The unspoken longing
Two weeks into his new position, Jongin had settled into a rhythm that still felt somewhat surreal. Each morning, he would drop Yujin at the childcare center, where his son now eagerly ran toward his new friends without a backward glance. Then Jongin would take the elevator to the top floor, exchange polite greetings with colleagues who were slowly warming to his presence, and begin organizing Kyungsoo's day.
Seulgi had left for maternity leave the previous week, after declaring Jongin "a natural" at the job. Her absence had thrown Jongin into the deep end, but he found himself rising to the challenge with unexpected confidence.
"You're getting the hang of this faster than I expected," Kyungsoo remarked one afternoon as Jongin handed him precisely organized notes for an upcoming client meeting—color-coded by topic, with relevant precedent projects tabbed for easy reference.
"Is that a compliment or did you have low expectations?" Jongin asked, surprising himself with the teasing tone. Something about their daily interactions had gradually relaxed the rigid formality he'd initially maintained.
The corner of Kyungsoo's mouth twitched upward. "Definitely a compliment. Seulgi took three weeks to figure out my filing system. You mastered it in three days."
"It's not that complicated," Jongin shrugged, though he felt a flush of pride. "You organize things the way I would, just with fancier folders."
Kyungsoo looked up from the notes, curiosity in his eyes. "How so?"
"Chronologically for time-sensitive projects, thematically for concept development, alphabetically for client information," Jongin explained. "It's logical. I used to organize my textbooks the same way in school."
"You studied design?" Kyungsoo asked, leaning back in his chair.
Jongin hesitated. "For a while. Interior design, not architecture. I had to drop out after—" He stopped, not wanting to dive into that particular story.
But Kyungsoo seemed to understand. "After Yujin came along?"
Jongin nodded, bracing for the judgment or pity that usually followed such admissions. Instead, Kyungsoo simply nodded thoughtfully.
"Your eye for design shows in how you've reorganized this space," he said, gesturing to the office around them. In the past two weeks, Jongin had made subtle changes—repositioning reference books for easier access, rearranging the client seating area to create a more welcoming flow, adding a small plant that somehow made the sterile space feel more alive.
"I hope that's okay," Jongin said, suddenly worried he'd overstepped. "I should have asked before changing things."
"It's more than okay," Kyungsoo assured him. "It's better. I've been telling myself for months that something felt off about this space, but I couldn't pinpoint what."
The simple acknowledgment of his contribution, without qualification or surprise, made something warm unfurl in Jongin's chest. It was a feeling that had been occurring with increasing frequency around Kyungsoo—a dangerous, delicious feeling that he tried his best to ignore.
"I should get back to those emails," he said quickly, retreating to the safety of his desk.
Kyungsoo nodded, already refocusing on the notes in front of him. But as Jongin settled at his computer, he could feel the alpha's gaze lingering on him for just a moment too long.
---
The following day brought a major client presentation that had the entire office on edge. Jongin arrived early, having dropped Yujin off at the childcare center as soon as it opened. When he reached the top floor, he was surprised to find Kyungsoo already in his office, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he made adjustments to a scale model of the proposed building.
"Morning," Kyungsoo greeted without looking up, somehow sensing Jongin's presence. "Coffee's already on."
Jongin slipped into the adjoining kitchenette and found the expensive coffee machine humming. Two mugs sat nearby—one already filled (Kyungsoo's, black) and one empty (his, with room for the milk and sugar he preferred). The small consideration shouldn't have affected him so deeply, but it did.
"You're here early," Jongin observed, returning with both mugs and setting Kyungsoo's within reach.
"Couldn't sleep," Kyungsoo admitted, straightening up from the model. There were shadows under his eyes that Jongin hadn't noticed at first. "The Hanwoo Group presentation is crucial. If we land this contract, we can fund the community center project I've been wanting to launch."
It was rare for Kyungsoo to show any sign of stress or vulnerability. In the two weeks they'd worked together, Jongin had seen him handle demanding clients, tight deadlines, and office politics with unflappable calm. This glimpse beneath the composed exterior was strangely intimate.
"Is there anything else I can do to help prepare?" Jongin asked.
Kyungsoo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Jongin had come to recognize as a sign of deep thought. "Just make sure the conference room is set up properly. The projector has been glitchy lately."
