Yejun couldn’t take his eyes off Minjae.

He had honestly never paid much attention to the acquisition’s team lead before, not his exotic blond hair or deep brown eyes. Not the way he usually didn’t draw attention to himself, but still had enough charisma to command a room when giving a presentation. Minjae’s command of English was fluent or near native, and Yejun was surprised he had never noticed before.

He appreciated Minjae’s work of course; after all, Minjae had a good eye for books and never suggested a book for translation that performed poorly. But watching him now, as he opened talks with the Subsidiary Rights and Editorial departments, he couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

He couldn’t forget how Minjae had comforted him the night before. Caught him when he almost fell. Gave him the drink and even offered to help, all without trying to take advantage. Without making any demands as they were finally moved into separate rooms. 

But what help could Minjae offer?

Minjae clicked to the next slide and the screen behind him shifted to a chart comparing licensing costs across three years. He spoke in his usual calm, measured voice, but it was in English and Yejun barely processed any of it. He felt like the only person in the conference room not doing their job properly.

It didn’t take long for Minjae to finish the first half of the presentation and call for a break, and Yejun rose on reflex. The polite shuffle of colleagues into the hallway felt strangely distant. He was aware of the conference room’s cold air on the back of his neck, aware of the quiet hum of the projector cooling down. Aware that Minjae was still standing at the front, gathering his notes into a precise stack. 

He should have looked away. Should have walked out, maybe found a restroom to splash water on his face or pretend he had a call to return. But Yejun’s feet wouldn’t move, as though the gravity between them had thickened into something tangible, invisible chains wrapping around his ribs.

“Did you need something, Lim-nim?” Minjae’s voice was quiet but carried across the conference room with a clarity that made Yejun’s ears warm. He nodded as he walked over to Minjae, a calm look on his face. 

“Yes, I need to finish discussing a proposal with you,” Yejun said calmly, noticing as Minjae nodded slightly. They hadn’t gotten the chance to speak before moving to separate rooms, and Yejun had woken with a hangover worse than anything he ever had in Korea. It was a miracle he was keeping himself together at all. “Can we step aside for a moment?”

“Of course,” Minjae agreed and Yejun turned toward the doorway, ignoring the looks as he headed for the breakroom that had been shown to them on their first day. He had barely paid attention during that tour of the offices, but at least he had remembered where this room was. To his relief, it was empty and he turned to face Minjae as soon as the door closed. 

“What all did you hear last night?” Yejun started, doing his best to keep his tone even and neutral. He remembered almost falling, Minjae offering him the drink, but he couldn’t quite remember all that had been said. Save Minjae’s offer to help. Minjae glanced away for a moment, taking a deep breath. 

“I heard the recording, and you seemed undone by it. You insisted you could no longer marry Jieun, but didn’t know how to break the engagement.” Minjae repeated and Yejun felt his chest twist. So basically everything. “I offered to help, if you wanted it, but I was more concerned with how much you were drinking.”

“And how could you help?” Yejun repeated, carefully folding his arms over his chest as if that might steady the trembling he could feel in his stomach. He did not want to look weak again, not when the entire trip had already made him feel so stripped bare he wasn’t sure how to gather himself. Minjae’s gaze didn’t waver this time. His expression remained gentle, but there was something almost solemn in the way he inclined his head, as though he was about to deliver a verdict.

“Before I reveal that, I need to understand exactly what’s wrong. I know what Jieun said is inappropriate to discuss, but none of that is engagement breaking, save perhaps towards the end.” Minjae pushed and Yejun felt his stomach clench, a thin burn rising in his throat as if the memory of last night’s wine had come back to scald him. He looked down, fixing his eyes on the pale wood floor instead of Minjae’s face. “As a beta, you have full power to end the engagement, so I have a feeling that the slight suggestion of cheating isn’t what’s bothering you.”

“I… did things I shouldn’t have. Things no beta in my position would even think of doing.” Yejun muttered, his voice dropping as the icy emptiness returned to his chest. “I have treated her better than any ‘normal beta’ would, but if I revealed that, it would–”

“Hurt your reputation more than the sex,” Minjae finished and Yejun nodded. Sometimes he forgot Minjae was also from a high class family, and had a better understanding than most. He appreciated that Minjae wasn’t making him spell it out. “And you’re certain it’s not just to protect you?”

“If she was saying it to anyone other than Woo… Ahn-ssi, I might think that, but he’s been my best friend since childhood.” Yejun admitted, struggling to breathe past the bitter lump in his throat. He pressed a palm flat to the side of the counter, grounding himself in the cool edge of the laminate. “If there was anyone to not lie to, it was him. You heard the recording. It’s not the first time she’s talked about me like that. How many other people has she told? What else has she said, what–”

“Lim-nim, please calm down,” Minjae’s voice interrupted Yejun’s spiral, and Minjae stepped closer, his presence somehow steadying without crowding. His tone was still that calm, careful neutral that made Yejun feel both comforted and exposed. “You don’t have to figure everything out right this minute.”

Yejun swallowed, trying to do as he was told. He focused on the cold bite of the counter edge under his palm, the faint hum of the fluorescent light overhead, the muted shuffle of footsteps outside the breakroom door. For a moment, it helped. But then his mind jumped again to Jieun’s voice in that recording, and he felt the tears building again.

“You said you could help me end it. Break off the engagement,” Yejun pivoted, not wanting to focus on the recording more. “How?”

Minjae took a deep breath and Yejun watched as his fellow lead took a step back. He watched as Minjae carefully raised his hand, and slowly, his blond hair lightened to almost a silvery white, and brown eyes shifted to a bright ice blue. Yejun could almost see-through the man’s form as his clothing rippled, changing to resemble traditional hanbok, the long sleeves drifting like banners.

“I’m not quite human, and I can use magic,” Minjae answered, his voice unchanged as his form re-solidified and Yejun stared in awe. A white flame travelled along Minjae’s arm until it gathered in his hand and Yejun glanced back up to see his co-worker’s calm expression. “If Jieun is cheating, which the end of the recording implies, I can help you prove it without tipping her off. Then you can end the engagement without ruining yourself.”

“What… are you?” Yejun managed to ask, his voice unsteady as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Minjae lowered his hand, the last flicker of white flame dissolving as he shifted back to the form Yejun was more familiar with. 

“I’m an ifrit.”