The way Seung-hyeon looked up at him from his knees was relentless—like a noose tightening around his neck. Seon-woo wanted to turn his eyes away before he got ensnared, but oddly enough, it wasn’t easy to look away. Seung-hyeon stared at him with the kind of face that waited for an answer, as if trying to prove that he hadn’t just spoken on a whim.
He hadn’t asked if Seon-woo had thought about him—but how much. It was clear he hadn’t even considered the possibility that Seon-woo hadn’t thought about him at all.
And he was right. Even in moments when he absolutely shouldn’t have, Seon-woo had recalled Seung-hyeon’s words, his expressions. Still, saying that aloud didn’t come easy. Was it because something about it rubbed him the wrong way, or because he felt wronged, maybe even resentful? There was definitely some guilt toward Eun-jae tangled up in it, too.
“What makes you so sure? Every single time.”
In the end, he blurted out something evasive to stall for time. It clearly wasn’t the answer Seung-hyeon had expected, but his expression didn’t waver. He remained composed, patient.
“Your eyes.”
The tone of certainty in his voice hadn’t changed, and Seon-woo let out a faint, hollow laugh. Could he really read someone’s heart just from their eyes? Was he some kind of mind reader? He wanted to scoff, make a sarcastic remark—but even parting his lips felt like too much effort.
Seon-woo lowered his head and pressed his forehead with one hand. It was the weight of feeling conflicted, exhausted. Watching him silently, Seung-hyeon spoke again, his voice gentle, as if trying to soothe him.
“If you hadn’t looked at me like that, I wouldn’t have acted this way, Director.”
For all the kindness in his voice, his words were firm. Even though Seung-hyeon was blaming him, Seon-woo didn’t feel offended. In fact, he felt like it made sense. They say the eyes are the window to the heart. Maybe no matter how carefully he controlled his expression, he just couldn’t manage to hide what showed in his eyes.
“If you want to say it’s not true, then say so now.”
At those words, Seon-woo raised his head again. Looking straight at Seung-hyeon, he offered a reply that wasn’t a yes, and wasn’t a no, but something else entirely.
“You always say things like that…”
Seung-hyeon tilted his head slightly, as if telling him to go on.
“I’m honestly asking because I don’t know. What exactly is it about my expression that’s so telling?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he felt the urge to turn his head away again. Did Seung-hyeon catch a guilty look on his face? That had seemed the obvious answer at first. But now, it felt too simplistic to say Seung-hyeon had done all this just because Seon-woo seemed regretful after treating him badly. What exactly had he seen in Seon-woo’s face that brought them to this moment? He was genuinely curious.
Seung-hyeon smiled smoothly, without hesitation. It was hard to tell whether he was mulling over his answer—his smile just gradually faded at the edges. Then, like a teacher calmly explaining something to a child, he began to speak—slowly, carefully, enunciating each word.
“How should I put it… a face that looks like it wants to make excuses?”
Seon-woo pressed his lips together and gave a subtle nod. It was a gesture that said, Go on.
Seung-hyeon kept his eyes fixed squarely on Seon-woo’s, continuing his reply. It wasn’t just a coincidence—he was clearly making an effort to match Seon-woo’s gaze every time he tried to look away.
“A face that wants to say, ‘I didn’t mean it,’ but can’t quite bring itself to say the words?”
Maybe that’s why it felt like he was exposing even more of himself. Seung-hyeon looked utterly composed, as if he could see right through every corner of Seon-woo’s heart.
“You probably want me to just disappear right this second… but at the same time, it doesn’t feel like you really want me gone for good…”
At those words, Seon-woo’s brow furrowed. It felt like he was being laid completely bare. Seung-hyeon calmly drove the nail in.
“You look like you want me to come back.”
And the truth was—right up until the moment Seung-hyeon showed up, Seon-woo had been thinking, deep down, that he wanted him to come. He had no grounds to argue back. Seung-hyeon must have read the contorted expression on his face because he finished, quietly and matter-of-factly:
“That’s how it looked to me.”
It was almost like he was kindly offering Seon-woo a way out. But Seon-woo responded right away.
“Have you never considered the possibility that you’re just… mistaken?”
It wasn’t an attempt to escape through the loophole Seung-hyeon had just opened. He genuinely wanted to know how Seung-hyeon felt. And Seung-hyeon, still calm and soft-spoken, answered without hesitation.
“Of course I have. I wonder if I’m out of my damn mind at least a few times a day.”
He didn’t seem like someone who ever questioned himself. That alone was unexpected. If anything, Seon-woo might have pretended otherwise just to spite him, if Seung-hyeon had spoken with the confidence of someone utterly sure of himself. But in this situation, that was impossible.
Seon-woo let out a deep sigh and covered his face with one hand. He heard Seung-hyeon’s soft laugh right by his ear.
“See? That face again…”
“Please… just stop talking about my face.”
Seon-woo muttered like a sigh. There was nothing pleasant about the feeling of being seen through completely.
“If you want to say I’m wrong, then do it. Look me in the eye and say it.”