"Already on my list," Jongin assured him. "And I asked maintenance to check it yesterday."
Kyungsoo's expression softened with appreciation. "Always one step ahead."
The simple praise shouldn't have sent a flutter through Jongin's stomach, but it did. He busied himself with straightening some papers to hide the effect.
"The presentation looks amazing," he said, nodding toward the scale model. "Very innovative, but still practical."
"You looked through it?" Kyungsoo asked, sounding genuinely interested rather than bothered by Jongin's initiative.
Jongin nodded. "I wanted to understand what I was helping organize. The way you integrated sustainable elements without sacrificing the traditional Korean aesthetic... it's really impressive."
Kyungsoo studied him with an unreadable expression. "You have a good eye. Most people miss the traditional elements entirely."
"My grandmother was an artisan," Jongin explained. "She made traditional hanji paper screens. I grew up watching her work."
"That explains it," Kyungsoo said softly. "You see what others don't."
Their eyes met for a charged moment, something unspoken passing between them—a recognition, perhaps, of a shared sensitivity that neither had expected to find in the other.
The moment was broken by Jongin's phone buzzing. "That'll be the catering confirmation," he said, glancing at the screen. "I should get the conference room ready."
Kyungsoo nodded, turning back to the model. But as Jongin left the office, he could feel the lingering weight of the alpha's gaze, like a physical touch between his shoulder blades.
---
The Hanwoo Group executives arrived precisely at 10 AM—five men and one woman, all impeccably dressed and radiating the particular blend of wealth and power that Jongin had come to recognize in Kyungsoo's highest-profile clients. He greeted them in the lobby, having insisted on handling this task personally rather than leaving it to the front desk staff.
"Mr. Park," he bowed to the lead executive, a silver-haired alpha with piercing eyes. "Welcome to Do Architecture. I'm Kim Jongin, Mr. Do's assistant. He's waiting for you in the main conference room."
Park looked mildly surprised at being addressed by name without introduction, but nodded approvingly. Jongin had memorized not only all the executives' names and positions but also personal details Kyungsoo had mentioned might be relevant—Park's interest in traditional architecture, Director Kim's background in environmental science, CFO Jung's concern with long-term maintenance costs.
As he led the group to the elevator, he caught Mina watching from the reception desk. She had been scrupulously correct in her behavior toward him since the incident on his first day, but there was still a coolness in her eyes that spoke of unresolved resentment.
The presentation began smoothly. Kyungsoo was in his element, his usual reserved manner giving way to passionate articulation as he walked the Hanwoo executives through the proposed design. Jongin remained quietly attentive at the back of the room, ensuring the presentation flowed without interruption—adjusting the lighting when Kyungsoo moved to the physical model, discreetly refilling water glasses, providing additional materials as needed.
"The traditional elements you've incorporated are subtle but meaningful," Park remarked during a pause. "It respects our heritage without feeling like a museum piece."
Kyungsoo nodded. "That balance was important to us. We wanted to honor Korean architectural traditions while creating a building that functions for modern business needs."
"Speaking of function," Director Kim interjected, "I'm concerned about the maintenance costs of those green roof systems you've proposed."
Jongin noticed Kyungsoo's momentary hesitation—this was a point they hadn't prepared extensive materials for. Without drawing attention, he slipped a folder onto the table beside Kyungsoo. The alpha glanced down, opened it, and smoothly continued.
"We've actually compiled data on this very concern," Kyungsoo said, referencing the maintenance cost comparisons Jongin had researched and prepared the previous day, anticipating this exact question. "You'll see that while the initial investment is higher, the five-year and ten-year projections show significant savings compared to conventional systems."
The presentation continued for another hour, with Kyungsoo fielding questions confidently and Jongin providing silent support that didn't go unnoticed by the more observant executives. When it concluded, Park shook Kyungsoo's hand with obvious approval.
"We'll need to discuss internally, of course, but I'm impressed," the elder alpha said. "You've addressed our concerns before we even voiced them."
As the executives filed out, the female CFO, Jung Sooyeon, paused beside Jongin. "Mr. Do is fortunate to have such attentive support," she said quietly. "Those maintenance projections were exactly what I was going to ask for."
