#Legacy Application Management | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsha-ang-kim · 3 months ago

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𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞

Pairing: manager!jisung x intern!afab!reader, enemies to lovers, law firm, the slow burn

synopsis: in mind and law. You tackle the new momentum of your job, something you've mentally and physically prepared for. But emotionally? It's not what you had in mind

warnings: suggestive, angst, law, lots of law, jisung is sarcastic, tension, mention of Changbin, plot, one Korean word (translations), time skips

a/n: 16k+ words, fellas. if you dare to have extra eyes for errors no you motherfucking dont. I loved this a lot.

You were born on the wrong side of the skyline. A place where ambition was considered arrogance, and dreams were just things people couldn’t afford. Your father was a mechanic—soft-spoken, hands always coated in grease, and eyes full of pride when you read under the streetlamp because the power went out again. Your mother, a former literature teacher turned night shift waitress, fed you stories instead of lullabies. They taught you that intellect was armor. That silence wasn’t submission, but strategy. That being underestimated was a weapon.

You weren’t the loudest girl in school—but you were dangerous on paper. Top of every class. Knew how to smile at teachers just enough to get what you needed, but never too much to owe them anything. You worked part-time at a bookstore just to read for free. When other kids were partying, you were drafting essays for scholarship competitions at 2AM with shaking hands and coffee-stained sleeves. You didn’t get into university by luck. You got in because you bled for it.

It was Riversley Law University, one of the most prestigious and soul-crushing programs in the country. Everyone whispered about the competition. The gatekeeping. The legacy students who’d never even touched a student loan form. You applied anyway. With one glowing recommendation from a retired judge, you’d once tutored on legal tech for free. With an application essay so raw it made the admissions board cry. With test scores so perfect they thought they were fake until you walked into the interview and quoted obscure 14th-century civil codes like they were bedtime stories.

You got in. Full ride. No one knew how. They thought you were connected. Rich. Sponsored.

You let them think what they wanted.

The top firms came recruiting like vultures during your final year. But Daejin & Grey? They didn’t do job fairs. They didn’t post openings. They hand-picked. And one day, a letter arrived. Real envelope. Black wax seal. No email. No call.

“You’re invited to an exclusive selection round. No details will be repeated. Bring your brain, your backbone, and black ink.”

Turns out, you were one of six students in the entire nation selected to compete for one internship spot. The selection process was insane—contracts in languages you barely knew, impossible moral dilemmas, interrogation-style interviews. People dropped out. Cried. Snapped. You didn’t. You passed. And you became the girl no one saw coming. The intern with fire in her veins and no family name behind her just you. Alone. Hungry. Unshakable.

Jisung was born into brilliance… and burden.

His mother was a top criminal defense lawyer known as “The Viper” in the courtroom—sharp heels, sharper tongue. His father, an occult historian and philosopher who lectured on forbidden languages and secret societies. He grew up in a glass penthouse where success was oxygen and weakness were punishable by silence. Jisung was 17 when Daejin & Grey found him. He had just won an underground student legal warfare competition (an invite-only thing where prodigies go to destroy each other’s arguments in mock trials that felt more like mind combat). He didn’t even enter; someone forged his application. He just showed up… and obliterated future politicians, heirs, and scholars. A week later, a man in an obsidian coat approached his mother during one of her high-profile court cases. Whispered something in her ear. She signed a contract on the back of a napkin. Jisung was summoned. They didn’t interview him. They tested him. Gave him an unsolvable case and watched him create a loophole in 24 hours.

They mentored him in secret. Fed him real cases under the table. Made him sign a blood clause at 19. By 24, he was the youngest partner in the firm’s history. He was the youngest to ever win a national law debate. A certified genius with a smirk that could convince CEOs to sign away their souls and maybe they did. People admired him. Feared him. Worshipped him. But they didn’t know him.

Because Jisung? Jisung was never taught love. He was taught leverage.

Daejin & Grey Law Firm wasn’t founded. It was forged out of war, silence, and unspeakable deals.

The firm traces back over 80 years, born during the post-war reconstruction era. Two men, Ha Daejin—a radical, silver-tongued lawyer who defended war criminals—and Theodore Grey, a disgraced British solicitor exiled for running a covert empire of offshore finance and blackmail, met in Seoul under unusual circumstances. Both were brilliant, both had nothing left to lose, and both were addicted to power. Together, they built Daejin & Grey as more than a firm. It became a sanctuary for those too cunning for politics, too dangerous for the courts, too ambitious for morality. It handles clients that other firms fear from criminal syndicates, foreign diplomats, to weaponized corporations. It's not just law, it’s chess. And they always win.

Rumor has it: The firm has a vault with contracts that could collapse governments. There's a floor you can only access if your name is etched in obsidian. No one leaves Daejin & Grey. You’re either promoted… or erased.

---

You stood in the towering glass lobby of Daejin & Grey, your heels echoing on the polished marble like tiny declarations of war. The receptionist didn’t even look up. Her access badge was silver. Everyone else’s was black. You felt the heat of judgment from passing associates, the subtle way people scanned your thrifted yet sharply styled outfit. You knew you didn’t look like money. But your mind? That was priceless.

An older woman with tightly coiled hair and stilettos sharp enough to stab came striding toward you.

“Intern. Y/N. You’re late,” she said. You weren’t.

“Follow. No questions.”

You moved through what felt like a museum of silence and danger—glass-walled rooms, people whispering in three languages, floors that required fingerprint scans. And then the library.

My God, the library.

Blackwood shelves. Ancient tomes. One door labeled RESTRICTED: Contractual Souls Only.

You swallowed. This wasn’t law school anymore. This was the underworld in heels.

Han Jisung entered from the rooftop.

The chopper dropped him five minutes behind schedule, and he hated being late—especially today, when a new batch of interns were supposed to arrive. He hated interns. Eager. Sweaty. Trying to impress him with quotes from Nietzsche.

He adjusted his ring, black obsidian with a serpent curling up his middle finger and rolled his neck before descending. His assistant, Jinhee, tried to brief him. He waved her off.

“Did they assign me one of the interns?”

“Not officially, but the chairman requested one observe your methods—”

“No.”

“But sir—”

“I said no.”

He walked into his office. 47th floor. The air smelled like power and espresso. His desk was cluttered with folders, red-stamped files, and one curious black envelope marked:

“Observe her. She doesn’t belong—but she might change everything.”

He frowned. Tossed it aside. He didn’t believe in fate.

---

Jisung and Y/N walked the same hall that morning. Opposite directions. Didn’t notice each other—yet. Y/N was being led through the Hall of Legal Legends, where portraits of past partners hung like silent judges. She paused in front of one particularly cold-looking man.

“That’s Ha Daejin,” the tour guide said. “He once freed a serial killer because he didn’t believe in prison. Said the law should be feared, not followed.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a villain.” The guide smirked. “You’ll hear more of that.”

Meanwhile, Jisung turned a corner, passed a group of interns. Didn’t look at them—except for a second. One girl. Silver badge. Holding a leather-bound notebook like it was a weapon. Unfazed by the architecture. Sharp eyes. He paused for half a second. Blinked. Then walked on.

She felt it. That glance. That storm. They didn’t know each other yet.

---

The conference room at Daejin & Grey was less a meeting space and more a statement. A massive oval table of obsidian-black glass stretched across the room like the eye of some mythic beast. The lighting was deliberately dim—soft golden strips along the ceiling—making everyone’s expressions unreadable, dangerous. It smelled of polished leather, old money, and cold ambition. Interns filed in one by one silent, shoulders squared, eyes darting. You were among them, notebook pressed to your side, trying not to flinch at the weight of legacy pressing on you. All of you were being watched. Every step, every breath, being measured.

You took a seat at the far end, instinctively positioning yourself with your back to the wall. Never the center. Always the observer. The doors opened again and this time, the room actually paused.

In came Mr. Grey.

No one knows his first name. Not really. Just Grey. He walked with a cane not because he needed to, but because he liked the sound of it on marble. A silver three-piece suit, perfectly tailored, skin pale like stone, and a face so unreadable it could’ve been carved.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. Sharks in training,” he said, his voice laced with silk and venom. “Welcome to Daejin & Grey.”

“You are not here to learn. You’re here to prove you can survive. We will not teach you to be great. We will simply see if you already are. If you are not—” he gestured lazily toward the wide floor-to-ceiling windows, “—there is the door, and down there is your future. Bleak. Insignificant.”

Someone gulped. You did not. “From now on,” Grey continued, “you do not breathe without purpose. You do not blink without calculation. And if you ever speak in this room without reason…”

He smiled. Sharp and slow. “I will end your career before it begins.” He stepped back. “Now, allow me to introduce one of our youngest and most... unorthodox partners.”

The doors slammed open again.

Han Jisung strode in with the kind of lazy confidence that screamed I own this room. No tie. Shirt collar undone just enough. A black ring catching the dim light. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just walked out of a midnight negotiation and won. He didn’t look at anyone. He just leaned against the edge of the table, one hand in his pocket.

“Interns,” he said. His voice was casual, disinterested. “Congrats on making it this far. I assume most of you will disappoint me.” Some people chuckled nervously.

He scanned the room—quick sweep. And then, their eyes met.

You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

It wasn’t recognition. It wasn’t fate. It was challenge. His gaze said, Don’t try me.

Yours said, I already am.

Something shifted. Jisung turned back to Grey. “Can I go?”

Grey raised an amused brow. “You just got here.” Jisung shrugged, pushing off the table. “I’ve seen enough.” But he paused by the door. Tilted his head. Glanced over his shoulder not at the group. Just at her.

One second.

Two.

Then he left.

And you? You smelled the war before it began.

After Jisung made his dramatic exit, Mr. Grey waved a gloved hand, summoning the woman standing beside the projection screen. That was Ms. Park, the Head of Public Relations a woman whose smile was sharper than her Louboutins.

She took the lead. “Here at Daejin & Grey,” she began, “we operate on six principles. Discipline. Foresight. Loyalty. Discretion. Precision. And finally—ruthlessness.”

A nervous laugh rippled across the room. She didn’t smile. “That wasn’t a joke.”

The next forty-five minutes were a blur of corporate philosophies and non-negotiable ethics. Every new intern had to memorize the internal PR structure, the crisis protocols, and the company’s “zero tolerance” policy for emotional decisions. Everything had a script. Even your heartbeat.

You took notes like your life depended on it. Because it did. But the more the PowerPoint clicked forward, the more you felt the weight of your blouse clinging to her skin not from nerves, but from expectation. From the knowing glance Grey had shot her earlier. He knew.

The interns were finally dismissed for a break, filing out toward the executive café like a herd of wolves pretending to be sheep. The space was insane, sleek glass, gold accents, and meals plated like art. Even the salad looked like it had a stock portfolio.

You picked at a caprese toast, more out of habit than hunger.

Jisung wasn’t there. Of course not. He probably had his meals flown in, signed with blood, and served with jazz. You sipped your drink, but your mind wandered. Back to that look. The unreadable glance between you and Jisung. Like a challenge had been accepted without a single word exchanged.

Just as you were returning your tray, a shadow passed over you.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

That voice. Smooth as obsidian. You turned. Mr. Grey. He didn’t beckon. He just turned, and you followed. You stepped into a smaller conference lounge less intimidating, more personal. Warm-toned wood, a velvet chaise. Only the elite got invited here, you were sure of it.

Grey didn’t sit. He stood by the window, cane in hand, observing the city skyline.

“Well?” he said without turning. “What’s the verdict?”

You hesitated. “I… I think I’m scared. But I’m also excited.”

He glanced at you now. Just slightly. “Good. Fear without eagerness is cowardice. Eagerness without fear is arrogance. We don’t need either.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll try not to let you down.” Grey turned to face you fully now. His expression softened—barely—but it was there. A flicker. Almost paternal. “I know where you came from,” he said.

You froze. He continued, “Not everyone here was raised on champagne and legacy. Some of us crawled into this place with blood on our hands and fire in our eyes. You belong here, Y/N. But you’ll need armor.”

“I’ll build it,” you whispered, voice steady.

Grey nodded, satisfied. But then he tilted his head, curious. “You looked at Han Jisung today.” A pause. You raised a brow, unashamed. “He looked first.” That earned the ghost of a chuckle.

“You want to know about him?” Grey asked.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Grey tapped his cane twice on the floor. “Han Jisung is a prodigy. Recruited after flipping the legal department of a rival firm upside down as a client. Took the bar just to prove he could. Now he leads special projects and high-risk negotiations. Untouchable. Brilliant. Reckless.”

You absorbed the information like wine. Grey’s tone turned sharp again. “He does not play well with others. And he doesn’t train interns.”

You met his gaze. “Noted.” Grey smirked. “Good girl.”

---

The door clicked shut behind you.

Your apartment was quiet. Small, but personal. Walls filled with original sketches, abstract prints, pinned timelines, articles with handwritten notes in the margins. A vision board sat in the corner with the word “Grey-level” in capital gold foil across the top. You kicked off your heels and unpinned your hair, letting the curls fall as you moved like clockwork—smooth, efficient, methodical. Laptop open. Lights dimmed. Jazz humming low in the background.

Search: Han Jisung | Daejin & Grey

The results? Not much. Of course not. Grey’s people erased footprints before they were even made. But you was raised to dig deeper than the surface. And you did.

