Gwak Seung-hyeon’s expression briefly went blank at the unexpected words. Gwak Seon-woo wore a face that looked deliberately hurt, as if pretending to be offended. But truthfully, Seung-hyeon’s feelings at the moment—caught off guard or flustered—were only a small part of the bigger picture. Seon-woo probably had no idea just how much Seung-hyeon liked it when he spoke in that half-reproachful, half-pouting tone.
Staring fixedly at Seon-woo’s face, Seung-hyeon murmured softly.
“This is difficult……”
“What’s difficult? Feeling guilty or something?”
Seung-hyeon brought a hand to his lips as he looked at Seon-woo’s stern face. He was trying to hide a smile.
“No. I just want to hold you right now, but we’re in the office, so I can’t. That’s what’s frustrating.”
Seon-woo let out another disbelieving laugh. Instead of standing to hug Seon-woo, Seung-hyeon lowered the head that had been resting on his arm toward him. They were beside a table, and with the way Seung-hyeon had lowered himself, it was practically as if he were kneeling—likely enough to be missed by the CCTV. It might look like Gwak Seung-hyeon was kneeling and begging, but nothing more than that.
“At least let me have my head patted.”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 5! A Gwanggong does not beg others to pat their head.>
“You sure know how to dodge the point.”
Yet even as he said that, Seon-woo’s hand was already reaching toward Seung-hyeon’s head. As Seung-hyeon felt the soft hand gently stroking his hair, his whole body began to relax. A quiet chuckle slipped from his lips.
“I was in a rush to get ready… so I couldn’t text you. And I didn’t call either, in case you’d already left.”
“It’s not like I was sulking because I left first, you know.”
“There’s a bit of that too.”
Smiling sheepishly, Seung-hyeon looked up at Seon-woo, but quickly turned his head away to avoid his gaze. He wasn’t someone who lied often—not unless he said nothing at all. And in front of Seon-woo, he always tried to be more honest than usual, so saying something this ambiguous didn’t sit well with him.
In the meantime, the score was steadily decreasing. By Seung-hyeon’s rough calculation, his current Gwanggong Score had dropped to around 67. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before it hit 50—the threshold the system had warned him about. For the first time, a real sense of urgency crept in. He needed to find a way to end this situation quickly.
Seon-woo seemed to notice right away that something had changed in Seung-hyeon’s expression.
“Lift your face.”
His usual formal workplace tone shifted instantly. Seung-hyeon obeyed without resistance and looked up to meet Seon-woo’s eyes.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2. A Gwanggong does not obediently follow someone else’s orders.>
Seon-woo grabbed Seung-hyeon’s chin and tilted it upward, studying him with a serious expression before making his diagnosis.
“You look like hell. Let’s get out of here.”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 3. A Gwanggong does not let others handle their chin like a dog.>
And just like that, he stood up and put on his coat. When Seung-hyeon obediently lifted his head, he hadn’t anticipated it would lead to this, and now found himself slightly flustered as he got up to follow.
“Director, I’m really fine. I feel perfectly normal.”
He leaned in and put on his most harmless, innocent expression in an effort to prove he was okay. But Seon-woo looked completely unmoved.
“What part of you is normal? You’ve got dark circles down to your chin.”
“…”
“When you’re sick, you need to know when to rest. Is there anything you need from the office?”
“…I mean, my bag’s still in there.”
“Anything else?”
Seung-hyeon looked conflicted, but he didn’t avoid answering. He gave a small nod, and that was all the confirmation Seon-woo needed. He took hold of Seung-hyeon’s wrist and led him along.
“I’ll have the secretary bring it. Just come with me.”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 3. A Gwanggong does not get dragged around by someone else.>
At this point, it felt like Gwak Seung-hyeon, when standing in front of Gwak Seon-woo, was the exact opposite of everything the system demanded.
If only it would give up already—it’d be better for both of us. Not that telling it to give up would change anything. It’s not even a person, so maybe it’s only natural.
Seung-hyeon’s gaze fell to the wrist being pulled along by Seon-woo. He couldn’t bring himself to resist and followed behind at a slow pace. But just before stepping out the door, he paused, reaching out with his free hand to lightly grab Seon-woo’s wrist.
“Director, I really am okay. I just overslept a little, that’s all. Nothing happened. If you leave the office like this because of me…”
“Gwak Seung-hyeon.”
