#‘how would tylio react to this sort of thing?’

[dystincts]

eunbi let his compliment linger in the silence, like a note played too softly to echo but still heard. she didn’t smile, exactly, but the smallest shift in her expression gave her away — the way her eyes softened, the way her chin dipped ever so slightly before she caught herself. you did. two words, simple, but threaded with acknowledgment that came without bitterness. coming from him, it carried weight. tylio wasn’t the type to hand out praise without meaning it. and though she’d never say it aloud, hearing it from him now — in the quiet aftermath of everything they’d lost… stirred something vulnerable inside her. she took a slow sip from her glass, letting the wine coat her tongue, grounding herself with its warmth before responding. ❝ i had to prove to people that i wasn’t just the second name on a two name brand. ❞ she said, eyes not quite meeting his. ❝ that i was capable on my own. ❞ she paused, then added more softly: ❝ even if part of me missed having someone who could carry the weight with me. ❞

his answer didn’t surprise her, not really. tylio had always found comfort in the rhythm of work — and she understood that too well. but there was something about the way he described his team now. the bowling nights, the assistant eager to drag him out of his office… that made her chest tighten with something that felt dangerously close to sadness. she wondered if he’d ever actually gone bowling, or if he always found an excuse to stay behind, buried in spreadsheets and strategy sessions. ❝ i used to be jealous of people who could clock out at six. ❞ she admitted, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. ❝ but now i think they might have it right. this obsession with staying late— it tricks you into thinking you’re building something that’ll last. ❞ she looked at him then, and for a moment, her expression was unguarded. ❝ but even foundations crack if you don’t stop long enough to check where the weight is falling. ❞

she smiled (genuinely this time) when he brought up the movie night. ❝ of course i remember heh. ❞ she said, her voice warmer now, touched by nostalgia. ❝ we fought for days about whether it was worth leaving the office early for a movie, and then we both ended up crying over it anyway. ❞ her laugh was small, but real. quiet and filled with that rare kind of shared memory that only people who truly lived together could understand. ❝ i still remember what we ate. that overpriced pasta place with the candle that wouldn’t stay lit. ❞ her eyes flicked back to him, and though she didn’t mention what came after. the stumbling, wine drowsy kisses, his hand beneath her blouse, the whispered laughter as they fumbled with keys at the door… it hung in the air between them, charged and unspoken. ❝ sometimes i think about that night and wonder if that’s when it all started slipping through the cracks. like we were trying to live a whole relationship in one evening. ❞

she went quiet after that, letting the words settle while the hum of city traffic filtered faintly through the closed windows. then, more carefully, she added: ❝ i leave early sometimes now. i try. i think about balance a lot. about what it even looks like. but the truth is, i’m still more comfortable here than anywhere else. even if it means eating dinner over my keyboard. ❞ she glanced at her wine, then at him, meeting his gaze with something that felt both resolute and open. ❝ being in this room with you again… it doesn’t feel like progress. but it doesn’t feel like surrender, either. it just… feels like we stopped pretending for a second. and honestly… ❞ she added, her voice lowering into something nearly intimate, ❝ that’s kind of a relief. ❞

eunbi let herself smirk, just a little, when he pointed out the wine. ❝ i don’t like being predictable. ❞ she replied lightly, legs crossed as she settled into the chair with a poise that came from years of never allowing herself to appear unprepared. ❝ but some habits are too useful to break. ❞ the filing cabinet trick had been hers from the beginning, back when they were running on fumes and adrenaline, when two a.m. planning sessions blurred into kisses between pages of projected growth models. the wine hadn’t just been an escape — it had been celebration, ritual, routine. and maybe she kept it now for the same reason she still came to this office: to remember the version of herself who believed they could build something permanent. not just a company. them.

she watched him move around her office like muscle memory still lived in his hands. the way he poured the wine, the way he chose the seat he’d used to claim without question. it tugged at her, somewhere deep in her chest, a reminder that they hadn’t just built a business — they’d built a rhythm. it was eerie, how easy it was to fall back into it. when he finally asked the question — how have you been? — she hesitated. not because she didn’t have an answer, but because the real one was too long, too complicated, too fragile to be said out loud. so she started small. ❝ busy! ❞ she said, the word falling too fast, too easy. ❝ focused. i had to be. ❞ her fingers brushed the stem of the glass, but she didn’t drink yet. ❝ you know how it is. once we split— the company, the name, everything… it felt like i had to earn it all over again. ❞

her gaze met his, softer now, but guarded. ❝ it wasn’t easy, ty. but i did it. i kept my head down, took the meetings, rebuilt the trust. i let people underestimate me so i could outgrow their expectations. ❞ she tilted her head, studying him as if she were trying to decide how much to give away. ❝ and in the moments where it got really quiet, too quiet… i reminded myself that missing someone doesn’t mean you made a mistake. ❞ she let that hang in the air, a small truth masked in vagueness, before finally lifting her glass. ❝ what about you? ❞ her lips curved just slightly at the corners. ❝ you still drink your coffee like it’s a food group? ❞ it was a gentle tease, but her eyes lingered on his face, just a second longer than they should have.