You found mentions of his name in trade journals, coded phrases like “unexpected turnaround,” “miracle negotiation,” and “the golden ghost.” Not a single photo. But a whisper here, a quote there.

Then, an old university blog.

“The Boy Who Sued a Corporation and Won.”

You clicked. A grainy screenshot showed a boy with a snapback on backwards, standing outside a courthouse. Young. Angry. Smirking like he knew too much for someone his age.

Summary:

Age 19. Filed a class action suit against a powerful music label for contract exploitation. Represented himself in preliminary hearings. Won the case and took a settlement. Disappeared from public eye for three years. Resurfaced… at Daejin & Grey.

You sat back, the gears in your mind turning. “So he’s that type,” you murmured.

Anger-driven. Genius-fed. Doesn't like to lose. Hides behind sarcasm because it's safer than vulnerability. You bookmarked the article. Then looked out the window at the glowing city. A little smile curved on your lips.

“This’ll be fun.”

And with that, you shut your laptop and poured yourself a glass of red a silent toast to a storm you knew was coming.

---

The routine had set in fast.

Early mornings. Sharp tailoring. Neutral tones and cool metal accents. You walked the marble floors like you’d owned them in another life, heels tapping like a metronome against the low murmurs of ambition. Daejin & Grey was a world built on precision and aesthetics—every glass panel, every steel fixture, every whisper of silk or leather had its place. You adapted like water in a crystal decanter.

You learned fast, spoke clearly, and listened sharper. You made yourself invaluable to your department, your reports were always early, always clean, always with that extra insight that made supervisors raise their brows and take notes. You didn’t speak unnecessarily in meetings, but when you did, the room always turned.

But Jisung?

Ghosted in and out. Rarely at your floor. Always with his tie loose, mouth set in a line of amusement or disapproval, never in between.

You caught glimpses. Like shadows in polished windows. And every single time your eyes met; it was electric. Subtle, but raw. Sometimes it was across the coffee machine, him leaning against the wall with a smirk as you stirred your drink without sugar. Sometimes in passing through the 8th floor where the high-stakes clients had rooms like hotel lobbies and meetings that reeked of old money and moral grey zones. And sometimes, just a glance across the conference table, where he sat sideways, his leg crossed, chewing the tip of a pen like he knew you were looking.

And she always was.

The blinds were half-drawn, letting in only slanted light that painted the dark wood floor in broken stripes. Mr. Grey sat behind his massive obsidian desk, signature cup of jet-black coffee steaming near his right hand, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed a tablet. His navy tie was undone, a telltale sign he’d been in meetings since dawn. Jisung stood by the window, posture casual, arms crossed, dressed in a soft black turtleneck and slacks that looked far too expensive for how uninterested he seemed. His hair was slightly tousled—he’d run his hand through it a few too many times. Typical.

“I told you, Grey. I don’t like babysitting,” he said, eyes fixed on the skyline. “There’s enough on my plate. Lee’s merger alone is—”

“This isn’t babysitting.” Grey didn’t even look up. “It’s exposure. Real-world pressure. She needs to be in the field, and you…” He finally glanced up, eyes sharp. “You need to get out of that damn ivory tower you’ve built around yourself.”

Jisung scoffed. “Nice motivational speech. You should sell it with the company’s scented candle line.”

“I’m serious, Han.” Grey slid a file folder across the desk. “Y/N. She’s sharp. Observant. A little quiet. Good instincts, but not molded yet. Reminds me of someone else I hired years ago.”

“Oh, please don’t say—”

“You,” Grey cut him off dryly.

Jisung rolled his eyes and walked over, taking the file with reluctance. He cracked it open, the name Y/N typed neatly on the top corner. There was a small square photo paperclipped to the first page. His eyes flicked over it briefly. She looked poised. Quietly powerful. The kind of face that looked like it’d seen a lot, but wouldn’t tell you unless you earned it.

He didn’t say anything.

“You’ll meet her at the conference,” Grey added, sipping his coffee. “I told her she’d be perfect for this. Don’t make me a liar.”

Jisung closed the folder with a snap and ran a hand through his hair. “What time?”

“Eleven. Don’t be late.”

“I’m always late.”

“I’ll dock your paycheck.”

“Charming,” he muttered, tucking the folder under his arm. “She better be worth the hassle.”

“She is,” Grey said, finality in his tone. “And maybe… just maybe, she’s the type to make you think again, Jisung.” Han Jisung didn’t answer. He just walked out, file in hand, wondering why the hell this girl was already starting to live in the back of his mind.

It was a Thursday.

You remembered because you wore the wide-legged gray slacks you saved for “power move” days. A quarterly strategy conference was underway, where junior analysts, interns, and mid-level associates were gathered to observe the department leads speak on major upcoming cases. Mr. Grey sat at the head of the room, calm, in control, sleek in that navy suit with no tie.

Then came the part no one expected: live assignments.

“Some of you will be handling case shadows,” Grey said, clasping his hands. “And some of you will be leading minor client packages. Let’s make things interesting.”

Papers were passed.

Your folder landed with a soft thunk. You opened it. A name. A file. A logo. A red tab labeled

Priority Confidential.

Below it:

Supervisor – Han Jisung

Your blood stilled. Just as you looked up, you saw him lean on the doorframe at the back of the room, arms crossed, sleeves rolled, silver watch catching the light. He tilted his head slightly as your eyes met, mouth tugging in that slow, you ready for this? smirk.

“Y/N,” Mr. Grey called from the head of the table. “You’ll be reporting directly to Jisung. He’ll catch you up on the brief by end of day. Congratulations.” You swallowed, spine straight. “Understood, sir.” Jisung gave you a two-finger salute. The room kept moving.

But you? You were already calculating. Preparing. Bracing for impact. Because something told you this assignment was going to be everything you wanted… and everything you weren’t ready for.

You stood outside the glass wall of Jisung’s office, heels clicking softly against the polished concrete floor. Your reflection blinked back at you, sharp, composed, lips pressed into a line so thin it could cut glass. The folder in your hand had bite marks on the corner where you’d chewed it while overthinking. Not that you’d ever admit it.

You exhaled once. Twice. Then knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice was casual, distracted. You entered.

Jisung was leaning back in his chair, black sleeves rolled to his elbows, a pen lazily twirling between his fingers. His office smelled like cedar and fresh ink, the lighting warm but sterile like someone had tried to make it welcoming but gave up halfway through. Like him, maybe.

His eyes flicked up briefly. Then back down to the paper on his desk. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes.” You shut the door softly behind her. “You’re my supervisor on the K-Tech acquisition case.”

“Mmh,” Jisung hummed, still reading. “That’s what Grey says.” You didn’t sit until he gestured vaguely toward the chair in front of him barely looking up. His posture was everything you’d expect from someone with way too much power and too little patience: cocky, distant, infuriatingly relaxed.

You hated it.

“I’ve already gone through the case summary,” you said, placing the folder neatly on his desk. “I’ve highlighted the inconsistencies in the subsidiary’s financials. There’s—”

“—a shell company in Taipei laundering R&D funds,” he finished without missing a beat, still not looking at you. “Yeah. Noted that three weeks ago.”

You paused. Tilted your head. “Then why is it still unresolved?” That made him look up.

Slowly. Like a cat flicking its tail, unbothered but aware. His gaze was sharp, dark, and laced with something unreadable. Maybe amusement. Maybe boredom. Maybe both.

“Grey told me to loop you in,” he said, leaning back, fingers steepled. “Not give you the steering wheel.”

“I’m not here to steer,” you shot back, tone cool. “I’m here to work. But if you’d rather I sit in the corner and watch you twirl pens, I can pencil that in too.” There was a beat of silence.

Then,

“Cute,” Jisung said, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “You’ve got teeth.” You sat back in her chair, arms crossing. “And you’ve got ego. Big one. I’m surprised it fits in here with all the air you take up.” He actually laughed. A quiet, surprised sound, like you’d caught him off-guard and he didn’t hate it.

“Most interns are too scared to say half that.”

“I’m not most interns,” she said simply.

His gaze lingered. Too long.

You didn’t flinch. Didn't blink. You was dangerous, he realized. Not in the way of lawsuits or incompetence—but in the way your eyes cut right through his performance, the way your presence didn’t flinch under pressure. He’d seen plenty of people fold under his disinterest. But not you.

And the thing was, he liked it. God, he liked it way too much.

“Fine,” he said, voice dropping a note lower. “Let’s get this straight. You bring me something smart, I’ll listen. You waste my time; I’ll make you regret it.”

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile. “You won’t scare me off, Han.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Good. Wouldn’t be fun if I did.” The room felt smaller. Warmer. Something thick and charged buzzed in the silence between you. Then he grabbed your folder and opened it, eyes scanning fast. You watched him, arms still folded, legs crossed, a flicker of fire in her gaze.

“I need full employee logs for the Taipei branch,” Jisung said, tapping his pen against the folder. “Also, see if you can get internal memos from the last quarter. Anything involving the budget committee.”

“Got it,” You replied, standing smoothly.

You reached for the folder, fingers brushing the edge of his desk like it owed you something. Confident. Effortless. And just as she turned on her heel to leave—

—he looked.

He hadn’t meant to. Not really. It just—happened.

The way your skirt hugged your hips, the subtle sway as you walked like every step was calculated, fluid, commanding the air around her. Jisung blinked, his jaw clenching a little too tightly.

Fuck.

He looked away fast. Sat back. Ran a hand down his face like it’d erase the ten seconds of weakness he just experienced.

“She’s your intern, man,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, already annoyed with himself. “Get a grip.” But the image lingered. Along with the snarky little grin you gave him earlier the fire in your voice, the nerve.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to argue with you or—

Nope.

He shut the thought down. Immediately. He grabbed a random paper off his desk and stared at it like it was the holy gospel.

It wasn’t. It was a receipt for pens. Still, anything to distract himself. Because damn it, you were going to be a problem. And a hot one at that.

---

You leaned your head against the window, the cool glass pressing gently into your temple as your car hummed along the road, lights of the city beginning to dim behind you. Your phone was plugged into the AUX, and the low, rhythmic voice of RM filled the car like an ocean tide.

His voice always settled her nerves. Heavy thoughts dissolved into gentle weightlessness as you watched neighborhoods blur past concrete melting into trees, the air growing less polluted, the traffic thinning. Your week had already been a blur: Daejin’s pressure cooker energy, the barbed words exchanged with Jisung, the way he looked at you today like you were both a problem and a puzzle—

And still, he stared. Like he couldn’t decide whether to fight you or fold.

You scoffed softly to yourself and turned up the volume. You weren’t going to think about him right now. Not when your heart softened the closer you got to home.

The car crunched against the gravel driveway, your headlights sweeping over the familiar brick front and small white porch your dad had painted a decade ago. The house stood modest, cozy—just big enough to hold love and struggle in equal measure. You stepped out, heels in hand, dress blazer folded over your arm. The night air smelled like coming rain and hibiscus soap, your mom’s favorite. You climbed the steps two at a time and opened the door.

Inside, your father was seated by the small living room window, a blanket over his lap, the TV on low. Your mother was in the kitchen, humming to herself and peeling fruit, and Mr. Tae—her parents’ long-time caregiver—stood nearby folding laundry.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mr. Tae greeted first, smiling warmly as he turned around.

“Hi,” you whispered, setting your bag down. Your voice dropped into something gentle, reverent. “How’ve they been today?”

“Good. Your mom’s been on her feet most of the day—she’s stubborn as always. Your dad’s been quieter. Tired. But good.” You smiled softly and nodded. You walked over to your dad first, knelt beside him, and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. He didn’t say much—just smiled at you with kind, weary eyes and touched your hair the way he used to when she was little.

Your mom came over next, wrapping you in a warm hug that still somehow smelled like love and cornbread.

“How’s the new job?” her mom asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You gave a half-laugh. “Complicated. Intense. Full of egos and deadlines. But I’m hanging in.”

“You always do,” your mom replied, patting your hand. “You’re our miracle, remember?” You sat with them for a while. Ate some fruit. Let yourself be their daughter instead of a rising corporate intern or legal assistant. Let yourself exhale.

Because when you walked back into Daejin the next morning…you’d need that fire again.

---

The door clicked shut behind him.

Jisung leaned against it for a moment, keys still in his hand, the silence of the apartment washing over him like warm static. No city horns here. No coworkers. No Grey. No you. He exhaled slowly, dropping his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes with mechanical grace. The space was minimal, sleek—clean lines and dark accents. Black couch, polished concrete floor, deep green plants that he tried not to forget to water.

It looked like someone with taste lived here. It felt like a hotel room someone never fully unpacked in. He peeled off his blazer, draped it over the bar stool, and walked straight to the kitchen—grabbing a water bottle and a leftover half sandwich from the fridge. Gourmet. Chef Han at it again.

The light of his laptop blinked softly from the corner of the living room.

He ignored it. Instead, he wandered to the window, bottle in hand, and stared down at the city glowing like an artificial galaxy beneath him.

Another day of everything and nothing. He’d barely slept this week. Work had been brutal. Interns had been annoying.

Well…one intern.

His jaw twitched slightly at the memory of you walking out of his office, confident as hell, throwing shade and facts like you was born in a courtroom. That mouth on you—sharp. Quick.

Too damn smart for her own good. Too damn hot for his peace of mind.