"Just doing my job," Jongin replied with a polite bow, though her acknowledgment pleased him.
When the clients had departed, Kyungsoo closed the conference room door and leaned against it, tension visibly draining from his shoulders. "That went better than I expected."
"They seemed impressed," Jongin agreed, beginning to gather the presentation materials.
"Thanks to you," Kyungsoo said, approaching to help him. "That folder with the maintenance data was exactly what I needed."
"I just thought it might come up," Jongin shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise.
As they reached for the same stack of papers, their hands brushed. Jongin's heart skipped a beat at the contact, a jolt of something electric passing between them. He quickly withdrew his hand, but not before noticing how Kyungsoo's fingers had lingered for a fraction of a second too long.
"Jung Sooyeon noticed your contribution," Kyungsoo said, his voice a shade deeper than usual. "She's not easily impressed."
"She was just being polite," Jongin demurred.
Kyungsoo shook his head. "No, she wasn't. You made a difference today, Jongin."
There was something in the way Kyungsoo said his name—a gentle emphasis on the first syllable, as if savoring it—that made Jongin's skin warm. He busied himself with organizing the folders, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in his chest.
"We should celebrate," Kyungsoo continued. "If they approve the project, I mean."
"That would be nice," Jongin replied noncommittally, not trusting himself to look up. "The team would appreciate it."
"I wasn't thinking of the team," Kyungsoo said quietly. "Just us. And Yujin, of course."
Jongin finally met his gaze, finding an unexpected vulnerability in the alpha's eyes. "Why?"
"Because you're becoming indispensable," Kyungsoo answered simply. "To the project. To the firm." A pause, barely perceptible. "To me."
Before Jongin could respond, Kyungsoo's phone rang—the special tone he used for priority clients. The moment shattered as Kyungsoo answered, his professional demeanor sliding back into place.
Jongin slipped out of the conference room, heart pounding as if he'd run a marathon. He made his way to the elevator, needing a moment of space to compose himself. As the doors closed, he leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly.
Indispensable. To me.
The words echoed in his mind, dangerous and thrilling. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to develop feelings for his employer—an alpha so far removed from his world that the very idea was absurd.
Yet here he was, his pulse racing from a simple touch, his chest tight with unspoken longing. And worse, he'd seen the same longing reflected in Kyungsoo's eyes, impossible to dismiss as mere imagination.
The elevator stopped at the third floor, and Jongin stepped out, heading for the childcare center. Watching Yujin play would ground him, remind him of his priorities and responsibilities. His son was what mattered, not these confusing feelings for a man who lived in a different reality.
As he approached the playroom, he paused at the observation window. Yujin was building an elaborate tower of blocks, his small face scrunched in concentration—an expression so reminiscent of Kyungsoo that Jongin almost laughed at the irony. His son, who had no genetic connection to the alpha, had somehow picked up his mannerisms in just a few weeks.
"He's quite the little architect."
Jongin startled at Joohyun's voice beside him. The head of interior design smiled as she watched Yujin through the glass.
"He's been building towers all week," Jongin said. "The teachers say he gets upset if anyone calls them anything but 'buildings.'"
Joohyun's eyes crinkled with amusement. "Kyungsoo was the same way as a child, according to his mother. Wouldn't let anyone call his Lego creations 'toys'—they were always 'structures' or 'developments.'"
"You know his family?" Jongin asked, surprised by this personal detail.
"We went to university together," Joohyun explained. "I've known him for over a decade." She gave Jongin a sidelong glance. "Which is why I can tell when he's... invested in someone."
Jongin felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do," she replied gently. "And I think you should know that Kyungsoo doesn't let people in easily. When he does..." She trailed off, watching as Yujin triumphantly placed the final block on his tower. "It means something."
Before Jongin could respond, she smiled and continued toward the elevator. "Just an observation from an old friend," she called over her shoulder. "The presentation went well, by the way. Your touch was evident."
Jongin stood frozen, watching her leave and wondering how transparent his feelings—and Kyungsoo's—had become to observant eyes.
---
That evening, after most of the staff had departed, Jongin worked late organizing the follow-up materials for the Hanwoo presentation. Yujin played quietly on the floor of Kyungsoo's office, the entire top floor silent except for the occasional sounds of his son's imaginative play and Kyungsoo's pen scratching across paper as he made notes on blueprints.
