* * *
After lunch, Jingyeom decided to escape from Soohyuk, who wouldn’t stop teasing and joking with him, by making an excuse to grab a book and heading up to the second floor.
“The second room is supposed to be the study, right?”
He opened the door, and sure enough, it was the study.
Although the furniture was all black, which could have made the room seem dark, the white chiffon curtains diffused sunlight softly, creating a pleasant atmosphere.
He felt that reading here might somehow help him focus better.
It was also a room that suited Soohyuk’s style.
Looking around the shelves, he wondered which book to take.
“…Is he really into psychology?”
Most of the books in his line of sight were about psychology and mental health.
Jingyeom was momentarily surprised, wondering if Soohyuk had such interests, but then resumed his search for something interesting to read.
“There’s nothing here that I could actually get through.”
Anything he picked from these would probably just give him a headache.
And he definitely wasn’t interested in taking down an economics book.
Just when he was starting to wonder why he’d even bothered coming up, he spotted a few crime mystery novels.
He figured those would be enjoyable and quickly grabbed one, preparing to leave—when he happened to glance at the desk and paused.
It looked similar to the spacious desk and plush chair he’d seen in Wonbeom’s office, and his curiosity piqued, he drifted over.
“Just for a moment… Just a quick sit.”
Sitting down, he straightened his back and placed his hands on the desk.
Sunlight streaming in from behind cast a soft shadow.
“This… feels oddly satisfying.”
The whole study came into view, and the large desk seemed endless, even if he stretched his arms out.
He’d often envied office workers when he saw them sitting in sleek offices back when he used to work with Jinwoo.
Sitting here now, he felt a small thrill, as if he’d become an office worker himself.
But then, as he moved his hands around, he accidentally knocked a note holder off the desk, producing a dull thud, and he quickly picked it up.
“…That better not be real gold, right?”
Thankfully, it didn’t seem damaged, but the note holder’s bright golden color made him a bit anxious.
As he carefully returned it to its place, he noticed that one of the notes was missing.
“Huh? There was a paper here!”
It must have slipped somewhere when he dropped it.
He bent down, checking under the desk, the chair, and even under the shelves, but he couldn’t find it anywhere.
Anxious that it might have been an important note, he started searching every corner with a determined look, but ultimately, he couldn’t find it and sank back down in frustration.
Then he noticed a large safe on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
It was so visible and bold that he wondered if it was alright to have it out in the open like that.
Intriguing as the safe was, finding the missing note was more urgent for now.
As he crawled around on the floor, the door suddenly swung open, startling him, and he straightened up.
“Jingyeom, you here?”
“Ah!”
Jingyeom instinctively hugged his head and curled up, forgetting that he was under the desk when he stretched up.
“Ouch…”
“You okay? What are you doing under here?”
Soohyuk rushed over and placed his hand over Jingyeom’s, and with his other arm, gently pulled him out from under the desk.
Jingyeom, now freed, clutched his head as a sharp pain pulsed, clouding his senses and bringing instant tears to his eyes.
“Did you hit your head here?”
Taking in the situation, Soohyuk hugged Jingyeom tightly to him.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
Having hit his head so hard, Soohyuk was worried something serious might have happened.
The sound he’d heard when he entered wasn’t one to ignore, either.
“…I’m fine, really.”
“You’re not fine. You’re in pain and crying, but you keep saying you’re fine.”
Soohyuk slipped an arm under Jingyeom’s knees and lifted him up effortlessly.
Jingyeom instinctively reached out to hold onto his shoulder, his hand slipping on Soohyuk’s sweater.
He gripped harder to make sure he didn’t fall.
“I won’t drop you.”
“It really doesn’t hurt that bad! We don’t have to go to the hospital!”
“You’re literally crying right now.”
“Only because it hurts a little!”
Their back-and-forth continued all the way down to the first floor.
Soohyuk insisted they needed to go to the hospital to check for any potential concussion or internal bleeding, but Jingyeom, fresh from the hospital, stubbornly refused to go back.
Jingyeom argued that while his head hurt, he wasn’t bleeding, and though he might’ve killed a few brain cells with that impact, he felt fine otherwise.
Although Soohyuk remained concerned, he agreed to let it go for now.
Instead, they decided to at least inform Hoonil about the incident to keep an eye on any worsening symptoms.
Hoonil, like Soohyuk, thought that it would be best to get a thorough examination after such a hard hit.
But respecting Jingyeom’s wishes, they agreed to monitor his condition and head to the hospital if his symptoms got worse.
Sitting with him on the sofa, Soohyuk carefully examined Jingyeom’s head, his brows knit with worry.
“You’ve got a bump.”
“…I’m fine.”
“You keep saying you’re fine, but your nose is running.”
Noticing this, Jingyeom sniffled, pulling himself together as best he could despite the lingering tears.
