TCBW C45

Chapter 45

Like him? Me? Like who?

No way. Dowoon?

The more Suhoe tried to think of an answer, the more he was swept up by an inexplicably fierce urge to reject himself and escape this place at once.

Because it was like some destructive impulse, he unknowingly slammed his head hard against the cabinet beside him.

The dull thud and the surge of pain that followed, paradoxically, freed him for a moment from the psychological pressure that had been crushing him.

“Are you really okay….”

Seojun looked at him with eyes full of worry, then slowly stepped closer, reaching out as if to check his condition.

But before Seojun’s hand could touch him, Suhoe—forehead pressed to the cabinet and unable even to lift his head—spoke first.

“J-Jun. Please… please….”

His voice, nearly a sob, pleaded.

“T-that… could you… could you stop talking about that now? Please?”

“……”

“I’m begging you, Jun. Please….”

His entreaty sounded desperate. The wet, violently trembling voice gave Seojun the impression of a drowning man clutching at straws.

At that, Seojun withdrew the hand he had extended toward him.

“…All right. I understand.”

With that answer, a heavy, awkward silence filled the break room.

Leaning against the cabinet, Suhoe slowly sank down. Watching his shoulders tremble, Seojun could tell just how precarious his state was.

For a long while thereafter, only the faint everyday noises drifting in from outside the window occupied the space between them.

When that quiet had stretched on for quite some time, a much-calmer, small and feeble voice broke the stillness. It was Suhoe’s.

“Jun.”

Seojun answered at once, his tone now markedly cautious.

“Yeah, Suhoe.”

Slowly, very slowly, Suhoe lifted his head.

A red mark still stood out starkly on his forehead, but the fierce emotion from moments ago no longer showed on his face.

He raised a trembling hand, brought it under his nose, and blankly stared at the red smear that stained his fingertips.

“I think… I have a nosebleed.”

His voice was level, as if reporting someone else’s condition and not his own, yet his eyes—out of focus—wavered with unease.

Whether it was from the impact of the blow, or for some other reason, even he could not tell.

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”

As Suhoe, having gathered his cleaning tools, stood before the elevator, Seojun spoke.

“No. I’m fine.”

Forcing a smile, Suhoe shook his head.

He’d had more than his fill of hospitals, and he’d quietly sworn to himself not to show weakness or illness over anything trivial anymore.

“You said you hurt your hand when you took that fall. You’re just going to leave that, too?”

“I got simple treatment at the infirmary. It’s really fine.”

“Even so, how do you plan to work in that condition?”

“Don’t worry too much.”

“Suhoe, you….”

When he wouldn’t budge, Seojun finally let out a small, resigned sigh.

“You’re really stubborn, you know that.”

“Heh-heh.”

“…Just don’t overdo it.”

“Okay.”

“And… I’m not going to ask you things you don’t want to answer anymore—like I did earlier.”

He reached out and wrapped his hand around Suhoe’s.

“So if you’re struggling, tell me directly. I just want to help you.”

Suhoe didn’t shake off his hand. He understood better than anyone what Seojun meant by wanting to help.

“Okay.”

Or rather—he had, before.

Before? Then what about now?

He didn’t know. In truth, ever since Seojun had asked whether he liked Dowoon, Suhoe’s head had been in relentless turmoil.

Even when the elevator halted with a heavy mechanical sound and the doors slid open from the center, he failed to notice—so deep was he in his thoughts.

“Ugh. Jun, that hurts.”

He lifted his head at last because he felt pain where Seojun held his hand.

When he looked up at him, he saw Seojun’s brow drawn tight in a fierce scowl; following his gaze into the elevator, Suhoe finally locked eyes with Dowoon, who stood inside wearing an impassive expression.

“……”

Ordinarily, he would at least have offered a greeting, but the oppressive aura emanating from Dowoon robbed him of speech.

Dowoon was also looking at him.