The domestic tranquility of the scene wasn't lost on Jongin. It felt comfortable—too comfortable—like a glimpse into a life he shouldn't allow himself to imagine.
"Almost done?" Kyungsoo asked, looking up from his work as Jongin entered with a stack of organized files.
"Just finished," Jongin replied, placing the files in the cabinet. "Everything's ready for the follow-up meeting next week."
Kyungsoo nodded approvingly. "You're remarkably efficient."
"Single parenthood trains you to maximize every minute," Jongin said with a slight smile.
"Appa, look!" Yujin called, drawing their attention to an impressively balanced structure of office supplies—stapler as foundation, tape dispenser as the second level, sticky note pads forming a tower.
"Wow, that's amazing, Yujinnie," Jongin praised, crouching beside his son.
"Building like Soo," Yujin declared proudly, beaming up at Kyungsoo, who had joined them on the floor without hesitation, his expensive suit trousers touching the carpet without apparent concern.
"That's a very creative use of materials," Kyungsoo said seriously, examining the structure. "Good structural integrity."
Yujin glowed under the praise, though he clearly didn't understand the words. "You help?" he asked, offering Kyungsoo a paperclip holder.
Jongin watched as Kyungsoo—CEO of a prestigious architecture firm, impeccably dressed alpha who commanded respect with a mere glance—carefully accepted the paperclip holder and solemnly asked Yujin where it should go in the design. The contrast between his powerful professional persona and this gentle, patient side never failed to affect Jongin deeply.
As Kyungsoo and Yujin built together, their heads bent in concentration, Jongin felt something shift inside him—a wall crumbling, a resistance giving way. The sight of them together, this alpha caring so genuinely for his child, created an ache in his chest that was both pleasant and painful.
When Yujin yawned widely, Jongin glanced at his watch with surprise. "It's past your bedtime, little man. We should go."
"Five more minutes?" Yujin pleaded, leaning against Kyungsoo's side with the casual trust of a child who felt completely safe.
"Tomorrow," Kyungsoo promised, ruffling Yujin's hair gently. "We'll build something even bigger."
Jongin began gathering Yujin's things, trying to ignore how natural this felt—the three of them together at the end of a long day, Kyungsoo already such an integrated part of their lives after just a few weeks.
"I'll walk you to your car," Kyungsoo offered as Jongin lifted a sleepy Yujin into his arms.
"We take the bus," Jongin reminded him. It was a fact of their life that still felt awkward to mention in Kyungsoo's world of luxury sedans and reserved parking spaces.
"Not tonight," Kyungsoo said firmly. "It's late. I'll drive you."
Jongin started to protest, but Yujin's weight was heavy in his arms, the child already half-asleep against his shoulder. "Okay," he conceded. "Thank you."
As they rode the elevator down to the parking garage, Yujin fully asleep now, Kyungsoo watched them with an expression that made Jongin's heart race. It wasn't pity or charity in his eyes—it was something far more dangerous: longing.
"You're good with him," Jongin said softly, needing to break the charged silence. "Not many people have the patience."
"He makes it easy," Kyungsoo replied. "He's an exceptional child." A pause. "Like his father."
The simple words, spoken in Kyungsoo's deep, sincere voice, sent warmth spreading through Jongin's chest. He looked away, afraid of what might show on his face.
The elevator doors opened to the nearly empty parking garage. Kyungsoo led them to his car, opening the back door first so Jongin could settle Yujin inside. The alpha had already installed a child seat—a detail that Jongin hadn't noticed during their first ride weeks ago but now recognized as deliberate preparation.
"You put in a car seat," he observed as he carefully buckled his sleeping son.
"The day after I drove you home that first time," Kyungsoo confirmed, watching them from beside the door. "Just in case."
Just in case. As if he'd always intended for this to happen—for them to be in his life, in his car, needing his protection and care.
When Jongin straightened up, he found himself standing very close to Kyungsoo in the narrow space between the open car door and the vehicle beside them. The garage's dim lighting cast shadows across the alpha's face, emphasizing the strong line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
"Kyungsoo," Jongin began, not sure what he wanted to say but feeling that something needed to be acknowledged between them.