He took a long sip of water, then grabbed his phone. Your file was still open in his emails. He didn’t mean to reread it. He did anyway. Background: modest. Grades: impressive. Demeanor: biting. Expression? Always looked like she was two seconds from either kissing you or ending your entire bloodline.

And that skirt?

Jesus.

He dropped the phone face down on the kitchen island.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t ideal. He hated supervising for a reason—he didn’t like people clinging to him, watching him, depending on him. Especially not people who stirred up whatever this was. But you were different. Not in some romanticized, poetic way. No, more like…threateningly competent with legs for days and an attitude that gave him a headache and a half-chub at the same time. He groaned, running both hands through his hair before sinking onto the couch.

“God, Grey, why her?” he muttered aloud, throwing his head back dramatically.

No answer, of course. Just the sound of Seoul vibrating behind his window.

The weight of your stare still burned behind his eyes.

He knew this was going to get messy. He just didn’t know how soon.

But one thing was for sure, you were going to ruin him if he wasn’t careful. And part of him?

Didn’t want to be.

The food he had ordered just arrived, a warm burst of garlic and spice filling the cool silence of the apartment. Jisung set the cartons down on the island, unwrapping the napkins with the kind of robotic precision you pick up when you’ve eaten alone too many nights in a row. Spicy pork bulgogi, kimchi, rice, a small bottle of soju he didn’t ask for but the restaurant always tossed it in when they recognized his name on the order.

Perks of being Han Jisung.

He had just opened the chopsticks when his phone buzzed.

Dad

Incoming call.

Jisung stared at the screen for a second too long, jaw tightening. His thumb hovered, not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he already knew how this conversation would go. Still, he accepted the call and pressed it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

A deep voice crackled through the line, rough and low like worn leather.

“You sound tired.”

“I am,” Jisung replied simply, stabbing into his rice. “Been a long week.”

“Hm. You’re still working with Grey?”

“Still am.”

A pause. The silence between them said more than words could. His father had always had this way of making small talk feel like an interrogation.

“He’s using you.”

Jisung scoffed, mouth full. “Grey doesn’t use people. He recruits weapons.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t answer. He chewed slowly, staring at the television that wasn’t even on.

“You still think you’re doing something different than me?” his father asked.

“Yeah,” Jisung said flatly. “Because I don’t destroy people for sport.”

Another pause. This time heavier.

“You sound just like your mother when you say shit like that.”

Jisung’s stomach twisted. He took another bite, mostly to shut himself up.

“You supervising someone?” his dad continued, like nothing had just happened.

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Because I know what that means. You don’t let people close. If Grey’s making you, it’s not for nothing.”

Jisung hesitated, his mind flickering to you, the fire-eyed intern with the mouth that didn’t quit and the brain to match. The way you stood her ground, talked back, made his blood rush like he was seventeen again.

“She’s…interesting,” he finally muttered.

“She hot?”

“Jesus, Dad.”

“What? You said interesting. That’s code.” Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s smart. Loud. Got a mouth on her.”

“So, you hate her.”

“…Something like that.”

There was a hum of amusement through the phone. For once, not a scoff or scold. Just understanding. A scary kind. “Watch yourself,” his father warned. “Grey doesn’t push you unless he’s trying to teach you something. Or test you. Or both.”

“I’m not new to this.”

“You’re new to her.” Jisung froze for a second, chopsticks suspended in the air.

“I gotta go,” he said, clearing his throat. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Call your mother.”

“I will.”

“Jisung.”

“What.”

“Don’t ruin it before it starts.”

Click.

The line went dead. Jisung sat there for a second, staring at the phone like it might say more. Then he set it down, picked up his food again, and muttered under his breath,

“…She’s still just an intern.”

But for some reason, he didn’t believe it.

Jisung was never the golden boy. Not in the traditional sense.

He wasn’t the loudest, or the most obedient, or the one who stayed out of trouble. But he was the sharpest. Razor-witted, eyes always ten steps ahead, and a tongue that could cut through hypocrisy like glass. From a young age, he was used to watching people argue from the staircase—his father, tall and thunderous, always in some perfectly pressed suit, barking down at his mother like she was one of the many subordinates who feared him.

His father, Han Joon-won, was a underground kingpin. Notorious in South Korea’s legal underworld for getting even the dirtiest white-collar criminals off scot-free. even though he was just a professor, he made his name not by defending the innocent, but by twisting narratives so well, the guilty walked out smiling.

His mother, on the other hand, Min So-ra, had been a viper in her work but the soul of the house. Jisung had grown up watching them clash. Not over love—they hadn’t had that in years—but over principles. Over Jisung.

“He’s not going to be your legacy, Joon-won.”

“No. He’s going to be my evolution.”

When Jisung was 16, his mother left. Just packed her bags one night, kissed his forehead, and disappeared into a train station fog with nothing but her passport and a spine of steel.

She didn’t fight for custody. She didn’t drag him through courts. She just said, “I trust you to choose who you want to become.” And that ruined him more than any custody battle ever could.

When he was 20 and fresh out of university—with the kind of transcripts people framed—Jisung had offers lined up. Corporate firms, legal think tanks, political gigs. But none of it felt… earned. It felt like a train his father had put him on long ago, and the tracks were already built for him.

Daejin wasn’t a regular firm. It wasn’t even fully public. It was a private legal-intelligence consulting group, used by billionaires and politicians when the government couldn’t be trusted. Rumors said they helped broker backdoor treaties and helped dismantle crime rings from the inside. Jisung had accepted. Not because he trusted Grey, not because his mother signed behind his back, but because it felt like the first decision that was his.

He’d finished the bulgogi, the soju still cold beside his elbow, untouched. A silence lingered too long in the space around him—the kind that scratched at his ears. So, he picked up his phone again and scrolled to “엄마”. mom

He hadn’t called in weeks. She picked up on the second ring.

“Sung-ah.”

His chest clenched. Her voice hadn’t changed. Soft, calm, always like the air after a thunderstorm.

“Hey,” he said, a little hoarse. “You free?”

“For you? Always.”

He smiled softly, letting his head fall back against the couch.

“I got assigned someone today.”

“At work?”

“Yeah. Intern. I’m her supervisor.”

“And how do you feel about that?” He paused. How did he feel?

“She’s… interesting,” he muttered.

“That’s not a feeling, baby.”

He chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “She’s annoying. And smart. And looks at me like she’s trying to read my blood type.”

“So, she’s not scared of you.”

“No. And that’s the problem.”

“Or the point.”

Silence passed between them again, but this time it felt full. Safe. “Don’t let your father live in your mirror,” she said softly. “Not when there’s still light in your eyes.”

He closed his eyes. Let her words sink in.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Call more often. I like hearing you wrestle with your own stubbornness.”

He smiled, biting back the wave of emotion building in his chest.

“I will.”

Click.

The line ended, and Jisung sat there for a long time phone on his chest, soju uncapped. Thinking about you, about the case, about whether this internship of yours was the beginning of your legacy...

…or the unraveling of his.

---

The lights in War Room A were low but moody designed that way to make people feel like the truth mattered more in the dark. Glass boards lined the walls, already filled with cryptic arrows and pin-dotted strings from other ongoing cases. The table was long, cold steel, with matte black folders laid out like they were handling national security instead of corporate lawsuits. Y/N walked in clutching her notepad, lips set in a calm line, her heels tapping softly against the grey tile. Her nerves simmered under the surface, but her expression stayed focused, professional. The room had a tension to it like the oxygen had been filtered for people who played chess with lives.

Jisung was already there, sleeves rolled to the forearms, silver watch glinting under the ceiling light. His jaw looked sharper this morning tighter. He didn’t look up when she entered.

Just said, “You’re late.”

“I’m early,” she replied smoothly, glancing at the wall clock—9:02.

He looked up then. Eyes dragging from her face to the file in her hand, then back. “Right. Two minutes early. Congratulations, you want a cookie?”

“Only if it’s got sarcasm chips in it.”

A ghost of a smirk flicked at the corner of his lips. But it vanished before it could get comfortable. “Sit,” he muttered, motioning to the seat beside him. As she sat, more of the upper-tier team began filing in. Analysts. Consultants. A lead from the surveillance branch. Everyone looked polished and exhausted, like they hadn’t slept more than three hours in days. The weight of high-profile work wore heavy on everyone here and Y/N felt it. Like iron in her bones.

Grey entered last. Of course.

Wearing an all-black turtleneck and long grey coat, he looked more like a grieving poet than the head of a high-level legal-intelligence firm. But the room straightened when he walked in. His presence commanded without barking.

He didn’t speak until he’d set his black coffee down.

“This is the KraneTech litigation,” he began. “Thirty-two million dollars’ worth of hush money misfiled as marketing budget. A whistleblower’s coming forward. We’re handling the internal case, prepping for external liability.”

He glanced around the table, then locked eyes with Y/N.

“This will be Y/N’s first live case. She’s under Han.” Jisung sighed through his nose. Loud enough for her to hear it. Not loud enough to get called out.

“Everyone, give her the floor.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait—”

“You have 90 seconds,” Grey added casually. “What’s your understanding of the case from the file you read yesterday?”

Shit.

She straightened. “KraneTech misappropriated marketing funds to pay off silence regarding potential internal abuse and fraudulent operations. The whistleblower is anonymous for now but has indicated they have documentation and digital logs.”

The room watched her like hawks. She continued. “There’s a timeline gap between February and April 2023 where no financial statements match the campaign budgets. That’s likely when the payouts happened. There’s also a legal scrub done during April that feels… strategic. Like they were anticipating investigation.”

Grey leaned back, considering. “Interesting.”

She held her breath. Then, he nodded once. “You’ll shadow Han. You have two days to prove you can handle the next phase of the audit alone.”

He turned to Jisung. “She’s yours. Try not to murder each other.”

Jisung’s jaw ticked.

Grey left with most of the others. The moment the room was half empty, Jisung stood and walked toward the glass board at the front of the room. Y/N followed, silent, watching him as he clicked a button and the case projection flickered to life.

He didn’t look at her as he said, “You’re not bad.”

“Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m writing it down anyway.”

“You do that.”

They stood side by side now, looking at the digital board—emails, blurred invoices, personnel profiles. “What’s your plan?” he asked.

She crossed her arms. “Trace the digital logins. Identify the cleaner who did the scrub in April. Follow the emails that were archived after the fact. There’s always metadata.”

“Metadata and luck.” He paused. “You might actually survive here.”

“I don’t need to survive,” she muttered. “I plan to win.” He turned his head just slightly, watching her profile as her eyes stayed on the board. It annoyed him. How pretty she looked when she was focused. How cocky she sounded when she didn’t even know the half of what Daejin really did behind closed doors.

“You’re stubborn,” he said.

“I adapt.”

“That’s worse.”

She smirked without turning to him. “Maybe you’re just slow.” He blinked. God, she was insufferable. And kinda hot.

He cleared his throat. “Meeting’s over. Get what you need. I’ll send you internal files by noon.” She nodded, then turned to leave the room.

His eyes dropped instinctively—for a second—to the sway of her hips, her skirt hugging just enough.

He looked away instantly, jaw clenched.

“Fucking hell…” he whispered under his breath.

The office they used was colder than necessary. The kind of cold that kept you awake and working, courtesy of Daejin’s air conditioning set to “keep them alert or kill them trying.” The space was sleek, functional, and minimal: two large desks facing opposite walls, a shared table in the center stacked with files, highlighters, redacted papers, and two half-drunk cups of espresso.

Y/N had shed her blazer somewhere around 9AM. Now in a simple white shirt with the sleeves folded to her elbows, her fingers flew over her keyboard, the blue glow of her screen reflecting off her glasses. She was in full problem-solver mode, lip caught between her teeth, brows furrowed in that way Jisung had, unfortunately, noticed more than once.

Jisung sat across from her, slightly reclined, eyes darting between an evidence board and the KraneTech whistleblower’s anonymized file. He was chewing the tip of a pen, annoyed that it was yielding nothing new. His own desk was chaos with purpose: files, sticky notes, USB drives, all organized in his uniquely ‘smart but unhinged’ way.

Silence passed between them—not uncomfortable. Just focused.

“You notice this?” Y/N asked suddenly, flipping her laptop to face him.

Jisung stood and leaned over, arms braced on either side of her chair as he scanned her screen. Her perfume—something light and sweet—hit him too quickly. He pulled back a little.

She pointed. “The logs from the scrub session in April? Someone tried to delete twice. Different time stamps. But only one was executed.” His eyes scanned fast. Sharp. “Good catch. That means they weren’t working alone. One initiated. One canceled. Which means—”

“Which means the second person might’ve backed out,” she finished. Their eyes met. A beat of satisfaction passed between them.

She looked smug. He hated that he liked it. He straightened and returned to his desk without comment. “Cross-check the list of digital IDs with those on the financial audits,” he added, already typing again. “There’s a chance the person who canceled left a trail out of guilt. I’ll trace the IP from the meta headers.”

“On it,” she replied.

Hours passed. Coffee refilled. Notes scribbled. The room thickened with brainpower and caffeine fumes. By 12:17 PM, her stomach growled audibly. She froze. Jisung glanced up, cocked a brow. “You gonna eat or let your stomach file a complaint to HR?”

“I’ll grab something later—”

“You’ve been saying that for four hours,” he cut in, pulling out his phone. A few taps. “Lunch will be here in ten.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I chose to. Which means now you’re going to eat, intern.” His tone was teasing but firm. “Take a break. Let your frontal lobe reset before it fries.” She gave him a look, soft but stubborn. “You didn’t have to—”

“If you say that one more time, I’m ordering dinner too and making you eat it in front of the entire board.”

