the smile on her lips at the sudden call of her name is automatic, only for her to drop it a moment later when her eyes meet a familiar dark brown. “oh, it’s you.” her fingers relax from the handle of her coffee mug and this time her lips twitch to something less sharp, more genuine. “kikwang-ssi.”
her eyes follow his as they scan across the room, and when they return to her—to her face—yuna simply gestures back to her desk. “you’re acting as if you’ve never stayed the night here before.” she tilts her head and stares him down with her full height ( with heels she was just a smidgen taller than he was ), “when was the last time you did, hmm? last week?”
she tutts, “you’re getting complacent, kikwang-ssi.”
that’s what she says, at least, but honestly? she’s relieved.
a couple months ago and she might’ve gone with the reason of seeing him as an office threat for something as arbitrary as employee-of-the-month and meant it. now though, having spent multiple of those nights staying back with him ( and others ), usually on different projects, but sometimes, on an occasion, the same one, it lifts a bit of the weight on her shoulders knowing that kikwang hasn’t needed to sacrifice some sleep lately.
it’s not intentional, not really, the concern she has for his well-being. but perhaps it’s because his patterns hit a little too close to home that she’s extra attuned to her colleague’s work habits.
in any case, the dark circles under his eyes have seen worse days. and the ones now—well—they seem more like a trick of the light than anything. ( she hopes. )
at the beat of silence, yuna’s gaze, momentarily distracted, drops to the the umbrella in his hand, though it quickly returns to his face. she inclines her head towards the exit and continues, as though it never happened, “be careful walking back.”
Between managing deadlines and damage control, it’s become a quaint sort of companionship, one built on the grounds of shared habits and self-preservation. Not exactly like two peas in a pod, but it’s worked just fine. A functional, mutually extended constant that’s there for just in case.
The change in expression is subtle, the furrow of his brows more contemplative instead of an annoyed frown, and he thinks.
“Last Monday?” He leans against the table. “I can’t remember.”
Maybe she’s right, he has become complacent. Or worse: too comfortable. If one thing’s for sure, it’s that Kwon Yuna has a knack for precision, able to hit dead-center even with a blind shot. So he doesn’t dispute the claim, and simply matches her, question for question.
“And when was the last time you’ve given the interns a piece of your mind?” He shifts his weight, crossing his arms. “Jung was being a total piece of shit today, you know.” Which, had been handled, but that goes unspoken. What one can’t take care of, the other does.
It’s then the sound of rain grows louder, now pounding hard against the glass instead of the quiet patter. He glances where she’d looked: the umbrella in his hand, and it’s back to her desk.
It’s a familiar sight laid out: The papers shuffled into stacked files, the calendar marked up in X’s and O’s and the coffee gone cold. By now the novelty of being kept busy has long worn off. The exhaustion has come to blend right in, rather than sticking like glue, for the both of them. Whether that makes much of a difference, or if it really matters, he’s not all too sure.
What does matter though, is that it’s been a shitty week. And he feels almost obligated to not let her be the only one stuck here for the weekend.
Cautiously (careful to not appear overbearing) then, he adds: “I can walk you home.” He catches himself, don’t push, don’t overstep. “If you want, of course.”
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