The voice was firm. Instinctively, Seung-hyeon froze and closed his mouth. When Seon-woo turned and their eyes met, Seung-hyeon’s gaze naturally dropped. It wasn’t out of fear. He lowered his eyes simply to show that he had no intention of disobeying Gwak Seon-woo.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2. A Gwanggong does not lower their gaze in front of others.>
It had been Seung-hyeon’s own mistake. He’d opened his mouth thoughtlessly, almost scolding Seon-woo, simply because he was worried that Seon-woo might abandon his work for his sake. But Seon-woo would surely say that wasn’t the point—that things like that didn’t matter to him. Still, the one who found that idea uncomfortable wasn’t Seon-woo. It was Seung-hyeon himself.
“I’m sorry. I overstepped.”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 3! A Gwanggong does not apologize to others.>
It didn’t matter to Seung-hyeon whether the system kept chipping away at his score or tried to paint him as some unrepentant delinquent. What mattered more was the expression on Seon-woo’s face, partially obscured by the floating notification window.
“Who told you to apologize for something like that.”
Just as expected. Seon-woo’s voice was firm. When Seung-hyeon didn’t respond, a quiet sigh followed.
“Seung-hyeon.”
“…Yes, Hyung.”
Once his name was called, he couldn’t ignore it. At his slow reply, Seon-woo reached out and gently caressed Seung-hyeon’s cheek.
“It’s because you can’t see your own face. I’m saying this because you really look awful, so just listen to me, okay?”
Then, with another sigh, he added how they’d only just become closer again—not long ago.
It had already been nearly a month, yet hearing that, and seeing the worried look on Seon-woo’s face as he said it, made it impossible for Seung-hyeon to keep resisting. He followed along quietly, falling into step behind Seon-woo with a pace that was just a bit more relaxed.
It’s nice. Because he liked that worried look on Seon-woo’s face. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.
***
When they reached the parking lot, Seung-hyeon, who had been following behind, stepped forward for the first time. He opened the driver’s side door for Seon-woo, prompting a scoff from the other man.
“Didn’t I tell you to worry about yourself, not others? You’re the patient.”
“I told you, I’m not sick.”
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2. A Gwanggong does not open car doors for others.>
And the moment Seung-hyeon got into the car, another alert chimed.
<Current Gwanggong Score: 54! If your score falls below 50, penalties will be applied. Please be advised.>
Had it really gotten that low already? He knew in his head that it was time to be cautious—but knowing wasn’t the same as doing.
As soon as Seung-hyeon got in the car, he reached over to fasten Seon-woo’s seatbelt for him. But the attempt was cut short when Seon-woo’s hand intercepted his.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2! A Gwanggong does not fail when trying to fasten someone else’s seatbelt…>
Not “doesn’t fasten,” but “doesn’t fail to fasten”— the warning message was worded in a way that was especially embarrassing. Seung-hyeon awkwardly pulled his hand back, and Seon-woo, sounding genuinely concerned, spoke up.
“Sit still. You’re the one who’s sick.”
He was being treated like a full-on patient now. Seon-woo gently pushed Seung-hyeon’s arm aside and, instead, fastened his seatbelt for him.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 1.>
The system might’ve been brimming with disapproval, but Seung-hyeon couldn’t help smiling shyly. When Seon-woo saw his expression, he accidentally let slip a real smile—no sarcasm, no scoffing, just a quiet, honest grin. As his hand pulled away, it brushed lightly across Seung-hyeon’s cheek.
Seung-hyeon closed his eyes and quietly savored the touch that had grazed his face. Seon-woo glanced at him briefly, then fell silent, likely in consideration of Seung-hyeon’s condition.
The car drove along a familiar road and eventually turned into the apartment complex. The only things different from usual were the fact that it was way too early for this to be a normal return home, and that Seung-hyeon wasn’t the one behind the wheel—Seon-woo was. Slowly opening his eyes, Seung-hyeon realized he must’ve dozed off.
Maybe Seon-woo was right after all.
Just as Seung-hyeon had come to know Seon-woo well, the reverse was true too—Seon-woo knew him far too well now. The fact that he’d seen right through Seung-hyeon’s condition, even when he himself hadn’t noticed, was both unsettling and oddly comforting. Even if every secret were exposed, he felt like he could still be happy.
Lost in this strange sense of contentment, Seon-woo—who’d been silent the entire drive—reached over. Click. He undid Seung-hyeon’s seatbelt for him.
<Gwanggong Score has dropped by 2.>
 Maybe it was because someone else had unfastened his seatbelt instead of him. The system didn’t even bother explaining—it just dropped the score again.
Just as Seung-hyeon, unfazed, was about to get out of the car—
<Current Gwanggong Score: 49.>
<Gwanggong Score has fallen below 50. Status Effect: ‘Fever’ has been triggered!>
<Raise your Gwanggong Score to recover from the status effect.>
An emotionless voice echoed in his ear.