She blinked. He smirked.

“And that’s not an empty threat.”

Ten minutes later, lunch arrived—grilled chicken wraps, sweet potato fries, and iced black tea. Jisung slid one over to her, then turned back to his desk like it meant nothing. Y/N stared at the food. Then him.

“You’re not eating?”

“Later,” he muttered. “I want to finish this trace.”

“You sure? I can share.” He shot her a sideways look. “Don’t tempt me.” Her cheeks flushed, but she masked it with a sarcastic chuckle, “Relax, Han. It’s not a marriage proposal. It’s just fries.” He smirked, but didn’t respond, back to his files, eyes scanning deep.

Y/N finally took a bite.

And—damn it—it was really good.

For the next half hour, they worked in silence again. Separate desks. Separate minds. But the same rhythm. The same obsession. The same unspoken energy. Enemies? No. Allies with fire in the air? Absolutely.

And neither of them realized it yet…

…but this was how chemistry always began at Daejin.

The city outside had long gone quiet. Seoul’s skyline twinkled through the window, streetlights casting streaks of orange and silver across the tiled floor. The office was quieter now—no whirring printers or urgent footsteps. Just two exhausted minds submerged in data, theories, and the kind of mental endurance that only legal warfare demanded.

Y/N sat cross-legged in her chair, one earbud in, hair messily pinned up with a pen poking through it. Her screen was a swirl of digital records, duplicated entries, firewall logs, she was squinting now, moving files around like puzzle pieces in her mind. A cold cup of coffee sat beside her, untouched for the last hour. Her knee bounced unconsciously, the adrenaline refusing to die down even though her body begged for sleep.

Then—she paused.

Froze.

Brows lifted slowly, lips parting. Her fingers darted over the keys, pulling up the original access logs from April’s double-deletion. She’d been chasing a ghost for hours, but there it was, plain as day: a duplicated ID signature tied to two different employee databases. The same person had registered under two different teams. Fake alias.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, breathless.

She snatched the file from the table where Jisung had left it earlier—his own scribbled notes, dots connected, theories half-built. The answer had been under both their noses the whole time.

“Jisung!” she called out instinctively, spinning her chair around, face bright with excitement and a little disbelief.

But when she turned—

He wasn’t responding.

Slouched in his chair, arms draped lazily across the desk, Jisung’s head had dropped sideways. His laptop screen still flickered, casting soft light over his peaceful expression. One hand was still holding onto the same file she now clutched, his notes stopped mid-sentence.

She blinked, then smiled. The moment softened her. There was something intimate about seeing someone brilliant in their most unguarded state. She stepped closer, voice low. “Guess we cracked it… both of us. Not bad for an overachiever and a half-asleep grump.”

No reply. Just a soft rise and fall of his chest. A slight twitch of his lips, like he was dreaming—maybe about work, maybe something far less exhausting. She shook her head fondly, knelt beside him, and tapped his arm gently.

“Hey, genius. Sleeping on the job now?”

Jisung stirred. Eyes slowly opened, bleary and unfocused at first. His lashes fluttered and his brows knitted as he squinted.

“Shit—did I pass out?” he muttered, sitting up too fast.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Right in the middle of your future law firm commercial. ‘Han Jisung: brilliant, relentless, occasionally unconscious.’”

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, voice firmer now. “Don’t apologize.” He looked at her, confused, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “You need to go home,” she said softly, but there was command in it. “You look like you’ve been tired for years, not just tonight.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t argue.” She reached for his laptop and closed it. “I’ll clean up here, write up a preliminary. I’ll shoot you a copy before morning.”

He hesitated, still groggy, but caught in her unwavering gaze. Her voice was gentle, but it left no room for negotiation.

“…You always like bossing people around?” he mumbled, standing slowly.

“Only when they’re being stupidly self-destructive. Karma, really.”

That earned a small smirk. He slung his bag over his shoulder, but before he left, he paused at the doorway. She was already turning back to her laptop, immersed again.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quieter. She didn’t look up.

“Go home, Han.” He lingered for one more second, eyes tracing her silhouette under the cool light of the monitor.

And then he was gone.

---

Han Jisung’s apartment was all clean lines and controlled chaos. A half-folded hoodie hung off a kitchen chair, vinyl records were stacked by the turntable in no real order, and the scent of his cologne lingered in the hallway like a memory too stubborn to leave. He was buttoning up his dress shirt, sleeves still rolled to the elbow, his hair damp and messy from a rushed shower.

He grabbed his phone from the counter just as it buzzed.

New Email: Preliminary Draft — Case #1782

Sender: Y/N [[email protected]]

He blinked, brows furrowing.

Already?

He opened it, skimming fast at first—but then slowing.

Thorough. Organized. Insightful. She hadn’t just pieced together the data. She’d cross-referenced employee signatures, restructured their timeline, and even color-coded the suspects in the margin.

“…Damn,” he muttered, under his breath.

Then another ping.

Text from Y/N:

Morning. I might come in a little late today—just wanted to give a heads-up. Will join as soon as I’m done. Thanks again for last night. Hope you got decent sleep.

He stared at the message a moment longer than necessary, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but definitely wasn’t neutral. His fingers hovered above the keyboard—he started to type, paused, erased, then just tossed the phone on the bed.

“Tch,” he muttered, grabbing his blazer. “Why is she so annoyingly good at this…”

And still, as he grabbed his bag and locked the door behind him, the corner of his mouth wouldn’t stop lifting.

He walked into the morning rush of Seoul, suit crisp, heart slightly off-beat, and thoughts already spiraling back to the girl who’d made him a little more tired… and a lot more intrigued.

—

The room hummed with pre-trial tension. A long, oval table dominated the center—sleek, black wood polished to a mirror shine. Screens displayed the case name, stacks of legal documents fanned out in front of each assigned seat, water bottles untouched beside stiff black folders. Jisung sat near the end, one ankle lazily crossed over the other, arms folded, eyes flicking between the time on his watch and the door.

9:05. You was five minutes late. Not a big deal.

But it made his left eye twitch.

He was about to tap his pen against the desk when the door finally swung open.

You stepped in—hair pulled back in a high, slick ponytail, glasses perched delicately on your nose. That outfit? Deadly. A gray pinstriped shirt peeking from beneath a black cropped cardigan, slacks hugging your hips in a way that made Jisung’s train of thought flatline for two full seconds. He sat up straighter unconsciously.

You looked... put-together. Smart. Sharp. And not trying too hard. Your eyes met his and—there it was again—that same flicker of tension. Familiar, unspoken. But you walked over calmly, confidence in your steps, setting down your laptop and notes beside his before leaning in slightly and whispering, “Did you read the preliminary?”

He gave you a slow blink.

“Yeah.”

“Did I mess anything up? I—I rushed the tail end and didn’t double check that section with the warehouse codes.”

Jisung’s brows rose. You were nervous.

He leaned in slightly, voice low and smooth. “No, you didn’t mess up. It’s tight. You caught things even I didn’t at first glance.” You narrowed your eyes at him skeptically, biting back a smile. “You’re being sarcastic.”

Jisung tilted his head. “I’m actually not. Don’t get used to it though.”

You chuckled softly and straightened your back, trying to hide the little breath of pride you exhaled. The compliment, sarcastic or not, buzzed in your chest. Just then, the door opened again and Grey strolled in, black suit, no tie, coffee in hand, and that ever-serious gleam in his eyes.

“Alright,” he called out. “Let’s get this started. We’ve got five days before trial and no time to fumble.”

The room fell silent instantly, shuffling to attention. Jisung caught your glance from the corner of his eye as you both turned to face the screen. You were in this. Present. Awake. Ready. And damn if he wasn’t a little impressed. And a little more in trouble than he thought. Grey stood at the head of the table, setting down his coffee and clapping his hands once to get everyone locked in.

“Let’s keep it clean, focused, and brutal,” he said, eyes sweeping over the team. “We’ve got motive, but the jury’s going to need a narrative they can eat with a spoon. What’s the angle?”

There was a beat of silence before you cleared her throat gently.

“We start with the financial discrepancies in the subsidiary accounts,” you said, clicking your laptop and flipping the screen to show a clean graph. “Every quarter leading up to the embezzlement charge, there’s a small spike in activity—same offshore account, different shell companies.”

Grey raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And the evidence chain?”

“Verified. We have authenticated statements, plus a testimony lined up from the former assistant—she’s agreed to testify under condition of anonymity.”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen against his thigh. “It’s a good start. But it’s not enough to prove intent. The defense will call it mismanagement or incompetence. We need to tie the money trail to motive.” Grey nodded slowly and gestured. “Han?”

Jisung leaned forward, fingers steepled. “So, we hit them where it hurts—optics. The accused transferred funds under the guise of ‘consultancy fees’ to a company owned by his college roommate. We subpoenaed his travel history—it matches up with four ‘retreats’ that happen to line up with the largest deposits. Add in emails recovered from the IT sweep…”

He tapped his file. “There’s one that says—and I quote—‘just make sure they don’t notice until Q3.’ That’s intent, with a side of cocky.” Your eyes flicked over to him. “And we link that to the board vote he forced through last September? That’s when he got majority control.”

Jisung glanced sideways at you and gave a little nod. “Exactly.” Grey folded his arms. “So, what’s the sequence of presentation?”

You raised a hand slightly, already halfway flipping pages. “We open with the paper trail—the clean, technical breakdown. It builds credibility. Then Jisung drives the intent point home with the emails and personal ties. By the time we present the witness, the jury already suspects him. Her testimony just confirms it.”

Jisung looked at you. Really looked. “We build the wall first, then drop the hammer.”

You didn’t smile, but your lips twitched in mutual understanding. “Exactly.” Grey looked between them for a moment before nodding, pleased. “Good. Tag team it. Han, you handle cross. YN, you prep the witness and the opening presentation. You’ve got three days. I want a mock run-through by Thursday.”

Everyone else began gathering their things and filtering out, but YN and Jisung lingered, documents still splayed across the table like a living crime scene. You gathered your notes silently, then paused.

“You’re not bad at this,” you said lightly, not looking at him.

Jisung let out a soft scoff. “You’re pretty decent yourself. For someone who doesn’t shut up.”

“Maybe if you weren’t always so smug, I’d have less to say.” He shot you a lazy smirk, grabbing his folder. “Nah. You’d still talk. It’s the only way you function.” You raised a brow, grabbing her coffee as she stood. “Just be ready Thursday, counselor.”

“Oh, I will be,” he murmured, half to himself as you walked off ahead of him. His eyes dropped to the sway of-

Focus, Han. Not now.

The case was a web. But with you, he realized it wasn’t just untangling it. It was figuring out who was pulling the strings alongside him. And for once, it didn’t feel like he was doing it alone.

Prep for the Mock Trial

The fluorescent lights in your shared office buzzed quietly as papers rustled and two cups of coffee sat cooling, forgotten. The clock ticked past 9:00 PM, but neither of you had noticed the time. You were seated cross-legged in one of the chairs, balancing your laptop on your knees, voice low but focused as you ran through your opening statement draft. Jisung was pacing slowly with a pen in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind one ear, eyes darting from paper to whiteboard. Every now and then, he’d mumble something or make a noise of disapproval under his breath.

“You skipped over the offshore transfer in August,” he said suddenly, cutting into her flow like a scalpel. “What?” you blinked, scrolling up. “No, I didn’t—”

“You did. You jumped from July to September like August didn’t exist. That transfer ties into the witness’ credibility. If you miss that in court, we lose the entire momentum.”

“I said August,” you insisted, your tone sharp now. “You must’ve zoned out again.” Jisung rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t zone out; I just actually pay attention.” That landed a little harder than he expected.

Your fingers froze on the trackpad. “Are you seriously implying I don’t pay attention to my own case?”

“I’m implying,” he said coolly, “that maybe if you stopped treating this like a performance and started treating it like law, you wouldn’t miss simple stuff.” Your mouth parted, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You’re great at talking, Y/N, no doubt. But law isn’t about sounding smart. It’s about being right. And sometimes, you skip details because you’re so busy trying to be the smartest person in the room.”

The air went ice cold.

“Wow,” you said, standing up slowly, voice lower than before. “You know, I get it. You’re used to being the genius. The golden boy. So, God forbid someone comes in and actually keeps up.” Jisung’s mouth opened, then shut. His jaw flexed.

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you think it. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I do care about how I come across—because I have to. Because unlike you, I don’t have a safety net. I don’t have parents who could afford law school. I don’t have a family name. I earned my place here.”

“You think I didn’t?”

“No,” you snapped, “I think you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail just to be seen. I think you have no idea what it’s like to have people doubt your intelligence the second you walk in because you don’t come from the right background.”

He looked like he wanted to fight that but then he muttered it, barely audible:

“Maybe if you weren’t so defensive all the damn time, people wouldn’t doubt you.” Your eyes widened slowly. That one hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You know what?” you said quietly. “Screw this.”

You grabbed your laptop and shoved it into your bag with trembling hands. He stepped forward instinctively, guilt rushing in like a wave, but you cut him off with just one glance, eyes glassy and betrayed.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to apologize.” The door clicked behind you as you walked out, leaving only silence and the buzzing light.