"You don't have to say anything," Kyungsoo murmured, his voice low. "I know this is complicated. I know there are boundaries."
"There should be," Jongin agreed, his voice barely audible.
"Should be," Kyungsoo repeated, catching the distinction. His eyes searched Jongin's face, a question in them that he didn't voice.
Jongin became acutely aware of their proximity—the subtle, comforting scent of the alpha, the warmth radiating from his body, the way his presence seemed to fill the space around them. It would be so easy to lean forward, to close the distance between them, to surrender to the pull that had been growing stronger with each passing day.
Instead, he took a small step back, not quite ready to cross that line. "We should go," he whispered. "It's late."
Something like disappointment flickered in Kyungsoo's eyes, but he nodded, respecting Jongin's unspoken boundary. "Of course."
The drive to Jongin's apartment was quiet, the silence filled with all the things they weren't saying. Yujin slept peacefully in the back seat, unaware of the tension between the adults. When they arrived, Kyungsoo insisted on carrying the sleeping child up to the apartment while Jongin led the way.
Jongin was painfully conscious of how shabby his building must appear to someone like Kyungsoo—the flickering hallway light, the peeling paint, the faint smell of damp that no amount of air freshener could quite mask. But the alpha showed no reaction as he followed Jongin inside the small one-room apartment.
"You can put him on the bed," Jongin said softly, indicating the single mattress in the corner.
Kyungsoo gently laid Yujin down, carefully removing the child's shoes before pulling a worn blanket over him. The tenderness of the gesture made Jongin's throat tighten with emotion.
As Kyungsoo straightened up and turned to face him, Jongin was suddenly, acutely aware of how intimate this moment was—Kyungsoo in his private space, standing just feet from where he slept each night, the air between them heavy with unspoken feelings.
"Thank you," Jongin said, his voice barely audible. "For the ride. And everything else."
Kyungsoo nodded, his eyes never leaving Jongin's face. "Anytime."
They stood in silence for a moment, neither moving, the space between them charged with possibility. Then Kyungsoo took a step toward the door.
"I should go," he said reluctantly. "You both need rest."
Jongin knew he should let him leave, should maintain the professional distance that was safe and sensible. Instead, he heard himself ask, "Would you like some tea before you go?"
A simple question that was anything but simple—an invitation to stay, to extend this moment, to acknowledge that neither of them wanted it to end.
Kyungsoo's expression softened, hope and caution warring in his eyes. "I'd like that," he said quietly. "If you're sure."
Jongin nodded, moving to the small kitchenette to fill the electric kettle. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for two mismatched mugs—another reminder of the disparity between his world and Kyungsoo's.
As he waited for the water to boil, he felt Kyungsoo's presence behind him, close but not touching—respecting his space while making his interest clear.
"Jongin," Kyungsoo said softly. "Look at me."
Slowly, Jongin turned, finding himself face to face with the alpha, closer than he'd expected. Kyungsoo's eyes were dark and intent, searching his with a question that hung between them.
"What are we doing?" Jongin whispered, giving voice to the uncertainty that had been building for weeks.
"Whatever you want us to be doing," Kyungsoo answered honestly. "At whatever pace you choose."
The sincerity in his voice, the willingness to follow Jongin's lead despite being an alpha used to command, undid something tight in Jongin's chest. Without conscious decision, he found himself leaning forward, closing the distance between them until their foreheads nearly touched.
"I don't know what I want," he admitted, his voice a fragile thing in the quiet room. "Except that I want you to stay. Just for a little while."
Kyungsoo lifted a hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing a strand of hair from Jongin's forehead. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down Jongin's spine.
"Then I'll stay," Kyungsoo murmured. "For as long as you want me to."
The kettle clicked off, steam rising into the cool air of the apartment. But neither of them moved to pour the tea, caught in a moment of possibility and connection that felt more essential than any beverage could be.
Across the room, Yujin stirred in his sleep, a small reminder of all that was at stake. Jongin took a small step back, not breaking away entirely but creating a breath of space between them.
"One step at a time," he said softly.
Kyungsoo nodded, understanding in his eyes. "One step at a time," he agreed.
And for now, that was enough—this acknowledgment of what was growing between them, this promise of patience and care. The rest could wait until they were both ready to take the next step, together.