1.2 After the team dinner, just the two of us.
That voice…
Unfortunately, the first thought that popped into his head was exactly what he didn’t want it to be. He shook it off, waving the idea away. No way… no, it can’t be…
"Assistant Manager Shim…"
The name slipped out. It felt familiar but strange—such irony. Is it really him? It sounds like him… I should turn around…
And then—thud. A heavy sound came from behind, louder and heavier than just something falling over. Jinwoo could already picture the scene without even turning around. He didn’t know what was going on yet, but somehow, that made it worse.
Should I just… pretend I didn’t hear it and go home? He glanced back—and froze.
There he was—Joo Heeseong—collapsed on the ground.
What the hell… is he insane?
He wasn’t just slumped over. No, he was actually sprawled out on the cement.
At first, Jinwoo thought maybe it was just an accident—he tripped or something. But strangely, Heeseong didn’t move. Didn’t even try to get up.
That… that looks just like a drunk guy, Jinwoo thought, frowning.
That ridiculously expensive suit was a wrinkled, dirty mess, like he’d used the cement as a bed without even realizing it. If there had been more people around, it would’ve been a disaster.
He’s really that drunk? Seriously?
The absurdity of the scene almost made Jinwoo laugh. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Yeah, it was funny… but also a problem. Because right before collapsing, Heeseong had clearly called out to him. And now? Now he was just lying there like dead weight.
While Jinwoo hesitated, a familiar group approached from the opposite side. Jinwoo instinctively turned his head away, his gut telling him bad luck was coming. Looked like the others had already gathered for the next round.
Shit… I should’ve run earlier.
From the ground, he could hear Heeseong groaning faintly. It made Jinwoo uneasy. Should he just leave? That was probably the smartest move, right? But… something about the whole thing gnawed at him.
He said there’s something he absolutely has to tell me…
A secret. One he wasn’t supposed to know. Jinwoo bit his lower lip.
If I screw this up, I’m seriously fucked.
The feeling hit him hard. No way… there’s no way he knows… right?
But… what if he did? What if Joo Heeseong knew everything?
"Fuck."
That smirk he’d seen earlier flashed through his mind—right before those eyes shut. Jinwoo cursed under his breath and forced himself to move. He strode over to Heeseong.
"…Ugh…"
The groaning confirmed it—he was really drunk.
While Jinwoo was still frozen with indecision, Heeseong suddenly mumbled like he could read his mind.
"…Something… to say… to Assistant Manager… need to… check…"
What the hell is so damn important?
Jinwoo was pissed—but deep down, he was also terrified that Heeseong was about to expose everything. Watching him struggle, mumbling as his body slumped, Jinwoo clenched his teeth.
"Pull yourself together. Come on—just, let’s walk over there, okay? Please."
He kept his voice low, trying to coax him, but Heeseong didn’t budge.
"If you stay here, they’re gonna drag you to the next round. Do you wanna go to karaoke like this? Seriously?"
Somehow, the word “karaoke” seemed to register. Heeseong’s hand twitched, and he started fumbling weakly. Jinwoo had no choice but to drag him.
Just as he feared, Heeseong was dead weight. Jinwoo was about to give up—then thankfully, Heeseong swayed and slowly pulled himself halfway up.
Panicking, Jinwoo quickly lowered his head to avoid eye contact. Heeseong was practically crawling, but at least he was moving.
The suit was ruined—scraping against the concrete as they stumbled along.
"Huff… Huff…"
With a final gasp, Heeseong collapsed onto the ground again, like it was scripted.
The third-round group passed by, not noticing either of them. Jinwoo let out a shaky breath once their backs disappeared from sight.
"God… I thought we were busted."
"…Bathroom… need the bathroom…"
What? What did you say?
"I feel like… I’m gonna explode… ugh, blurgh."
Looked like he had to pee. Maybe that’s why he’d stormed out of the bar in the first place? Jinwoo rubbed his forehead with a frustrated sigh. Of course. What a freaking mess…
"Hold on, wait. No, you can’t. Just try to hold it, please."