Jisung stood there for a long time, the weight of his words pressing down hard. He knew he messed up. And he knew sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

---

The atmosphere in the trial room was different.

Tense. Unspoken.

The team sat behind the long table facing the mock jury box. Grey was seated like a hawk, sharp-eyed and still. Jisung was at the end of the table, posture impeccable, face unreadable. His tie was perfect, hair neat, but his fingers tapped nervously under the desk. You walked in five minutes before the session started.

You were pristine with pressed slacks, a sleek ponytail, silver-rimmed glasses. The same woman from the steps that morning. Cool, composed, unreadable.

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t even hesitate. Grey gave a curt nod as the session began. “Let’s run it like it’s real. Y/N, opening.” You stood, the room holding its breath.

And as you spoke—calm, clear, devastatingly precise—Jisung could feel the growing tension in his chest. You were flawless. Unshakable.

And she wasn’t looking at him.

The mock courtroom buzzed with a synthetic energy, the kind that stemmed from performance but mimicked the high-stakes atmosphere of a real trial. Every step, every statement was under scrutiny. Professors and legal consultants sat with clipboards, eyes flickering between the two leads of the case.

You hadn't glanced at Jisung once. Not during his opening statement, which was admittedly impressive but a touch rushed. Not when they passed each other the exhibit binder. Not even when he tapped your arm to hand over his notes on the cross. You took them without a word.

Your expression remained neutral, every movement calculated.

Jisung was unraveling. Internally. On the outside, he maintained the illusion of calm, jotting things down, nodding here and there, but underneath, it was pure chaos. He’d stolen a few glances. Your eyes were deadset on the witness, your jaw sharp, mouth pursed in thought. And each time you succeeded, each time the jury murmured in appreciation, he should’ve felt pride.

Instead, he felt the hollow throb of regret.

You stood for cross-examination, heels clacking against the floor with commanding rhythm.

“Mr. Wexler, you mentioned that the email correspondence between you and the defendant occurred ‘frequently’ throughout Q3, correct?”

“Yes.”

You tilted her head, sharp. “Can you define ‘frequently’?”

“Uh… maybe twice a week?”

“Twice a week,” you echoed, eyes flicking to the projector. “Then can you explain why there are only four emails logged between July and September?”

The room shifted. The witness stammered. Jisung smiled. Instinctively, he turned to share that moment with you.

You didn’t even twitch. Didn’t acknowledge the success. Didn’t give him the usual side-smirk you shared when a point landed. Nothing.

You sat, fingers interlaced calmly. Cold. Professional. Grey leaned in slightly toward Jisung, whispering just loud enough: “She’s sharper today.”

Jisung forced a grin. “Yeah. She is.”

What Grey didn’t know was why she was sharper. Pain had a funny way of refining focus. And you were in no mood to forgive and forget. Especially not mid-trial.

As everyone gathered near the board, unpacking the session, you contributed where necessary, objective and direct. When Jisung asked you if you needed his notes for the rebuttal? You turned to Grey and said, “Could you pass me the updated printout?”

When he brought up a shared strategy they’d discussed last night?

“Actually, I revised that this morning. I’ll use mine.”

Every time he tried to breach the space between you — professional or personal — you slid past him like smoke. Unbothered. It was killing him.

---

Jisung finally caught you at the vending machine, alone. No audience. No Grey.

“Y/N—”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Your tone was low but heavy. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Okay,” he finally said.

You didn’t even turn. Just grabbed your drink and walked away, leaving him standing there with his apology still stuck in his throat.

The Actual Courtroom Trial – Day One

Location: Seoul District Court, 9:15 AM.

The courtroom was charged. Polished wood gleamed under harsh lighting, papers rustled like whispers, and every cough, click, and sigh echoed like it mattered. The gallery was half-filled with press, executives, and sharp-eyed legal interns hungry for drama. Y/N sat at the plaintiff’s table, expression blank, body composed like a trained performer. Her braids were pinned in a clean updo, her suit crisply tailored, gray with a deep navy undershirt that matched the cold glint in her eyes. Jisung, sitting beside her, looked the part too, fitted black suit, no tie, top button undone. Hands loosely folded over his notes; brows furrowed. He’d barely said a word to her since the mock trial.

She hadn’t said a word back. And now wasn’t the time to fix anything. Because the judge walked in.

“All rise.”

Everyone stood.

“Court is now in session in the matter of Daejin Tech vs. KraneTech and Min Hyunsoo.”

The judge, an older man with sharp eyes behind square glasses, glanced down at his docket. “Opening statements?”

Grey stood first. “Your Honor, we intend to prove that not only did the defendant willfully breach contract, but in doing so, they manipulated internal reporting systems to inflate data and secure funding under false pretenses.” He glanced down at Jisung, who gave the most subtle nod. Grey continued: “We will show you emails, witness statements, and system logs that confirm deliberate falsification, with direct involvement from Mr. Min.”

It was clean. Sharp. Confident.

The defense countered with a calm but vague approach — denying nothing directly, playing the ‘miscommunication between departments’ angle.

Classic. But weak.

Witness Examination — Day Two

By now, the courtroom had warmed up. The crowd had grown. Legal press had started posting snippets, curious about the two Daejin lawyers making waves. Jisung took the floor this time. His steps were slow, measured. The court reporter’s keys tapped steadily as he approached the witness: a former financial analyst who’d been fired six months prior.

“You mentioned seeing irregularities in the data, correct?”

“Yes.”

Jisung leaned against the podium, casual but precise. “And you reported it?”

“I tried. But the internal review team—”

“Objection. Hearsay.”

“Withdrawn,” Jisung said easily, before shifting pace. “So you saw something. And you did…nothing?” The witness shifted. “I was told it wasn’t my place.”

“By whom?”

The man hesitated. “Let the record show the witness is taking a long pause,” Jisung added calmly, then looked to the jury. “Sometimes silence tells us more than words.”

The gallery buzzed. Y/N didn’t look at him. But her pen stopped moving for half a second. Just a twitch. Their next witness was the IT manager. Now it was Y/N’s turn. She stood tall, calm, with a file in hand as she stepped to the center. Her voice? Smooth and precise.

“You were in charge of all server logs for KraneTech?”

“Yes.”

“You have access to login timestamps, message histories, cloud storage?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clicked a remote. The screen lit up behind her. “Can you explain this file name?” she asked, pointing to a suspicious folder — ’dev_recalibrationsQ3_v2’.

“It’s not one I authorized.”

“Yet it came from your department.”

“It did.”

“Then who accessed it?”

The man hesitated. Y/N didn’t blink. “I’ll save you the trouble,” she said, clicking again. “The IP address matches the defendant’s personal office system. And the login code was hardwired to his biometric key.”

Gasps.

“Would you still say you weren’t aware of any tampering?” she asked quietly. He swallowed. “No, ma’am.” Her face was emotionless as she turned back to the judge. “No further questions.”

Recess

Grey gave both Y/N and Jisung subtle nods of approval, but neither of them smiled. They weren’t talking. Not outside the courtroom. Not even in the prep room. They passed each other case files like strangers forced to cooperate. They presented united fronts like seasoned partners. But underneath?

It was a cold war.

Final Courtroom Verdict — Seoul District Court

Day Six, 3:45 PM

The courtroom was still. Not the kind of silence that came from boredom or fatigue, no, this one crackled. Anticipation hung heavy like fog, wrapping around every person in the room. Phones had been tucked away. The press wasn’t even live-tweeting anymore. Everyone was waiting. Jisung sat tall, his hands resting loosely on his lap. He didn’t look at Y/N. Not once. She looked straight ahead, lips barely parted, a pen clutched tightly in her right hand not writing, not fidgeting. Just holding. Her back was straight. Her jaw was steel.

The judge cleared his throat. “I have reviewed the evidence, testimonies, and expert analysis provided throughout this trial.”

A pause. “And while the defense attempted to establish a chain of miscommunication, this court finds that the fraud was deliberate, premeditated, and tied directly to Mr. Min Hyunsoo.”

A murmur swept through the gallery.

“I hereby rule in favor of the plaintiff, Daejin Tech.”

Boom. Just like that. Case closed. Grey let out the smallest exhale. A pleased smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “Well done,” he said under his breath. But his gaze wasn’t on Jisung. It was on Y/N.

They stood. They bowed. The courtroom emptied slowly, reluctantly — like no one really wanted to miss what came next.

But Y/N didn’t stay. She packed up her documents methodically, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone. The moment the courtroom cleared, she slipped into the hallway, heels echoing sharply against the marble floor. Her suit jacket clung perfectly, hair neat, gaze fixed forward.

Until,

“Y/N,” Jisung called from behind her.

She didn’t stop. Not until he caught up and stepped in front of her, blocking her path just outside the conference room doors. The hall was mostly empty, voices muffled behind glass and oak.

“I just—” He paused, jaw clenching. “I need to apologize. What I said that night, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet but cutting. She looked up at him, not angry just… disappointed. Like she'd seen a side of him she wished she hadn’t.

“I shouldn’t have let myself get comfortable with you,” she said, slowly. “That was my mistake.”

Jisung’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

“And I’m sorry for assuming I could be safe around you and still… be myself.” Her eyes dropped for just a second, then came back up, colder. “Won’t happen again.”

“YN/…” His brows furrowed, the guilt in his expression unmistakable. “Don’t do that.”

But she was already pulling herself back together. Tightening the line in her shoulders. Drawing the wall back up, brick by goddamn brick. “I’ll see you at work, sir,” she said, stepping past him.

That one word — sir — sliced clean and cruel. Not professional. Not respectful. Just distant.

And then she was gone. Leaving Jisung standing in the hall, stunned silent, holding onto an apology that had come too late.

---

The house smelled like warm rice and thyme-simmered chicken, that comforting kind of scent that wrapped around your bones and said you’re safe here. You sat at the edge of the couch, curled up under your mom’s old woven blanket. Your mother had already bombarded you with a second helping of food you didn’t ask for, and your dad had just settled beside her with a cold glass of malt.

“So,” her mom said gently, “how’d the case go?”

You exhaled slowly, letting your body sink into the soft curve of the couch. “We won,” you murmured, voice small but proud. Your mom grinned and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m so proud of you, baby. All those sleepless nights, hm?”

“Barely slept at all,” You chuckled softly. Your dad leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “And this Jisung guy? Your supervisor?” Your lips tightened slightly. “He was… fine.”

“You say that like he set your desk on fire,” your mom said with a teasing smirk. You smiled faintly but didn’t elaborate. Just twisted the edge of the blanket between your fingers. Your dad raised a brow, the way he always did when he was scanning for more beneath the surface. “Something happen?”

There was a long pause before you gave a small nod. “He said something… personal. During a fight. It just… I don’t know. Hit too close.” Your mom’s eyes darkened slightly. “What did he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” you muttered.

Your dad studied you for a moment longer, then sat back with a deep sigh, that thoughtful dad sigh that only ever came before life advice that could level you. “You know,” he said slowly, “sometimes we say stupid things when we care too much and don’t know how to say it.”

You blinked. “He doesn’t care—”

“He does. That’s why he pissed you off so easily. And why you’re still hurt.” You looked at him then, eyes tired. He met your gaze with a small, knowing smile.

“I’ve said some cruel things to your mother before. Words that hurt deep, even if I didn’t mean them. Sometimes men get scared, or flustered, and instead of admitting it… we shoot. And the first thing in the line of fire is usually the person closest.”

Your mom nodded softly from beside you. “Forgiveness doesn’t make you weak, darling. It means you’re strong enough to love past someone’s worst day.” You exhaled through your nose, leaning your head on your dad’s shoulder. You didn’t say anything but the weight in your chest loosened just a little.

—

The office lights were dimmed to a low glow, but Jisung hadn’t moved. His suit jacket lay draped over the couch, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie undone. He stared at the report on his desk, not really reading it. His fingers tapped mindlessly against the table.

There was no music. No celebration. Just silence and a gnawing ache behind his eyes.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way she said sir.

He’d earned that. He deserved that. But it still stung like hell. The door creaked open, and Grey strolled in with two takeaway cups in hand. “You’re still here?” he asked, incredulous. “Jesus, Sungie — we just won our most high-profile case this quarter.”

Jisung didn’t look up. Grey set one cup on his desk. “Why aren’t you home getting drunk and screaming into a karaoke mic with Changbin?”

Silence.

Grey’s gaze narrowed as he pulled up a chair. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

Still no answer. “I shouldn’t’ve made you supervise her,” Grey said eventually. “You hate team-ups. I knew that.” Jisung finally shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s not it.” Grey’s brow lifted. “Then what is?”

Silence again but heavier this time. More telling.

Grey leaned back, mouth twitching. “You fought, didn’t you?”

Jisung didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t have to. Grey sighed, shaking his head. “She’s smart. And she keeps you on your toes. And she makes you care when you’re trying not to.”

“Grey…” Jisung muttered, tone low and warning.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna lecture you. I’m just saying, maybe don’t be a dumbass.” He stood, finishing his coffee. “Go home, Jisung. This office doesn’t need your brooding. And she sure as hell doesn’t need more silence from you.”

He clapped him on the shoulder once not hard, not playful. Just grounding. Then he walked out.

And Jisung sat alone again.

But this time… he picked up his phone. And he stared at her name. For a very, very long time.

…One Week Later…

The clack of heels against marble, the hum of printers, the sharp scent of espresso drifting from the break room work carried on like the world hadn’t cracked open just days ago.

