunch. It felt unfair, how they could summon him at a moment's notice, expecting him to drop everything. They said 'jump', and he asked 'how high?'

It wasn't fair.

Pausing on the flight of stairs leading up from their floor, Heero hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning to look over his shoulder. His eyes met hers—guarded and firm, though a flicker of something softer lingered beneath the surface.

"Don't wait up," he said, his voice quiet but resolute.

Then, without another word, he turned and resumed his climb, his steps steady but heavy with an unspoken weight.

Soo Jin remained standing on the landing, her lunch forgotten. Her heart sank as she watched him disappear, the earlier warmth of their exchange replaced by a gnawing unease.

The rhythmic patter of rain against the stairwell window seemed louder now, each drop pressing down like the dread settling over her. It felt as though she were watching someone being called back to a battlefield they hadn't fully recovered from, yet she was powerless to intervene.