The Glass Tower
The sleek black car glided to a stop in front of an imposing glass tower that pierced the Gangnam skyline like a steel blade. Jiho pressed his face against the tinted window, his breath fogging the glass as he craned his neck to see the top of the building.
"It's like something straight out of those CEO dramas my mom watches," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.
Beside him, Minjae sat perfectly still, his usual composed mask firmly in place. But Jiho noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed silently against his thigh. When their eyes met, Minjae's hand found his, squeezing gently—a gesture that somehow made Jiho's racing heart slow just a fraction.
Secretary Park appeared at their door with practiced precision, his movements crisp and professional. "This way, please."
The marble lobby stretched before them like a cathedral of commerce, all polished surfaces and geometric lines. Every employee they passed immediately bowed low, their eyes tracking Minjae with a mixture of respect and curiosity. Jiho hunched deeper into his school blazer, acutely aware of how his scuffed sneakers squeaked against the pristine floor while everyone around them wore tailored suits that probably cost more than his family's monthly rent.
The private elevator required Secretary Park's keycard—even the elevator was exclusive here. As they ascended in silence, Jiho watched the floor numbers climb higher and higher, each ding echoing in the confined space like a countdown to judgment.
---
The elevator opened directly into what could only be described as a throne room disguised as an office. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around three walls, offering a panoramic view of Seoul that made the city look like a miniature model spread out below. The afternoon sun streamed through the glass, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor.
Behind an imposing mahogany desk stood Chairman Jang—a man who seemed carved from marble and steel. His silver-streaked hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. His charcoal suit fit like it had been sewn directly onto his frame. But it was his eyes that made Jiho's breath catch—sharp, calculating, and completely unreadable.
"Minjae. Jiho." The chairman's voice carried the weight of absolute authority.
Jiho's feet suddenly felt rooted to the spot. The air itself seemed heavier here, pressing down on his shoulders like an invisible weight.
Minjae stepped forward with fluid grace, offering a shallow bow that somehow managed to be both respectful and defiant. "Chairman Jang."
Jiho scrambled to follow suit, his bow deeper and more hurried, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Chairman Jang's gaze settled on him like a spotlight, and for a terrifying moment, Jiho felt as though the man could see straight through to his soul—every insecurity, every fear, every secret laid bare. The silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.
"You're the boy from the video," the chairman said finally, his tone neither warm nor cold—simply stating a fact. "Han-Jiho, correct?"
"Y-Yes, sir." The words barely made it past Jiho's dry throat.
Those piercing eyes studied him for another heartbeat before shifting to Minjae. "Sit down. Both of you."
They settled into the leather chairs facing the desk, the expensive material cool against Jiho's back. He kept his hands folded in his lap to hide their trembling.
The Offer
Chairman Jang remained standing, a chess master surveying his board. His fingers drummed once against the desk surface—the only sign that he might be anything less than completely in control.
"I've been briefed on the incident," he began, each word measured and precise. "It's... unfortunate. But I believe we can resolve this matter quietly and efficiently."
Jiho felt Minjae tense beside him.
"I'm prepared to offer compensation, Jiho." The chairman leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a businesslike tone. "Substantial compensation."
Jiho's head snapped up. "Compensation?"
"I won't allow this incident to derail my son's future," Chairman Jang continued, his words sharp as cut glass. "If you agree not to press charges, involve the school's disciplinary board, or—God forbid—contact the media, I'll ensure you're taken care of. Financially. Generously. And quietly."
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Jiho blinked, processing. "So... you want me to take your money and pretend nothing happened?"
Chairman Jang's expression didn't flicker. "I'm offering you a practical solution. It benefits everyone involved."
From his peripheral vision, Jiho could see Minjae turning toward him, but his mind was already made up. He shook his head slowly.
"No, sir. Thank you, but no." His voice was quiet but steady. "I wasn't planning to report Hyunwoo anyway. I don't want my mom dragged into something ugly because of me. I just... I just wanted to move on with my life."
Something that might have been surprise flickered across the chairman's features. His mouth curved into what could generously be called a smirk.