Y/N walked in every morning exactly at 8:50. Not too early. Not too late. Her hair pinned neatly, makeup clean and sharp. Professional. Untouchable.

Jisung noticed. He always did. But he kept his eyes on his screen when she passed his office. He pretended not to glance up when her laugh rang out from across the hall quieter now, but still there.

They only spoke when absolutely necessary.

And those conversations?

Clinical. Precise.

Like cutting stitches with cold hands.

Jisung stepped in to the meeting room with a file in hand, the tie he forgot to tighten swinging slightly as he moved. Y/N was already seated at the end of the table, flipping through a document.

“Update on the Barlow merger,” she said without looking up.

He slid into the seat across from her. “I… yeah. I got your notes.” A pause. “They were good. Really… good.” She nodded, still not looking at him.

The silence stretched like plastic wrap thin and suffocating. Jisung tapped the corner of his folder. “YN, I—”

She turned a page.

He swallowed. “About last week—”

“Jisung,” she said gently but firmly, still not lifting her eyes. “Let’s keep it about work.”

He nodded. Slowly. The tightness in his chest returned like a tide. “Right. Just work.” He left first.

---

The doors slid open. She was already inside.

He hesitated just for a second. But it was enough. She saw it.

“Getting in?” she asked quietly.

He stepped in. They stood in opposite corners, the silence buzzing with everything unsaid. As the doors closed, he risked a glance. Her arms were crossed. Eyes forward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he muttered.

She blinked. “What?”

“That night,” he said, a little louder now. “What I said. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable. “I know.” That should’ve been comforting.

But it wasn’t. “Then why won’t you look at me?” She exhaled. “Because I’m trying to keep my distance.”

The elevator dinged. She stepped out without turning back.

---

Grey glanced up from his desk when Jisung walked in looking like a man who’d just been hit with a lawsuit and a love confession at the same time.

“She talked to me,” Jisung said, tossing himself into a chair.

“Progress?”

“I think it was worse than silence.”

Grey hummed, closing his laptop. “You wanna know the worst kind of heartbreak?” Jisung rubbed his temple. “I already feel it, so go ahead.”

“When you realize they don’t hate you,” Grey said, “they just don’t trust you anymore.”

Jisung didn’t respond. Grey leaned back. “So, you’ve got two options. One — give up. Let her slip away because it’s easier than fighting. Or two — work your ass off to prove her heart’s safe with you again.”

Jisung looked up slowly. “And if she never gives me that chance?”

Grey cracked a small smile. “Then you better make damn sure she knows you would’ve taken it.”

---

The knock was soft, but firm.

Grey didn’t even look up from his screen. “Come in, Y/N.”

She pushed the door open, the crisp scent of bergamot tea and wood polish instantly familiar. The blinds were cracked just enough for the golden evening light to spill in, catching the silver in Grey’s cufflinks. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, stepping in and shutting the door behind her.

He finally looked up tired eyes, lips pursed, tie slightly loosened like he’d been too busy to care today. Or maybe, too weighed down.

“I hate doing this,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Truly, passionately, hate it. But apparently, I’ve become the damn emotional chaperone in this firm.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry… for what, exactly?”

Grey rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You and Han Jisung. You haven’t spoken more than four sentences unless it’s about legal briefs or witness statements in two weeks. And that boy—” he paused, exhaling deeply, “—he’s not okay.” Her throat tightened just slightly, but she kept her face still. “We’re being professional.”

“You’re being frosty,” Grey deadpanned. “And he’s being distant because he thinks he deserves it. But the truth is, Y/N…” He paused. “He’s breaking. Quietly. Slowly. And I’ve only seen him like this once — first year. He tried so hard to prove himself and failed a case that cost an innocent man jail time. I walked into the office and he was just… sitting there in the dark.”

YN swallowed. She hated the visual of that, Jisung, the firecracker of their courtroom, looking that dim. That alone hurt.

“He hasn’t said anything,” she said carefully.

“Because he doesn’t know how to,” Grey said. “Because people like Jisung? They weren’t taught love like you were.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

Grey leaned forward. “His parents didn’t raise him with softness. His father only calls to scold or guilt-trip, and his mother left him to fight those battles alone. Every emotion he’s got, every ounce of passion or fear or pride, he channels into work because it’s the one place he can control. He doesn’t fall for people easily, YN. But when he does, it’s… heavy. Terrifying.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, heart twisting.

“Of course you didn’t,” Grey said gently. “He doesn’t let people know. But I do. I’ve seen it. I see it now. He’s in love with you, Y/N. Has been for a while.”

Her breath caught. She blinked. “No… he’s not. He’s just… regretful.”

“Regret doesn’t make someone stare at your desk like it’s a missing limb,” Grey said sharply. “Regret doesn’t make him pause at your office door and walk away ten times in a day. That’s love. Unsaid. Unshaped. But it’s there.”

She sat back in the chair, the leather cool against her skin as her mind tried to wrap around the weight of Grey’s words. The idea that Jisung — chaotic, brilliant, frustrating Jisung — loved her was something she hadn’t let herself entertain. Not really.

“You’re scared too,” Grey said quietly, watching her expression change. “But I’m telling you now… either talk to him, or you both keep walking around like ghosts. And you’ll regret it far more than that night.”

Y/N didn’t speak for a long time.

But when she left his office, her fingers hovered near her phone.

---

The quiet of your apartment felt louder than usual. No music. No background show running just for noise. Just the low hum of the fridge, and her pacing footsteps against the hardwood floor.

You stood by the window, your phone in hand, thumb hovering over Jisung’s contact like it weighed ten pounds. Grey’s words were still spinning in your head, colliding with the memory of Jisung’s tired eyes, his hands pausing at her office door, the things he never said.

You pressed Call before she could overthink it again. The phone didn’t even get to the second ring.

“Hello?” His voice came fast, sharp, almost breathless. “Y/N? Hey. Hi—are you okay? Did something happen? I—I was just—Are you okay?”

You blinked at the window, lips twitching despite herself. “Hey, Jisung.”

“Hey,” he breathed, like your voice hit him like air after drowning. There was a pause. Then he continued, voice softer, still a little shaky:

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d… I mean, I hoped you would. I just—God, it’s good to hear you.”

Your chest squeezed at that. “I just wanted to check on you,” you said gently. “How are you?”

Another pause. A breath.

“I’m okay. I mean—work’s fine. Everything’s… fine. I’m just—” He stopped himself, then laughed under his breath, awkward and raw. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, heart aching. “Me too.”

You could hear his breath slow just slightly, like the ice between them cracked not broken yet, but thinned. “I wanted to ask,” she continued, voice steady now, “if I could see you. Tomorrow. In your office. Just us. If that’s okay.”

Jisung didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” he said immediately. Then softer. “Yeah. Please. Anytime. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” she said, a tiny smile ghosting her lips. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

There was another silence, but this one was warm. Almost comforting. And when they hung up, both of them stared at their ceilings for a long, long time. Waiting. Ready to try again.

---

The sun had barely settled into the sky when you stood at the threshold of Jisung’s office, your heart thudding harder with every breath. You weren’t nervous at least, you told yourself you weren’t. You were just… bracing yourself. For a conversation overdue. For feelings neither of you had signed up for. Your hand hovered over the handle, fingers curling in, then releasing. The hallway was quiet at this hour. No distractions. No excuses. Just you, a closed door, and the man you hadn’t stopped thinking about.

You finally knocked, three soft taps. Polite. Almost unsure.

“Come in,” his voice called through almost instantly, like he’d been sitting there waiting.

When you opened the door, the first thing you noticed was how he looked up fast, like he’d been facing the door the whole time. His hair was a little messy, eyes tired but alert, like he hadn’t really slept even though it was a new day. His tie was loose. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up just enough to show his forearms.

Your heart did a little tumble you didn’t appreciate.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping in. He stood up halfway. “Hey.”

And for a second, neither of you knew what to say. It was like the air between you was stitched together with tension and apologies that couldn’t be said in passing. Jisung cleared his throat. “Do you want to sit?” he asked, nodding to the two chairs by the coffee table near his desk. The sunlight was spilling in through the blinds, casting soft stripes of light over everything. You nodded and took a seat, smoothing down your skirt. He sat across from her, elbows on his knees, like he was ready to leap forward—or run.

“I wanted to talk,” you started, eyes locked on him.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I mean—I’m glad you did. I’ve been trying to figure out how to…” He trailed off, sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’ve messed things up, haven’t I?”

“Not entirely,” you said softly. He looked up at you like that single sentence kept him from drowning. You licked your lips. “I talked to Grey.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Oh.”

“He told me things. About you. About how you grew up. About how… hard it is for you to get close to people.” Jisung shifted. The slight flinch in his posture wasn’t lost on you. “I didn’t come here to push you,” you said gently. “I came here because I needed to hear you. Not your file. Not Grey. You.”

He exhaled, almost crumbling.

“You scare me,” he muttered suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You do. You walk in like you’re on fire and you don’t even notice the way the room bends around you. You don’t flinch when I’m cold. You challenge me. You see through me like no one ever has and I—I hate it because it’s terrifying and I love it because it’s you.”

You sat frozen for a breath. Then another. Your lips parted, stunned. “I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he said, voice lower now. “I knew I crossed the line the second I saw your face fall. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I’m sorry ever since.”

You nodded once. “You did hurt me.”

“I know.”

“But I also didn’t let you explain.” Jisung stared at you for a long time, then whispered, “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I know,” she said back. Another moment passed. And then you reached for the coffee cup sitting cold on the table between them, lifted it to your lips, and made a face. “Jesus. How long has this been sitting here?”

He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t drink that.”

“So, we agree it’s toxic waste?”

He nodded. “100%.” A beat. Then she smiled barely. But it was there. And Jisung? He smiled too, but his was full, slow, blooming like it had been dying to stretch across his face again.

“I still owe you lunch,” he said.

“And I still owe you a win,” youreplied.

They weren’t fixed. But they were trying.

Han Jisung’s hands have never felt so useless. He’d just begun to feel like the ground beneath them was leveling out, like he could speak to you again without hating himself. And then you had to look at him like that, half-curious, half-devilish. Like you were planning something dangerous, and he was helpless to stop it.

You sat forward, your eyes locked on him, voice honeyed but sharp.

“So… why didn’t you tell me?” you asked casually, like you weren’t about to unravel him.

Jisung blinked. “Tell you what?”

“That you have feelings for me.” His brain blue-screened. Full-on system failure. “I—uh—w-what? Feelings? Me?” You tilted your head, clearly amused. “Grey sort of told me yesterday.”

“Grey told—?!” he choked. “That—traitor—”

“Why didn’t you just say something?” you asked again, eyes twinkling. He fidgeted in his seat like it was suddenly too small for him. “Because! You’re—you. And I’m me. And this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m your—supervisor,” he stressed, as if that helped.

“That never stopped you from bossing me around in meetings,” you teased.

He groaned. “Don’t say it like that, I already feel like I’ve committed emotional HR violations.” You leaned back, lips pressing together to hide your laugh. And then, slowly, you stood. Jisung watched you, wary. “What are you doing?”

You circled his desk like a cat, stopping behind his chair. “Wait,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “are you flustered right now?”

“I’m not—!” he squeaked, voice cracking slightly. “I am composed, thank you.”

“Flustered. About me,” you sang, enjoying this far too much. “Han Jisung has a crush on his intern…”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks flushing even deeper.

“As if you aren’t too,” he shot back suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. And it hit you like a slap of heat. Your smile faltered for half a second. You blinked. “What did you just say?”

Jisung’s lips parted, like he wanted to take it back but he didn’t. His eyes flickered to yours, wide and honest.

“Don’t act like it’s just me.”

A silence fell between them, heavy and buzzing. And then—God help them both—you leaned forward, bracing your hands on the arms of his chair. Close enough to see the stubble on his jaw. Close enough to feel his breath hitch.

You tilted your head. “You talk too much.”

Then, without warning, you kissed him.

Soft. Bold. Quick. But the second your lips pressed to his, your brain short-circuited with a thousand alarms. What did I just do? Your heart slammed against your ribs, panic bubbling up before you even pulled back.

“I—” you breathed, stepping back fast, “I shouldn’t have—”

But you didn’t get the chance to finish. Jisung was already out of his chair. And then his hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and his lips were back on yours, urgent this time. Messy. Real. Like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time you argued with him.

You melted into it until you were both breathless and laughing against each other’s mouths.

“You totally overstepped,” he whispered, grinning. You rolled her eyes. “You literally chased me.” He smirked, still breathless. “And I’d do it again.”

One kiss turned into two. Then three. Then neither of you could remember who started what anymore. Jisung’s hands were frantic, like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. Your waist? Your jaw? Your hips? He settled for all of them, one after the other, pulling you impossibly closer between kisses that left you both gasping.

You weren’t helping—at all. You were smirking against his lips, fingers sliding under the collar of his shirt as you murmured, “You know, for someone so professional in meetings… you’re kinda desperate right now.” Jisung pulled back just enough to look at you, mouth parted in shock. “Wh—” His voice cracked. “That’s not fair—!”

“Awww,” you teased, dragging your finger down the center of his chest, “did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes!” he whined, genuinely, breath stuttering. “Why are you bullying me right now?”