He hadn’t even gotten free from Heeseong’s grip, so their positions were awkward as hell. Jinwoo frantically looked around for somewhere—anywhere—but then he heard that familiar retching sound again.
Shit. Okay, screw it—survival first.
Right then, like fate, a taxi drove up. If there was a god, he was helping now.
"Taxi!"
There was no other option. He’d just have to take him home.
The moment Jinwoo told the driver the address, the guy clicked his tongue and grumbled loudly. Five minutes away—guess he wasn’t thrilled about that. Jinwoo swallowed his irritation. Don’t fight. Just think of it like a business meeting.
Repeating that to himself, he forced a polite apology out like a robot.
"Sorry, sir. It’s just… a situation. Please, I’m begging you. He won’t throw up, I promise."
Luckily, Jinwoo managed to shove the drunken mess into the backseat like a piece of luggage. Moments like this were when his corporate worker instincts came in handy.
Still, it was painfully awkward. The car ride was short, but Jinwoo was sweating bullets the whole way. Heeseong slumped against the window, silent as the grave, like he’d passed out for good.
At least now Jinwoo could properly support him. Before, Heeseong was barely standing on his own, but now Jinwoo practically carried him. Their bodies pressed together, making Jinwoo rush even more.
Time was running out. If Heeseong pissed himself—or worse, crapped himself—Jinwoo would never recover from the trauma.
By the time they finally reached the house and got the door open, Jinwoo was panting, soaked in sweat. He seriously felt like he might die.
Jinwoo dumped Heeseong just inside the entryway like luggage. A heavy thud echoed as his body hit the floor. He probably should’ve been in pain, but the guy didn’t even flinch—just shifted slightly, groaning, trying to get comfortable.
Now that they were inside, Heeseong seemed way bigger. His jacket had fallen open, navy tie half-undone and hanging across his chest, exposing the broad line of his upper body through the wrinkled shirt.
Why the hell is he so defenseless? It’s like he wants someone to look…
Jinwoo scowled, annoyed at himself as he awkwardly tried to cover Heeseong up. But it was impossible not to notice how built he was. Jinwoo hadn’t imagined it—his shoulders were as broad as a damn athlete’s. Not the kind of frame you find every day.
There’s no way he buys off-the-rack. Probably all custom-made… Must cost a fortune.
Suddenly, Heeseong’s tie slipped, and Jinwoo—almost involuntarily—grabbed it, tugging it loose. Then, face tightening, he fumbled open the top button of Heeseong’s shirt.
It was stupid, but for a second, it felt like Heeseong knew Jinwoo was staring. His defined collarbones, his furrowed brows—every little detail demanded attention.
The smooth skin, the sharp bridge of his nose—what the hell is this guy?
Jinwoo swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. He looked away, shaking himself out of it.
Then, a low mumble: "Ugh…."
What now? Jinwoo froze. Is he waking up?
"Where… is this… Manager Shim…?"
The way those rough, drunken words came out—so out of place with his otherwise sharp looks—snapped Jinwoo back to reality.
Why the hell did I bring him here? What am I even doing?
Time to handle this. Jinwoo leaned down, speaking firmly.
"Joo Heeseong."
"Mmm… ugh…"
"You see that? Right over there’s the bathroom. Just lift your head and you’ll see it. If you’re gonna puke or piss yourself, do it in there, not here."
"And, uh… it’d be even better if you sobered up and got the hell out of here, ASAP."
"…Thirsty…"
Jinwoo’s brow twitched. Still, at least the guy was forming words now. Better than nothing.
"Wait here."
Jinwoo headed for the kitchen. He filled a glass at the water purifier, ears straining toward the entryway the whole time.
Why does it sound… weird back there?
Somewhere deep down, a bad feeling started creeping in. Jinwoo grabbed the glass tighter and quickly turned back.
As he filled a glass of water, his ears stayed trained on the entryway.
Rustle. Shuffle.
