The evening had stretched on, with Seo-jin retreating to her room earlier than usual, her frustration with the hollow existence of their marriage bubbling up. She had resorted to another night of drinking alone, trying to drown out the suffocating loneliness that had become a constant companion in their penthouse. She hadn't expected him to notice, nor had she cared. The distance between them had long been established.
Meanwhile, Min-jae was still working in his study, hunched over a pile of reports, his mind calculating, his fingers typing with precise, mechanical efficiency. The glow of his laptop screen illuminated his face, casting sharp lines across his features. It was late—well past midnight—but he hadn't even thought about sleep. Work was his escape, and tonight, it was consuming him.
However, as he reviewed a crucial contract, he heard the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by a muffled stumble. His eyes flickered towards the hallway. At first, he dismissed it—thinking it was just another of Seo-jin's late-night distractions—but the sound grew louder, followed by a soft thud.
He stood, instinctively heading toward the noise. As he approached her bedroom door, he saw Seo-jin leaning against the wall, her face flushed from the alcohol, her movements unsteady. She staggered for a few more steps before collapsing onto the floor with a soft gasp.
Min-jae's expression was unreadable, but his body reacted before his mind could fully process what was happening. He crossed the threshold of her room and knelt down beside her. Her breath was uneven, and her eyes were unfocused, the pain and sadness in her gaze clouded by the effects of the alcohol.
"Seo-jin," he muttered, his voice colder than he intended, but it had the intended effect—she looked up at him with glazed eyes, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out.
For a brief moment, Min-jae hesitated, staring at the woman who had once been his fiancée. His thoughts were scattered—indifferent, yet something deep within him stirred. He knew he should leave her, let her deal with her own consequences. But, as strange as it seemed, a sense of obligation crept in. He was bound to her, at least in this cold, contractual way.
With a quiet sigh, he carefully slipped his arms around her, lifting her as gently as he could without disturbing the fragile barrier of emotions he had so carefully constructed. Her body was limp in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder as he moved toward the bed.
He laid her down, smoothing the strands of hair away from her face, his touch uncharacteristically tender. He tucked her in, pulling the blanket around her body to make sure she would stay warm. Her breathing evened out, but she was too far gone in her intoxicated haze to notice what he had done.
For a long moment, Min-jae stood there, staring down at her. There was no warmth in his eyes, no desire to fix things. But in that fleeting instant, he allowed himself to do something he never thought he would again: take care of her, even if it was in the most impersonal way.
He lingered for a second longer, then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
As he returned to his study, the silence in the penthouse felt even heavier than before. It was a silence that wrapped itself around him, reminding him of the distance he had placed between them and how far he had come to avoid those emotions—those feelings he had buried so deep. But for one brief, unexpected moment, he had allowed himself to be something other than the cold, distant man he had become.
It wasn't love. It wasn't even compassion.
It was just…care.
And even that, he didn't understand.