“Because you’re easy,” you grinned, grabbing the end of his tie and giving it a little tug. “And cute when you pout.” Jisung muttered something incoherent—probably a curse—before he gave up entirely and kissed you again, this time deeper, one hand firm at the small of your back while the other traveled down, fingers skimming the edge of her thighs. You let out a sharp inhale when he hoisted you up onto his desk like you weighed nothing. Papers crumpled beneath you, a pen went clattering to the floor, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care because his hands God, his hands were trailing up your legs with reverence and want all rolled into one shaky exhale.

He was looking at you like he didn’t know whether to worship you or unravel you.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered against her skin.

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, already popping open the first button of his shirt. “Mr. Han.”

“Oh my God—” He was dizzy. Fully, utterly gone for you. His tie was undone, shirt halfway open, and your lips were ghosting along the edge of his collarbone like you wanted to memorize the taste of him.

And then—

RIIINGGGG—!!

The desk phone blared.

The two of you froze.

Jisung groaned. “No. No, no, no.” You snorted, forehead falling to his shoulder in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m about to unplug that thing for life,” he mumbled into your neck. “Shouldn’t you pick it up?” you teased.

“I should sue it for emotional damage.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You kissed me and now I’m ruined—of course I’m dramatic!”

The phone kept ringing. Reluctantly, breath still uneven, Jisung reached around you for the receiver, muttering a soft, “Don’t move,” like you were going to evaporate if he looked away for too long. He cleared his throat before answering voice still wrecked, like he’d just sprinted up a dozen flights of stairs.

“Y-Yeah, Han speaking…”

There was a pause. You watched his expression shift from annoyed to concerned, his brows furrowing, jaw tightening.

“Mhm. Okay—okay. Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and sighed like he just aged ten years in thirty seconds. You tilted your head. “That didn’t sound like a lunch reservation.” Jisung winced. “It’s not. That was about the Parker brief—something blew up with the client and I need to help clean it before it spirals. They’re asking for me personally.”

He stepped closer, brushing your hair back gently. “I swear to God, if I didn’t have to go—”

“You’d what?” you teased, lips quirking. He grinned, leaning in to kiss you one more time, slow and deliberate. “I’d definitely get fired.”

You laughed against his mouth and pulled back. “So dramatic.”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone suddenly sincere. “But I am going to make it up to you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Dinner. Just you and me. No work. No Grey. No emergencies. Just us.” Your brows raised. “Is this a bribe, Mr. Han?”

“This is me asking you on a date, finally,” he said, smirking. “And lowkey bribing you.”

“You’re lucky I like food,” you said, hopping off the desk as he helped her down. “Lucky you like me,” he mumbled under his breath.

You caught that. You both smiled. As you adjusted your blouse and smoothed your skirt, you stepped over to him and fixed his tie with practiced ease, eyes focused on the knot like it was the most delicate task in the world. Then you slid a finger down the center of his shirt, giving one button an extra pat.

“There,” you murmured. “Ready for war.”

“I was gonna say court,” he chuckled, “but same energy.” You turned to leave, heels clicking against the polished floor. And of course, his eyes dropped immediately to your hips. And stayed there. Shamelessly. You didn’t even have to look back to know. You paused at the door, turned slowly, and caught him red-handed, gaze glued to you like he was trying to memorize every step you took.

“So, you were staring,” you said, one brow arched in challenge.

Jisung blinked, caught like a guilty puppy. “I—I was just—I mean, technically, you’re walking in my office so it’s my job to supervise…”

“Supervise my ass?” He grinned. “Exactly.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still showing up for dinner.”

“Only because I want dessert.”

“Ohhh my God.”

You winked and walked out, leaving Jisung running a hand through his hair, muttering, “She’s gonna destroy me,” with the biggest lovestruck smile on his face.

Waw....our flustered boy always comes out in the end huh? 🥰

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#stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #han jisung #bystay #~kc's 💗#han smut #hanji #hannie #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #jisung x reader #jisung imagines #stray kids jisung #han jisung scenarios #han jisung angst #han Jisung law au

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trriviall · 3 days ago

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till death do us part

wk: 3.7k

authors note: sorry :(

warnings: chronic illness, vomiting, doctors, death

If you asked both Paige and Azzi what they thought about their life, they would say they lived it to the fullest.

Both girls won an NCAA Championship during Paige’s senior year, and Azzi went on to win another one. Both girls won ROTY during their respective years, silencing anyone that had any sliver of doubt.

Paige was drafted to Dallas, and after her rookie contract was up, she managed to swing a trade to Golden State, playing alongside Azzi. That year, the Valkyries won their first franchise championship. They spent the next decade building a legacy there.

Their faces, along with their teammates from the first championship team, were painted on the wall of the training facility. Banners from all six wins over their careers hung from the rafters.

Azzi had spent her entire career, 15 years, playing in the purple jerseys. Paige spent 14 of her 18 seasons playing right next to Azzi.

During those years, they adopted a beautiful set of twins, raised them from birth. Their biological mother was just a teenager, not ready for the responsibilities that came with motherhood. She was alone, no family, and just wanted a good home for her babies. When she found Azzi and Paige, she knew they would take care of the twins.

And they did.

Lola was older by nine minutes, though you wouldn’t know it. It took eleven years for Paige and Azzi to tame her wild, unruly blonde curls. She was a wild child, always outside either playing in dirt or running around a court. She was put in sports the minute she could walk, her energy needing to be directed into something positive. Ultimately, she found comfort in volleyball, something both her moms supported. When she got accepted to Penn State, Paige and Azzi let Lola fall into their arms.

Andrew was the younger twin, though he acted wiser beyond his years. He was very level headed and quiet as a child. Never fussing or winning. It was something that made Paige and Azzi worry at first, before they grew to realize that was Andrew’s nature. Andrew didn’t care much for sports, not liking to be sweaty and gross. But he was his family’s biggest supporter. Always front row or courtside at games, his cheers of support the loudest he’ll ever be.

Paige and Azzi had a lot of help. They each missed part of the season to care for the twins before they were born. After that, they had immense amounts of help. Both their parents would visit often, helping clean the house or give the new mothers a break. Their siblings took their Aunt and Uncle roles very seriously, always volunteering to take the twins for the day.

Veteran teammates were there to help at first, until suddenly Paige and Azzi had been in the league so long they were the veterans.

They retired the same year, just in time to help the twins with college applications and be there for their senior year. Retirement was bittersweet, but it was something they both knew it was time for.

Azzi was the first to mention it. She no longer had a good or bad knee, both a little worse for wear. Her legs were sore more than they weren’t, and when she thought about retiring, she was content. That isn’t to say she wasn’t upset. She cried. She cried when she realized the thought, then called her parents and cried some more. She didn’t tell Paige for a few days, making sure she was really sure.

When she told Paige, she cried some more. Her wife reassured her it was okay, it had to end at some point. But that same night, all Paige could think about was retiring. She didn’t want to go back to playing without Azzi by her side. Who could catch her dimes for clutch corner threes?

Paige thought about pushing through, but when a pickup game with the newest class of rookies left her sore for days, she decided it was time, too.

Paige did the same thing Azzi did. Cried. Called her parents, then cried some more. She told Azzi and cried again. But they went to bed happy.

They told Lola and Andrew next, something that was bittersweet. Their kids were happy yet sad for their parents. It couldn’t be something so easy to give up.

Their jerseys were retired, hung in the rafters next to their championship banners. They cried together, then cried with their children.

Now years later, the house is quiet.

Lola and Andrew’s bedrooms sit untouched unless they come to visit. Andrew does often. He brings his wife and his newborn, Madison. Lola’s visits are far and few. She’s always busy, but she makes sure to call and send her love.

Azzi left to pick Andrew and his family up from the airport. Paige snuck out to the doctors. Recently, Paige has gotten sick. She assured Azzi she was fine, but her wife didn’t believe it. Azzi ushered her to the doctor.

When Azzi returns home with Andrew in tow, Paige greets them with a wide smile. Andrew notices how his mom’s movements are slower, like they’re causing her pain. He watches how her breathing is a little shallower, something that isn’t out of the ordinary for a regular person but is strange for an athlete.

After a wonderful dinner that Andrew’s wife, Estella, helped Azzi make, everyone turns in for the night. Madison is a quiet baby, much like Andrew was, and sleeps through the night already.

Paige can’t sleep, and she finds herself in the kitchen cradling a glass of water. At the sound of footsteps, Paige looks up. She expects Azzi, but sees Andrew instead. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as he gets a glass of water.

“You’re sick?” Andrew asks, whispering into the darkness. Paige doesn’t respond, not for a long time. If she does, it will be real. She can’t do that. Not to Azzi, Andrew or Lola, not even to herself. Regardless, she knows she can’t hide anything from Andrew. And he can keep secrets.

So Paige nods, tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah.”

The words are hoarsely whispered. Andrew doesn’t say anything, just pulls his mom into a tight hug. Despite Andrew being three inches taller, he notes how frail Paige feels. He can feel her ribs and her cheekbones digging into his skin. Paige has always been a little lanky, but never to this extent.

“Have you told Mom yet?” Paige just sniffed and shook her head against his shoulder. Andrew sighed, rubbing his hand up and down Paige’s back as she soaked his shirt with tears.

The next morning, Estella woke up early to feed Madison. Wondering where her husband went, she went looking around the house. She found Andrew sleeping sitting up on the couch, Paige’s head dropped on his shoulder and her body contorted in an uncomfortable looking position. Estella smiled, happy to see her husband still so close to his mom.

But then she frowned. She noticed the way Paige’s cheeks look like they had dried tears, how she looked a little more…frail than normal. But she kept quiet. She helped Azzi make breakfast, then handed Madison off to spend the day with her grandparents while she went out with Andrew.

They were at a cafe, enjoying walking around without a stroller or a baby strapped to one of their chests. Estella brought it up quietly, her tone laced with nothing but concern.

“Is your mom okay?” Estalla asked, practically whispering the words into her hot latte. “I saw you guys this morning. She looked…frail. I’ve always known her to be so lively, the change is concerning.”

Andrew thought back to how Paige hugged him extra tight last night, or how she didn’t joke with Estella as long. Paige loved Estella, saying she was the perfect balance to Andrew’s quietness. She was witty, sarcastic, and wicked smart, someone Paige got along well with. So Estella’s concerns were more than valid.

“She’s sick,” Andrew said at last, his body sagging at the admission. “Something to do with her Kidneys. I don’t know what exactly or how long, but I know it’s taking a toll on her.”

“Oh Andrew,” Estella said, her face softening. She had lost her own mother to Kidney failure when she was just 17. But the wound had long scabbed over. She had come to terms with the fact that her mom would never meet Madison or Andrew. But she couldn’t imagine Andrew’s pain. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Andrew said. “Everyone has to go at some point.”

“But she’s fairly young and very healthy.” Estella pointed out. “She’s not even 45.”

“I’m more worried about momma.” Azzi Fudd. Beautiful, caring, soft, Azzi Fudd. “This will wreck her. They’ve known each other since they were 14 and 15.”

At home, it was already wrecking Azzi. Paige hadn’t told her anything, which meant everything. As soon as Azzi step foot in the house, she knew it was something big.

But she didn’t press. She watched, observed, and kept notes on Paige. She noticed how frail she looked. Not in the “she’s always been skin and bones” type of way, but in the “she’s lost a lot of weight” type of way.

They were watching Madison, and Paige was on the floor with her while Azzi grabbed her bottle from the kitchen. She listened to Paige’s coos with a smile on her face, until she realized she no longer heard them. Instead, she heard violent coughing. Too loud and too heard to be Madison’s.

“Paige?” Azzi called out. When she got no response, Azzi left the bottle in the kitchen and ran to the living room. Paige was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the couch. One hand was clutching her chest, the other covering her mouth. “Paige, are you okay?”

Azzi knelt next to her wife, setting a hand gently on her shoulder. After some time, Paige’s coughs died down. But when she pulled her hand away, it was spotted in blood.

Azzi didn’t scream. She didn’t gasp, she wasn’t shocked. She should have been, she thought she would be. But she wasn’t. Because deep down, she knew this was coming.

Paige looked up at her, tears welling in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. Azzi just pulled Paige into a bone crushing hug, holding on like if she let go Paige would disappear.

“Polycystic Kidney Disease,” The doctor said, her tone sorrowful. “That’s what’s causing your Kidney Failure.”

“What are our options?” Azzi asked. Paige was frozen, like time had stopped. Normally, it was the other way around. When Azzi had to finally get glasses or when she had to get her gall bladder removed, Paige was the one asking questions and being strong. Now it was time for Azzi to be strong while Paige fell apart.

“Not many,” The doctor said. “There’s always surgery, but with how many cysts Paige has it might do more harm than good.”

“So what? We just sit and wait for her to cough up enough blood that she drowns in it?” Azzi was mad. She was upset that Paige’s life was coming to an end, but she was more upset that she would be in pain. After ACL tears, concussions, broken fingers, and twisted ankles, Azzi wanted no more pain for her wife.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Fudd.”

“It’s Mrs. Bueckers-Fudd, thank you.” Azzi stood, dragging Paige with her. They would not be visiting this doctor again.

When they got home, Azzi ran Paige a bath. Something to sooth her. After that, Paige wanted to take a nap. Azzi had no problem with letting her blonde rest, she could tell she was exhausted.

When she heard Paige’s familiar soft snores, Azzi grabbed her laptop and got to work. She called Estella, who was a doctor, and asked her about Nephrologists in the area and which ones she recommended.