"Interesting. So the boy has principles." He leaned back in his chair, looking almost pleased. "Good. That means we understand each other. This matter ends here."
But before Jiho could respond, Minjae rose from his chair like a coiled spring released.
"No. We're not done."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Chairman Jang's eyebrows rose a fraction—the most emotion he'd shown since they arrived.
"Excuse me?"
"I want Hyunwoo to apologize to Jiho," Minjae said, his voice steel wrapped in velvet. "Publicly. In front of the same audience that watched him humiliate an innocent person."
A sharp bark of laughter escaped the chairman's lips. "You must be joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Minjae's voice could have cut diamond.
Chairman Jang's amusement evaporated. "Do you have any idea who you're speaking to? What you're asking is impossible. Do you want to destroy my family's reputation?"
"Funny how you care so much about reputation," Minjae said, taking a step closer to the desk, "but so little about the person you raised."
The air between them crackled with electricity.
"You talk about protecting Hyunwoo's future, but has it ever occurred to you that he's the one who needs protection? From you?"
Chairman Jang's face went stone cold. "Watch your tongue."
But Minjae was just getting started. "Hyunwoo used to be different. Kind. Thoughtful. He was a good student and an even better friend. But now?" Minjae's voice rose slightly. "Now he's bitter, cruel, and completely lost. And that's on you."
The chairman's jaw worked silently, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
"You gave him everything money could buy, but nothing that actually mattered. No father who truly saw him, who listened to him, who loved him without conditions or expectations attached."
Minjae leaned forward, his hands braced on the desk.
"Tell me something, Chairman Jang—do you even know where your son is right now?"
The older man's face went pale.
"That's what I thought." Minjae's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "You have no idea. Because all you care about is the image, isn't it? The brand. The legacy. Everything except the actual human being who carries your name."
Jiho sat frozen, watching this verbal duel with wide eyes, his heart pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.
"But here's the thing," Minjae continued, straightening up. "It's not too late. You can still choose to be a real father. You can still fix this broken relationship. But if you don't..." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "One day you'll look around and realize you're completely alone. That all your money and power couldn't buy back the son you lost through your own negligence."
Chairman Jang's knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of his desk, but he remained silent.
Minjae turned to Jiho, extending his hand. "Let's go."
Jiho hesitated for just a moment before taking the offered hand and standing.
"We didn't come here to make deals or accept bribes," Minjae said, his back already turned to the chairman. "We came because Jiho deserves an apology. A real one. And we'll get it—not for revenge, but because it's the right thing to do."
They walked toward the elevator, their footsteps echoing in the silent office. Neither of them bowed as they left.
Behind them, Chairman Jang remained motionless at his desk, a storm building in his eyes as the elevator doors closed.
---
Room 1205
The hotel room felt like a sanctuary after the sterile hostility of the chairman's office. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the dark ocean, waves visible only as foam crests catching the moonlight. The city noise had faded to a distant hum, replaced by the rhythmic crash of water against shore.
Soobin stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed defensively over his chest.
"I'm not going back to my own room." he said, his tone trying for stubborn but landing somewhere closer to pleading.
Hyunwoo tossed a pillow onto the bed with more force than necessary. "Why not? You have a perfectly good room next door."
"Because I don't want to." Soobin's voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. "Please don't make me go."
The silence stretched between them, filled with all the words neither of them knew how to say.
Finally, Hyunwoo's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Fine. Stay."
Soobin's face lit up with a smile that was pure sunshine, and he kicked off his shoes before scrambling onto the bed. Hyunwoo slid in on the opposite side, methodically building a wall of pillows down the center of the mattress.
"Seriously?" Soobin raised an eyebrow, poking at the barrier. "A pillow wall? What are we, twelve?"
Hyunwoo didn't answer. He lay on his back, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to questions he was afraid to ask.
Soobin turned onto his side, studying Hyunwoo's profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
"I don't want to fall asleep," Soobin whispered.
Something in his voice made Hyunwoo's chest tighten. "Why not?"
"What if I wake up and you're gone again?" The words came out small and scared. "Like last time?"