Having witnessed the tender tableau of hands clasped between Seojun and Suhoe, he was not particularly pleased; it seemed he wanted to know what was going through his wife’s mind.

Seojun, too, stared back at Dowoon without flinching, and a taut current hummed between the three.

As usual, the first to recover his composure—quicker than anyone present—was Hae-eon, who had been standing like a statue beside Dowoon.

Sensing he alone might be able to ease the perilous tension, he immediately stepped forward, pried apart the hands of Seojun and Suhoe, and addressed Suhoe.

“Mr. Suhoe! Please step in.”

Pretending to know nothing, he put on an exaggeratedly bright smile and guided Suhoe into the elevator.

“Ah… yes.”

Almost forcibly moved into the car, Suhoe took a place beside Dowoon.

Left unexpectedly separated from him, Seojun wore a briefly dissatisfied, baffled look—then, as if struck by a brilliant idea, he smiled at Suhoe.

“Hold on.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s take the next one, Suhoe.”

“The next one?”

“I left something in the break room.”

He offered the excuse smoothly and gestured for Suhoe to step out.

“O-okay.”

With not the slightest doubt, Suhoe started to step back out of the elevator—only to find himself pulled into a solid, iron-like embrace as someone’s arm wrapped tight around his waist.

“Ah.”

Dowoon’s cold, unyielding voice drove like a wedge between the two of them.

“Mr. Suhoe should go up as is.”

There was not a tremor in his tone. It was unmistakably firm and imposing—like a warning that could not be refused.

“It is, after all, working hours.”

His cool gaze, pinned precisely on Seojun, carried a glint of contempt for someone daring to lay hands on what was his.

“…Mr. Dowoon.”

Still holding onto the flustered Suhoe, Seojun glared back at Dowoon as if unwilling to yield, then, perhaps realizing there was no way around it, slowly stepped into the elevator.

“Then I’ll head up right away as well.”

“……”

“I am on duty too.”

It was a fairly bold opening salvo, but to Dowoon it was laughable. Seojun’s brazen intentions and his longing for Suhoe were ridiculous.

Within the elevator, where only the faint whirr of machinery could be heard, a heavy silence settled.

Seojun was the first to break it. Suddenly, he snatched the cleaning tools that dangled precariously from Suhoe’s hand and held them up.

“Give me that. I’ll carry it.”

His tone was light, as if deliberately brightened.

“No. This much… I can carry.”

Flustered, acutely conscious of Dowoon’s presence, Suhoe offered a small protest, but Seojun only gave Dowoon a faint, relaxed smile.

“It’s fine. I’ll carry it. You hurt your hand earlier.”

“No, I said it’s fine….”

Even after that, Suhoe tried several times to take back what was his, but faced with Seojun’s stubbornness, he finally gave up, letting out a faint, trembling sigh as he carefully took a step away from him.

Without realizing it, he stole a glance at Dowoon, gauging his mood. What expression might be crossing his face? Might he be displeased by this scene? His heart thudded with nerves.

But, surprisingly, at some point Dowoon’s gaze had shifted away from them and fixed instead on the sheaf of documents in his hand.

As if entirely uninterested in what looked like two children bickering at play, he calmly reviewed the contents.

Unsure whether to feel relieved or not, Suhoe reflexively lifted his head when the elevator chimed and came to a stop.

The dashboard numbers blinked, showing the current floor, and the doors opened slowly.

Thinking someone might step in, he found himself, without thinking, taking a small step closer to Dowoon, who stood motionless near the wall.

But the doorway yawned empty—only a vacant corridor waited outside. Confirming that, Hae-eon, by habit, pressed the door-close button.

As the heavy doors began to slide shut again, and just at the instant before they fully closed, Dowoon—who had been quietly turning pages—reached out, as naturally as if it had been his intention all along, gripped Suhoe’s slender wrist firmly, and strode out of the elevator without a moment’s hesitation.