Was he moving? Finally decided to get up on his own? Jinwoo hurried back, only to come face-to-face with something completely unexpected.
“What… What the hell are you doing?”
Somehow, in the brief moment Jinwoo had been gone, Joo Heeseong had managed to strip off his suit jacket. That wasn’t even the worst part—he was unbuttoning his shirt.
One button. Then another. And another.
A fourth.
What the hell is this?
Still slouched lazily against the wall, Heeseong’s long limbs stretched out like he had no care in the world. His thin dress shirt barely covered his sculpted frame, and what it did cover… well, it didn’t leave much to the imagination. Broad, firm pecs, the faint outline of his abs—Jinwoo could see it all.
He swallowed hard. The guy’s build looked even better up close.
No. No, no, no. What the hell are you thinking?
And then… Jinwoo’s gaze dipped lower.
Long legs clad in charcoal slacks. A relaxed posture. And—
Jinwoo’s breath hitched.
Oh.
A thick outline rested against the fabric, subtly pressed to the side, barely noticeable unless you really looked. But Jinwoo had already looked. And now, he couldn’t unsee it.
For a moment, his brain short-circuited. It was stupid—he shouldn’t be staring. The rational part of him knew that. But the sheer… natural way it sat, like it belonged there, like it was just another casual crease in the fabric—
Why the hell is he taking his clothes off?
The realization hit him a second too late. His brain had been so distracted by the sight that it hadn’t even questioned the why.
“Hey, put your clothes back on,” Jinwoo blurted out, gripping the glass tighter.
He hesitated before glancing around. Maybe Heeseong had spilled something on himself? Thrown up? But no—the floor was spotless. Everything was normal.
Except him.
Jinwoo took a deep breath, forcing the water into Heeseong’s hands.
“Here. Drink this. And for god’s sake, keep your shirt on.”
At the same time, another button slipped undone. Jinwoo nearly cursed out loud.
“You’re not even that drunk. What is this, a strip show? It’s not even hot in here—”
“My body feels hot,” Heeseong mumbled. “And dizzy…”
Great. Here we go again. Jinwoo sighed.
"Ugh, my stomach…" Heeseong groaned, shifting uncomfortably.
“No. No. Drink the damn water first,” Jinwoo snapped, shoving the glass at him.
To his relief, Heeseong actually obeyed, lifting the cup to his lips. Jinwoo exhaled, finally feeling a sliver of peace—
Until Heeseong gagged.
The retching noise was even worse than before. Jinwoo panicked, snatching the cup away.
“Oh, hell no. Not in my house,” he growled.
Without thinking, he hauled Heeseong up to his feet.
"Ah… uh…"
“Goddamn it—stand up properly!”
The height difference hit him suddenly. Jinwoo wasn’t short, but up close, Heeseong’s frame was overwhelming. The ceiling even felt lower somehow.
But there was no time to be intimidated.
Jinwoo dragged him toward the bathroom, holding him up like a jockey guiding a racehorse.
“You’re not messing up my floor. Get it out in here.”
With one last shove, he got Heeseong to the toilet. Then, for good measure, he grabbed a new toothbrush from the cabinet.
“Use this,” he muttered. “And for god’s sake, be an adult. You’re not a kid—handle your own damn body.”
A beat of silence. Then, a slow, almost sulky voice: "You called me Heeseong earlier… but now it’s ‘Mr. Joo’…”
Jinwoo did not have the patience for this.
He slammed the bathroom door shut, pressing his forehead against it with a deep sigh.
Through the wood, he finally heard the sound of water running.
Finally.
Jinwoo exhaled, rubbing his temples.
What the hell am I doing?
His thoughts flashed back to earlier, to the brief, undeniable moment when he’d felt something firm brush against him while helping Heeseong stand.
Heeseong was dangerous. The kind of person Jinwoo needed to avoid.
Physical contact with him was a bad idea.
Jinwoo clenched his jaw, glaring at the closed door.
He felt like he was about to lose his mind.