Hyunwoo's jaw clenched. "I won't leave. Just... just go to sleep, hyung."
But Soobin wasn't finished. His hand moved slowly across the space between them, fingers brushing against Hyunwoo's knuckles before gently intertwining with them.
"Do you remember when you used to sneak into my house at night?" Soobin asked softly.
Despite everything, Hyunwoo's lips curved into a ghost of a smile. "Yeah. I showed up like some kind of stray cat, didn't I?"
"You used to have nightmares," Soobin continued, his thumb tracing gentle circles over Hyunwoo's knuckles. "You'd hold onto me so tightly, like you were afraid I'd disappear."
Hyunwoo turned his head, surprise flickering in his eyes. "I did that?"
"Every time." Soobin's voice was barely audible. "You'd curl up against my side and finally sleep peacefully. I think... I think you felt safe there."
"Your house was the safest place I knew," Hyunwoo admitted quietly.
Soobin shifted closer, the pillow barrier crumpling between them. "I want to be that for you again. Your safe place. Can I be, Hyunwoo-ah?"
He reached out tentatively, fingertips ghosting over Hyunwoo's cheek. "Can you hold me again?"
For a moment, Hyunwoo's carefully constructed walls cracked. He wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, to fall into the comfort and warmth that Soobin offered so freely. His heart raced with desperate longing.
But then, like a cruel slideshow, the memories crashed over him: Soobin and Minaje laughing together on the soccer field. The way Soobin had smiled at Minaje—bright and unguarded and beautiful. The easy affection in his voice when he'd called Minaje handsome.
The warmth in Hyunwoo's chest turned to ice.
"It's late," he said, his voice suddenly flat as he turned to face the wall. "I want to sleep."
Soobin lay still for a long moment, his hand hovering in the space where Hyunwoo's face had been. Slowly, carefully, he reached out to brush his fingers through Hyunwoo's hair a gesture so gentle it was almost reverent.
"Please don't be so cold to me," Soobin whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "It hurts more than you know."
No answer came from the figure curled away from him.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed them both, and they fell into restless sleep—so close they could feel each other's warmth, yet separated by a chasm neither knew how to cross.
---
1:03 AM.
The soft buzz of a phone against the nightstand cut through the quiet rhythm of the ocean waves. Hyunwoo fumbled for it in the darkness, squinting at the bright screen through sleep-heavy eyes.
He slipped quietly toward the window, his bare feet silent on the cool floor, and answered in a whisper.
"Hello?"
"Oppa~" The voice that greeted him was sickeningly sweet, like honey laced with poison. "Are you still breathing? I was starting to worry."
Hyunwoo's blood turned to ice water. "Hyejin?"
"So you didn't throw yourself off a cliff after all?" She giggled, the sound high and unhinged. "I'm so relieved. That would have been terribly boring."
Hyunwoo pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching his breath fog the window. "What do you want?"
"Did you know your dad called Jiho and Minjae today?" Her voice took on a sing-song quality that made his skin crawl.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh, didn't you hear? I gave him the video." Another laugh, this one sharper. "Soobin Oppa thought deleting the livestream would make everything disappear? How naive. I recorded the whole beautiful disaster on my phone."
Hyunwoo's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white. "Do whatever you want with it. Just... just don't tell him about..." He couldn't finish the sentence.
"About your little secret?" Hyejin's voice dropped to a purr. "Oh, oppa, of course I won't tell him. Not yet, anyway. You were absolutely perfect that day. The way little Jiho cried? That terrified look in his eyes? It was art."
She sighed with obvious satisfaction.
"The poor thing looked like he'd seen a ghost. It was absolutely delicious to watch."
The line went dead with a soft click.
Hyunwoo stood frozen by the window, the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to nothing but silence and the distant sound of waves. His reflection stared back at him from the dark glass—hollow-eyed and haunted.
Behind him, Soobin stirred in his sleep, murmuring something soft and indistinct.
But Hyunwoo didn't move. He stood there in the darkness, feeling the weight of his choices settling around him like chains, while the ocean outside continued its endless, uncaring dance with the shore.
---