CHAPTER 41
The next morning came with no message from Chung-Hee. No call. No unexpected knock on his door. Nothing.
Noeul should have felt relieved. Instead, the silence made him uneasy.
He had been almost certain Chung-Hee would appear at some point during the night, demanding an explanation for a conversation that needed none.
Kija had complimented him. That was all.
Noeul hadn’t flirted with him, encouraged him, or done anything wrong.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
He repeated the words to himself while preparing his usual strong Americano.
By noon, when Chung-Hee still hadn’t contacted him, the tension in his shoulders began to ease. Perhaps he had finally understood. Perhaps the small smile at the exhibition had been exactly what it looked like. Nothing. The thought should have reassured him. But it didn’t.
The rest of Friday passed quietly.
On Saturday morning, Noeul found Mr. Choi in the kitchen with a small suitcase beside the counter.
Noeul stopped in the doorway. “Are you going somewhere?”
Mr. Choi looked up from the cup of coffee in his hands. “Dr. Cho said you no longer need daily assistance. My work here is finished.”
“You make it sound like you’re being fired.”
A faint smile appeared on Mr. Choi’s face. “Perhaps I am.”
Noeul walked to the counter and reached for the coffee pot. His hands still ached if he used them too much, but he could pour himself a cup now. He did it slowly, careful not to spill.
Mr. Choi watched him without saying anything.
“I can do this,” Noeul said.
“I know.”
The apartment was quiet for a moment.
Mr. Choi cleared his throat. “I will still be nearby. If you need anything, you call me.”
Noeul looked down at his coffee. “Even if it’s not something important?”
“Especially then.”
That made him smile.
Mr. Choi picked up his suitcase, but Noeul stopped him. “Wait.”
He hesitated.
“Thank you,” Noeul said quietly. “For staying. For helping me when I couldn’t do anything myself.”
Mr. Choi’s expression softened. “You don’t have to thank me, Mr. Jung.”
“I know.” Noeul swallowed. “I still want to.”
For a moment, Mr. Choi looked as though he might say something else. Instead, he reached out and squeezed Noeul’s shoulder.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
“I’ll try.”
Mr. Choi nodded once. “And don’t pretend your hands are fully healed just because you can hold a coffee cup now.”
Noeul laughed. “You sound like Dr. Cho.”
“I’ve spent enough time with him.”
Noeul walked him to the elevator. When the doors opened, Mr. Choi stepped inside, then turned back.
“Call me.”
“I will.”
The doors closed.
Noeul stood there for a few seconds before returning to the apartment. It felt larger without Mr. Choi in it.
That night, after working through notes from his first days at NovaTech, Noeul’s phone lit up.
Duri: How are your hands?
Noeul smiled before he could stop himself.
Noeul: Still attached to my arms, thankfully.
Duri: Idiot.
Noeul: They’re fine.
Duri: Liar.
Noeul stared at the screen.
Noeul: Maybe they hurt a little.
Duri: Did you rest them today?
Noeul: Mostly.
Duri: That means no.
Noeul laughed quietly to himself.
Noeul: Mr. Choi left today.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Duri: For good?
Noeul: His work here is finished, apparently.
Duri: That must feel strange.
Noeul looked around the silent apartment.
Noeul: A little.
Duri: Do you want me to come over?
His fingers hovered above the screen.
Noeul: It’s late.
Duri: I didn’t say I was coming. I asked if you wanted me to.
Noeul bit back a smile.
Noeul: I’m okay.
A moment passed.
Duri: Okay. But if you change your mind, call me.
Noeul set his phone aside and tried to return to his notes. Less than a minute later, it lit up again.
Duri: Ji-Woo sent me a new drawing.
A photo appeared on the screen: one of Ji-Woo’s character designs, this time with a ridiculous dragon perched on the character’s shoulder.
Noeul: Why does it have so many teeth?
Duri: Because it’s cool.
Noeul: It has twelve teeth in one row.
Duri: Exactly. Cool.
Noeul laughed again.
They kept talking after that. About Ji-Woo’s portfolio. About a movie Duri had watched and hated. About the music Duri was working on. Duri sent him a short recording and told him not to laugh.
Noeul listened to it twice before replying.
Noeul: It’s good.
Duri: That’s all? Come on, hyung, give me something.
Noeul: Fine. I like the beginning. It sounds like driving somewhere at night.
There was a long pause before Duri replied.
Duri: That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my music.
Noeul: Don’t get used to it.
Duri: Too late.
By the time Noeul checked the clock, it was past two in the morning.
Noeul: You should sleep.
Duri: You first.
Noeul: That’s not how it works.
Duri: It is now.
Noeul: Brat!
Duri: Good night, hyung!
Noeul: Good night, Duri!
Noeul smiled at the screen.
Every time his phone lit up, his stomach tightened instinctively.
But it was always Duri.