When Seung-hyeon pressed again, Seon-woo finally lifted his head after a long hesitation. He already didn’t know what to say—but looking him directly in the eyes only made it worse. Every time he met that steady gaze, his mind went completely blank.
What’s the point of lying and saying he’s wrong? It would be nothing but a weak excuse—empty, unconvincing. And more than that, he didn’t want to lie to him anymore.
“I…”
After a long pause, Seon-woo parted his lips. Seung-hyeon was the one waiting for an answer, but it felt like Seon-woo was the one burning up inside. He searched his mind for the right words, weighed every option—then closed his mouth again, saying nothing at all.
Instead, he reached out and cupped the back of Seung-hyeon’s head, pulling him in.
It didn’t take long for their lips to meet.
Seung-hyeon’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden kiss. But that flash of shock passed in an instant. He rose halfway up and adjusted his awkward posture in one fluid motion. Without the slightest hesitation, his arms wrapped tightly around Seon-woo’s waist.
<Gwanggong Score has decreased by 6! >
< Current Gwanggong Score: 46 >
It had been an impulsive kiss. The moment Seon-woo heard the alert ringing in his ears, he snapped back to his senses and gripped Seung-hyeon’s shoulders firmly to push him away. But unlike before—when even the smallest push would make him retreat—this time, Seung-hyeon didn’t budge. Even when Seon-woo tried to pry his arms off his waist, it was useless. Instead, the tip of Seung-hyeon’s tongue swept across his lips, as if coaxing him to open up.
No, this can’t happen, Seon-woo thought—yet his lips were already parting.
Seung-hyeon slipped in without missing the smallest opening. His tongue, intruding in an instant, swept through Seon-woo’s mouth as if exploring it. The shock of it hit like a jolt to the brain—like experiencing a first kiss all over again. His Gwanggong Score had dropped below 50, so he should have been pushing him away. But even that simple thought dissolved into nothing.
There was a soft scent of cologne on Seung-hyeon’s breath. It hit Seon-woo so vividly now, it seemed strange he hadn’t noticed it before.
Judging by the fact that no abnormal status alert had triggered yet, it couldn’t have been more than a few dozen seconds. And yet the kiss felt like it had lasted forever.
< Status Effect Triggered: Tinnitus – caused by Gwanggong Score dropping below 50! >
At last, the system alert popped up, and an unpleasant whine began to ring inside his ears. There was no immediate issue, but based on past experience, a pang of fear struck him hard and sank into his chest.
Seon-woo pushed Seung-hyeon’s chest again, almost as if to swat him away. He was worried—worried he might lash out again, like last time. But this time, Seung-hyeon didn’t resist and let himself be pushed back. He pulled away, licking his lips like he was reluctant to part, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“There you go again.”
The familiar tone made Seon-woo flinch. He glanced at Seung-hyeon instinctively, but the man didn’t look angry. After a brief pause, he opened his mouth again.
“I mean it—I wouldn’t care even if you suddenly punched me after kissing me like that.”
Seon-woo wanted to point out that he hadn’t punched him this time, but he kept quiet. Even with the piercing beep echoing painfully in his ears, he could still hear Seung-hyeon clearly. It wasn’t reaching his ears—it was sinking into his skin, into his head.
“It’s okay. I’ve given up trying to understand you. Just… be honest with me.”
Seung-hyeon’s voice was quiet, steady as he lowered himself again. Their eyes met—again. Seon-woo didn’t even know how many times it had happened by now. But every time he looked into those eyes, he felt like he had no choice but to be honest.
“Look into my eyes…”
Seung-hyeon whispered gently, coaxing. Seon-woo clenched his eyes shut and buried his face in both hands. How could he deny it? When he was right here—so close.
Gwak Seung-hyeon was overwhelmingly real. Even the scent of his cologne clung vividly in the air. Seon-woo murmured like it was his final lament. The artificial ringing in his ears showed no signs of stopping—but even that wasn’t enough to keep the words down.
“If only you hadn’t come…”
The words slipped out as if placing the blame. Because he couldn’t see Seung-hyeon’s expression, he could keep talking without hesitation.
“If only… if only you hadn’t been here.”
Seung-hyeon remained silent. In Seon-woo’s ears, there was nothing now but the unpleasant ringing and the sound of his own breathing. He started to grow anxious—was Seung-hyeon refusing to answer, or was he simply unable to hear him?
Then, after a brief stretch of silence, Seung-hyeon finally replied.
“Yeah. I thought about you all day too, Director.”
Seon-woo wanted to scold him for saying something so unfitting for the moment—but he couldn’t. Because, in truth, nothing could’ve felt more certain. And just like that, even the part of him that had wanted to blame or scold Seung-hyeon was laid bare.
Then, the alert appeared.
< Gwanggong Score has decreased by 3. >
< A critical error has occurred. System malfunction in progress. >
< System has temporarily lost control. >
All at once, the noise vanished. The world around his ears fell eerily silent.
Seon-woo abruptly lifted his head—and locked eyes with Seung-hyeon.
"Shut up!"
