Having the letter in her bag and actually delivering it to Hyun-woo were two separate problems. In their current circumstances, actually finding a time where they were alone were few and far between. There had already been a couple of opportunities.

After a meeting at her office Seo-jin and Hyun-woo had waited silently for the elevator, the only two in the lobby. She stared forward at the elevator doors as she placed her hand into her bag and removed the letter from its compartment. She glanced down at her hand, confirming it was there. It was now or never. She opened her mouth to speak, to finally give it to him.

The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open. People stood inside waiting for them to enter. At the same time, two office workers walked up behind them, their chatter filling the sudden void. The moment was gone. Seo-jin slipped the letter back inside her bag as they all stepped into the lift together. He pressed the down button. She stood on the other side of the elevator to him.

At Hyun-woo's office they had stood side by side, reviewing a 3D render on a monitor, their heads close. She placed her notepad down on the desk, the letter peeking out slightly from its pages, almost daring him to see it. Her hand lingered near it, a silent invitation. Hyun-woo turned to speak about the design layout, his gaze on the screen. Seo-jin suddenly thought better of it and yanked her hand back, mid-thought, her opportunity vanished.

Her sudden movement caused him to turn to her. "Is something wrong with this placement?" He asked, his voice flat.

"...No. It’s fine." Seo-jin replied, quickly covering the letter with a layout sheet. She kept working, her focus suddenly intense.

Her time was running out, it was the final preparations for the following day's walkthrough. Do-yeon had just left, leaving Seo-jin and Hyun-woo alone in the meeting room. It had to be now. She opened her folder, took the letter out, letting it rest in her palm. He was at the far end of the table, typing intently into his laptop.

She cleared her throat, a barely audible sound. He didn’t look up, his fingers continuing their rhythm on the keyboard. Min-su suddenly appeared at the door catching her off guard. “You both good?” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She slid the letter back into her folder, the moment again slipping through her grasp.

“Yes. Thanks. Just finishing up.”

Later that night, Hyun-woo was alone in his office. His desk a study of order, a sketchpad and clutch pencil neatly by its side, a finished small model and his computer, where he was still typing.

There was a soft knock. The door opened, and Seo-jin stepped in, holding the envelope. He didn’t look up, his fingers still moving across the keyboard.

She didn’t hesitate this time. She walked directly to the desk, her footsteps quiet but resolute. She placed the letter down, deliberately, in the middle of the desk.

"I’ve been meaning to give this to you," Seo-jin said, her voice steady. A beat. "Just... don’t read it while I’m here."

Hyun-woo flicked the letter and Seo-jin a brief, unreadable look, but he kept typing. "I’ll look at it in a bit."

She nodded, a small, tight movement. Then she turned and left. The door closed with a gentle click, sealing the silence behind her.

His fingers froze mid-keystroke as the door clicked shut. He sank back into his chair, a slow, almost imperceptible collapse. His gaze fixed on the envelope in the middle of the desk, unmoving, then slowly shifted toward the door where she had just disappeared. He just sat with it, letting the weight of the moment settle.

Finally, he leaned forward and picked it up, not hurried, not dramatic, but with purpose. He broke the seal cleanly, opened it, and unfolded the letter. His eyes moved across the aged page. 

His lips parted just barely. A muscle shifted in his jaw. Then his shoulders curled inward, like something had caved beneath his ribs.

A long beat passed. Then he set the letter down, still open, its contents laid bare.

He stood from his desk and moved away, walking to the window, but he didn’t look out at the city scape. He just stood there, his back to the room. He looked back at the door she had walked out of.

He closed his eyes briefly, just once, a flicker of raw emotion. Then he composed himself, rebuilding the mask of his composure. His eyes opened, steady and unreadable again. He looked back at the letter on the desk.

He walked back to it and opened the top drawer, sliding the letter in, still open, as if he wanted nothing to do with it. He shut the drawer with finality.

He reached for his jacket. Slipped it on. Without a glance back, he stepped out of the office turning the light off as he did. Plunging the letter into further darkness.