By Monday afternoon, Noeul was tired of waiting for something that might never happen. Maybe this time there would be no punishment. The word itself irritated him now.
Punishment.
As if Chung-Hee had the right.
Noeul finished his lunch and left for work.
The day was demanding but ordinary. He had been given more responsibility than on his first day, and by late afternoon, his wrists were beginning to ache from hours spent typing.
He ignored the discomfort as long as he could before finally stretching his fingers beneath the desk. Most of the department left on time.
Noeul stayed.
He had an analysis to finish, and concentrating on work was easier than thinking. A little after seven, a message appeared on his screen.
Bring the analysis to my office when you’re done.
Noeul stared at it. Chung-Hee. His pulse quickened. For several seconds, the exhibition returned to him: Kija’s smile, the phone number, Chung-Hee watching him from across the room, that small, polite smile. Noeul swallowed. Then irritation replaced fear.
He had done nothing wrong.
He saved the report, gathered his notes, and headed upstairs.
Most of the executive floor was empty. The silence felt different after office hours.
The lights remained on, but there were few voices, no ringing phones, no assistants moving between offices.
Noeul slowed outside Chung-Hee’s door. He almost knocked, then stopped himself.
This was work. Nothing more. He entered.
“Mr. Lee?”
The office was empty. No Chung-Hee behind the desk. No laptop open. No jacket hanging over the chair.
Noeul frowned. “I brought the analysis.”
Silence. Something cold crawled up his spine. He turned. The door closed behind him. Then came the click of the lock.
Noeul went completely still.
For a moment, neither man spoke. Chung-Hee stood near the door, his expression calm.
“Hyung…”
Chung-Hee’s gaze moved to the folder in his hands. “The analysis?”
Noeul nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Perfect.”
The word came almost pleasantly. Chung-Hee crossed the room and took the folder from him, placing it neatly on the desk. Noeul watched every movement.
“Is something wrong?”
Chung-Hee straightened the papers. “No.” He turned. “Nothing at all.”
Noeul’s stomach tightened. “Then why did you lock the door?”
A pause.
Chung-Hee looked at him. “Did you enjoy the exhibition?”
Noeul’s breathing changed. There it was.
“Kija’s exhibition?”
“You met another famous Kija over the weekend?”
Noeul’s jaw tightened. He already hated the direction of the conversation. “Yes. I enjoyed it.”
“I noticed.”
Noeul stayed silent.
Chung-Hee moved slowly around the desk. “You seemed especially interested in the artist.”
“He’s one of my favorite artists.”
“You made it too obvious.”
“He offered to help Ji-Woo with his university portfolio.”
“I heard.”
Noeul frowned. “Then what exactly are we talking about?”
For a moment, Chung-Hee said nothing. Noeul caught something in his face. Anger, but beneath it something less stable. Almost wounded.
“Kija called you handsome.”
Noeul stared at him. “That’s what this is about?”
Chung-Hee’s expression hardened. “No.”
“It obviously is.” Noeul exhaled sharply. “Hyung, I cannot control what another person says to me.”
“I know.”
The answer surprised him.
Noeul hesitated. “Then why am I here?”
Chung-Hee took another step closer. “Because you liked it.”
Noeul’s disbelief turned to frustration. “What?”
“You blushed.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“You smiled at him.”
“I smile at people.”
“You exchanged numbers.”
“For art lessons.”
Each answer came more quickly than the last.
Noeul shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”
Chung-Hee’s face tightened. He didn’t like the word.
Noeul noticed and lowered his voice. “I’m not trying to fight with you.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then unlock the door.”
Silence.
Noeul stared at him. “Hyung.”
Chung-Hee’s eyes dropped briefly to Noeul’s shoulder, the exact place Kija had touched him. When he looked back up, whatever restraint had been holding him together was beginning to crack.
“I spent the entire weekend trying to let it go.”
Noeul said nothing.
Chung-Hee laughed once, bitterly. “I told myself exactly what you’re telling me now. You did nothing wrong. Kija flirted with you. Not the other way around.”
Noeul backed away instinctively.
Chung-Hee’s voice dropped. “And still, every time I closed my eyes, I saw his hand on you.”
Noeul’s back touched the edge of the desk. “Hyung…”
“I heard him call you handsome. I saw you blush.”
“Stop.”
“I imagined him messaging you.”
“Stop.”
“Teaching you.”
“Chung-Hee hyung.”
“Touching you.”
Noeul pushed against his chest. “Enough.”
Chung-Hee caught Noeul’s wrists.
Noeul immediately struggled. “Let go.”
Chung-Hee tightened his grip.
“Hyung, no.” His voice changed as fear entered it. “Not again. Please.”
For one second, Chung-Hee froze. He heard the words. Saw the fear. Understood exactly what they meant. He could still stop. His grip loosened slightly.
Noeul felt it. “Please,” he whispered again.