“Ah, I swear…”
Soohyuk took a cool towel from Mrs. Jeong, who had brought it over, and placed it gently on the bump.
Seeing Jingyeom, still teary-eyed and stubborn, made him smile with slight exasperation.
The thought lingered that maybe he should’ve forced him to go to the hospital in case of internal injuries.
He resolved to take him there later if he could convince him.
After all, if something happened suddenly, that would be a disaster.
Soohyuk carefully wiped the tear stains from Jingyeom’s face with a handkerchief.
“Your eyes are all red from crying. Doesn’t it sting?”
“…A little.”
Jingyeom replied softly.
At first, the pain had been overwhelming, and he’d let his frustration spill out, but now a wave of embarrassment was setting in.
He felt sorry, too, for snapping at Soohyuk, who was only worried about him.
“…Sorry for yelling earlier.”
“Yeah, I was really hurt, you know. You even hit me trying to get down.”
“I didn’t hit you… I just… nudged you a bit.”
“Uh-huh. You hit me pretty hard; I probably have a bruise now.”
Thinking back, Jingyeom couldn’t argue since he’d instinctively flailed his arms and clutched Soohyuk’s sweater to avoid going to the hospital.
But bruising?
That sounded exaggerated.
He looked at Soohyuk’s shoulder and saw the stretched-out fabric, feeling guilty.
“Must be… expensive, huh?”
Assuming Soohyuk’s sweater was costly, he promised himself he’d pay him back for it someday.
After crying his heart out, Jingyeom’s energy was drained, and he drifted off with the damp towel resting on his head.
Soohyuk chuckled softly at the sight.
He’d gone looking for Jingyeom when he didn’t come back with a book, only to find him curled up and in tears under the desk. It was such a pitiful sight.
“What were you doing under there in the first place?”
The trip to the hospital had taken up time as they debated going or not, and in the end, he’d forgotten to ask Jingyeom why he’d passed out in the first place.
He didn’t want to wake Jingyeom, who was now fast asleep, so he simply lifted him up.
Mrs. Jeong stood by, opening Jingyeom’s door for them.
Once inside, Soohyuk carefully laid him down, pulling the blankets over him.
“Please call ahead tomorrow to arrange for the hospital visit,” he said.
“Understood,” she replied before leaving.
Soohyuk also covered Jingyeom and exited the room, heading straight to his study.
While it could have been simple curiosity, he wanted to look for any other potential reasons behind Jingyeom’s fainting.
Scanning the study, he noticed the desk and then realized the note pinned to the memo holder was missing.
Picking up the empty memo holder, he muttered to himself, “Did it fall? Or did he take it?”
If it had fallen under the desk, it suggested Jingyeom had been reading it and accidentally dropped it.
“So that’s what it was…”
Soohyuk murmured, remembering the name written on the note: Baek Jingyeom.
He’d jotted it down one day when Jingyeom came to mind and hadn’t wanted to throw it away, so he had left it pinned on the memo holder.
With a sigh, Soohyuk tossed the empty holder in the trash.
If he’d known it might cause harm, he would have thrown it away sooner.
With a cold expression, one Jingyeom had never seen, Soohyuk began to leave the room when his gaze landed on the safe.
Pausing for a moment, he knelt down and entered the code, 1203—Jingyeom’s birthday.
Inside, there was only a single document envelope.
“Should I destroy it now, or leave it?”
He’d agonized for days over what to do with the envelope’s contents, and when he couldn’t decide, he’d stowed it in the safe.
If Jingyeom ever found it, he figured it would be out of his hands then.
As he moved to close the safe, he noticed a slip of white paper under the bookshelf.
Pulling it out, he found it was the missing memo with Jingyeom’s name on it.
“Here it is.”
Soohyuk took the memo holder from the trash, slipped the note back in, and left it on the desk.
“He must have dropped it while looking at it.”
Though he’d rather just throw it away, he worried Jingyeom might feel bad if he thought he’d lost it, so he left it in place.
With Jingyeom’s name clearly displayed, Soohyuk finally left the study.
After Jingyeom collapsed, Secretary Yang had pieced together the possible reason from the messages and call history on Jingyeom’s phone.
Soohyuk, rather than letting Jinwoo have the phone as planned, took it for himself to see if there were reasons other than Baek Myungjun and Jeong Sanho that might explain what had happened.
He set it aside for later but focused first on tending to Jingyeom.
Once in Seoul, while checking through the phone, Soohyuk discovered a diary app.
“He keeps a diary?”
Though he knew better than to read someone’s private thoughts, his finger instinctively tapped on the app.
It was locked with a password, but the combination 1203 opened it on the first try, making him chuckle.
As he read the entries, something felt… off.
They sounded like they were written to someone, but the more he read, the clearer it became that they weren’t intended for him at all.
“…What is this?”
* * *
Uh ohhhg
👍
Thanks
good
Hmmm 👀
I know that