Two weeks later Paige and Azzi were back in another doctor’s office. This one felt less sterile. It was warmer, the lighting less harsh and more yellow than white.

“Bueckers-Fudd?” The nurse called. Paige stood, then grabbed Azzi’s hand to come with her.

The doctors room put Paige at ease. She wasn’t as antsy as before.

The door opened and in walked a kind-looking older man. He had a shiny bald head and wire frame glasses, but his skin was barely wrinkled. When he smiled, it showed off the small gap in his front teeth. For some reason, it made Paige relax.

“Good morning Mrs. Bueckers-Fudd,” He said, tone soft.

“Goodmorning,” Both Azzi and Paige replied, making all three in the room let out a soft laugh.

Dr. Wyatt asked Paige simple questions. She answered some, Azzi answered a couple. Then he asked Azzi some questions, questions Paige wouldn’t be able to. Things like have you noticed diet changes? or is she more tired than normal? and even has she had visible significant weight loss? All things Paige would have answered differently than Paige.

“We have a few options from here,” Dr. Wyatt said. “I’m going to put you on a transplant list. But your chances of getting a kidney are low. Until then, there are two main options.”

“Tell it to me straight doc,” Paige said.

“There’s always surgery. We can remove one kidney, leave you with one. But that would make things shorter. There’s medication. But it will only lessen the pain and stop more cysts from forming.”

“But it doesn’t do anything about the already formed cysts.” Azzi said, reading between the lines.

“Exactly.”

“So there’s no cure?” Azzi said, her heart breaking into a million little pieces.

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Wyatt said. “But I can assure you it’s not nearly as painful to watch or endure as other internal failures may be. My wife had the same thing, passed away eight years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Azzi whispered.

“Don’t be. Life happens. We all have our time, hers just came early.”

Paige and Azzi left with lots of notes, and less questions than before. Diet improvements. Exercises. Therapist numbers. Anything they needed, Dr. Wyatt gave them.

Azzi teared up when Paige asked how long she had to live. Dr. Wyatt said he couldn’t say for sure. But he said to come in for weekly check ups. Sometime then he could give definite answers.

Paige almost preferred not knowing. She could live life to the fullest without worrying about a deadline.

Azzi hated it. She didn’t like not knowing. She felt like she would wake up one day next to Paige’s dead body. She wanted to know how much time Paige had left.

At first, Paige thought there would be a rift between her and Azzi because of her illness. But she should have known better. If intrusive fans and media, ACL’s tears, and raising a set of twins didn’t set them apart, why would this?

With the medicine, Paige honestly felt okay. She was a little more tired, and more prone to getting sick, but she felt okay. She didn’t feel drastically weaker or incapable of daily activities. And honestly, that was enough for her.

One thing Paige noticed was how much her illness had aged her. She prided herself on always looking a couple years younger than she was. She didn’t look older by any means, she simply looked like she was in her early forties.

“I got you a gift,” Azzi said one morning, from the ruffled blankets of their bed. She had a lazy smile on her face, admiring Paige’s half naked body walking towards her from the bathroom. Somehow, Azzi knew Paige was in her own head and saved her from spiraling. “I think you’re really gonna like it.”

“Really?” Paige said, crawling under the covers to lay next to Azzi, her cold hands poking Azzi’s side.

“Oh yeah.”

That’s how Paige ended up at the Spa, Lola, Lauren, and both of her mom’s and Azzi’s mom with her. She hadn’t seen Lola or Lauren in a while, Lola too busy with volleyball and Lauren traveling the world.

“How was Asia?” Paige asked Lauren.

“Beautiful. You should come with me next time I go. You and Az, you guys would like it.” Paige’s smile went tight lipped, but she agreed nonetheless. No one knew of her declining health.

Amy, Mo, and Katie had their suspicions, of course. They had seen Paige grow up, knew her tells and everything.

At lunch, everyone made a big deal when Paige ordered a salad. Paige rolled her eyes and ate with a pout.

“I’ve never seen you eat anything green,” Lola said. “Momma could never get you to eat greens.”

“I managed to get her to eat kale once,” Katie said, her voice proud.

“That doesn’t count,” Paige protested. “You and Az tricked me.”

The table was full of laughter and wide grins. Amy took note of Paige’s lack of a drink, especially because she didn’t drive here. Paige was never one to turn down a drink.

Despite the hidden concerns, everyone came back to the house where Azzi had a light dinner prepared.

“How was it?” Azzi asked, planting a kiss on Paige’s cheek.

“Amazing,” Paige whispered. “Just what I needed.”

“Hmm,” Azzi said. “It’s almost like…I know you!”

“After 20 years I would hope so.”

They all piled into the living room, watching Friends re-runs while they caught up. They talked about the guy Lauren ran into in India and Morocco. How Lauren broke up with her girlfriend and then her brother tried to slide into her DMs four days later.

Paige was content with it all. Surrounded by her favorite women in the world, who reminded her how string she truly was.

The happiness and bliss didn’t last long.

Four days later, Azzi woke to Paige dashing from the bed straight into their bathroom. Paige threw the blankets haphazardly off of her, the white sheets landing half on the floor.

“Paige?” Azzi croaked, her voice still raw from sleep. Azzi followed after her wife, the corners of her lips pulling into a sympathetic frown when she saw Paige heaving over the toilet. Paige hated throwing up.

Azzi knelt and held Paige’s hair back, patting her back as she emptied her stomach's contents into the toilet bowl.

“It’s okay,” Azzi said. “You’re going to be okay.”

Azzi helped Paige off the floor and back into bed, grabbing a glass of water and her medication.

“Can you hold me?” Paige asked, her voice quiet.

“Of course.”

That’s how Andrew found his mothers later that day when he came to pick them up for Paige’s appointment. They were fast asleep, hands intertwined like they’d find each other in every life.

He let a silent tear fall before waking them up for Paige’s appointment.

The car ride was silent, both Paige’s mind and body exhausted. It became harder for her to walk long distances without becoming out of breath. She had hot flashes more often, shedding layers of clothing in a panicked rush.

Azzi asked Dr. Wyatt how long Paige had left. But Paige had no interest in knowing, so she made Andrew help her to the ice cream parlor across the street.

“Two mint chocolate chip cones and one vanilla, please,” Paige said. “I’m surprised you take after me when it comes to ice cream.”

Andrew smiled, handing the worker a bill. “I’m not. We’re more alike than we seem.”

“Hm,” Paige hummed. “It seems so.”

Paige thought her wife finding out how long she had left to live would light a fire under her. Make her want to do more. Instead, Azzi was content to do things at Paige's pace. If Paige wanted to go on a weekend trip, they went. If she wanted to lay in bed all day, they cuddled the day away.

Azzi was very good at not giving anything away to Paige. The only hint she had that her time was coming was when Azzi invited their entire families over.

Drew showed up first, his arms wrapped around Paige in a bone crushing hug. Both of their parents showed up together, then Andrew followed by Lauren and Lola. Ryan came a little late, and Jon and Jose trailed behind him.

Azzi set the good China out, everyone squeezed onto the dining table for dinner. Despite the circumstances, conversation was lively. Dinner was followed by a very competitive Uno game, then a Phoenix V. Valkyries game as everyone calmed down and turned in for the night.

“Don’t let this dim your light,” Drew said. “You’re still the best sister ever. Doesn’t matter where you are.”

Paige blinked back tears while she hugged Drew, knowing it might be her last time.

Paige could feel it, when the day came. She didn’t say anything about it. She asked Azzi to take her by the Valkyries facility. She admired the mural, talked to staff, and gave a few words of wisdom to the rookies.

That afternoon, she hid away in the office and made phone calls. Check-ins with family. Just saying hi. Azzi made her favorite for lunch. Paige got the feeling Azzi knew, too. Lunch had no greens and Shirley Temples were served to drink.

“Let’s take a nap?” Paige asked. Azzi smiled while chewing her chicken.

“Yeah, P,” Azzi said, her voice soft but knowing. “Whatever you want.”

Paige and Azzi cleaned the kitchen together, light music filling the silence. Paige’s bones ached, but she pushed through.

She waited for Azzi to climb into bed first, sliding under the covers next to her. The windows were open to let in the light breeze, making the room feel lighter than the weights in their chest.

Azzi had tears in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall.

“I love you, Az,” Paige said, her hand squeezing Azzi’s. “So much. Don’t ever forget that, okay? You’re everything to me, all I need in life.”

“Never,” Azzi whispered. “I’ll never forget you.”

Paige smiled, her eyes dropping shut. She rested with a smile on her face. Azzi’s fingers stilled over her wrist, feeling Paige’s heart beat.

Only after a few minutes when she could feel it no longer, did Azzi let the tears fall.

They were lucky that they found each other when they were 14 and 15.

But they were damned that they were taken from each other so early.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics #trriviall

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directactionforhope · 1 year ago

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"Starting this month [June 2024], thousands of young people will begin doing climate-related work around the West as part of a new service-based federal jobs program, the American Climate Corps, or ACC. The jobs they do will vary, from wildland firefighters and “lawn busters” to urban farm fellows and traditional ecological knowledge stewards. Some will work on food security or energy conservation in cities, while others will tackle invasive species and stream restoration on public land.

The Climate Corps was modeled on Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps, with the goal of eventually creating tens of thousands of jobs while simultaneously addressing the impacts of climate change.

Applications were released on Earth Day, and Maggie Thomas, President Joe Biden’s special assistant on climate, told High Country News that the program’s website has already had hundreds of thousands of views. Since its launch, nearly 250 jobs across the West have been posted, accounting for more than half of all the listed ACC positions.

“Obviously, the West is facing tremendous impacts of climate change,” Thomas said. “It’s changing faster than many other parts of the country. If you look at wildfire, if you look at extreme heat, there are so many impacts. I think that there’s a huge role for the American Climate Corps to be tackling those crises.”

Most of the current positions are staffed through state or nonprofit entities, such as the Montana Conservation Corps or Great Basin Institute, many of which work in partnership with federal agencies that manage public lands across the West. In New Mexico, for example, members of Conservation Legacy’s Ecological Monitoring Crew will help the Bureau of Land Management collect soil and vegetation data. In Oregon, young people will join the U.S. Department of Agriculture, working in firefighting, fuel reduction and timber management in national forests.

New jobs are being added regularly. Deadlines for summer positions have largely passed, but new postings for hundreds more positions are due later this year or on a rolling basis, such as the Working Lands Program, which is focused on “climate-smart agriculture.” ...

On the ACC website, applicants can sort jobs by state, work environment and focus area, such as “Indigenous knowledge reclamation” or “food waste reduction.” Job descriptions include an hourly pay equivalent — some corps jobs pay weekly or term-based stipends instead of an hourly wage — and benefits. The site is fairly user-friendly, in part owing to suggestions made by the young people who participated in the ACC listening sessions earlier this year...

The sessions helped determine other priorities as well, Thomas said, including creating good-paying jobs that could lead to long-term careers, as well as alignment with the president’s Justice40 initiative, which mandates that at least 40% of federal climate funds must go to marginalized communities that are disproportionately impacted by climate change and pollution.

High Country News found that 30% of jobs listed across the West have explicit justice and equity language, from affordable housing in low-income communities to Indigenous knowledge and cultural reclamation for Native youth...

While the administration aims for all positions to pay at least $15 an hour, the lowest-paid position in the West is currently listed at $11 an hour. Benefits also vary widely, though most include an education benefit, and, in some cases, health care, child care and housing.

All corps members will have access to pre-apprenticeship curriculum through the North America’s Building Trades Union. Matthew Mayers, director of the Green Workers Alliance, called this an important step for young people who want to pursue union jobs in renewable energy. Some members will also be eligible for the federal pathways program, which was recently expanded to increase opportunities for permanent positions in the federal government...

“To think that there will be young people in every community across the country working on climate solutions and really being equipped with the tools they need to succeed in the workforce of the future,” Thomas said, “to me, that is going to be an incredible thing to see.”"

-via High Country News, June 6, 2024

Note: You can browse Climate Corps job postings here, on the Climate Corps website. There are currently 314 jobs posted at time of writing!

Also, it says the goal is to pay at least $15 an hour for all jobs (not 100% meeting that goal rn), but lots of postings pay higher than that, including some over $20/hour!!

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ourdawnishotterthanourday · 4 months ago

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Catch Me — Xu Minghao

✧ Let's bring out the beast, shall we? ✧

Plot: Picture this… you join an exclusive sex club and meet a mysterious man who helps you embrace your darker tastes.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x mystery man!Xu Minghao 🎥 Genre: dark romance; suggestive [+18], light angst 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, primal kink (I explain it a bit but feel free to look it up if you’re unsure), light knife play (no blood) 🎥 Notes: alright, so this is a little different from my usual writing but I recently read the Legacy of Gods series by Rina Kent and let me tell you I AM OBSSESSED!! so ofc I had to incorporate it into a fic hehe. hope you will like it 🤭 🎥 Shout out: thanks again to bestie @nothoughtsjustfic for reading over this as always 💜

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist — Masterlist

Crazy.

That was the only word you could think of to describe the situation you’d gotten yourself into on this dark and gloomy Friday evening.

If anyone were to see you right now, running frantically through the forest in the middle of nowhere, they’d think you were in immediate danger.

But that was just the thing. Your life wasn’t in jeopardy… not really. In fact, you had very much agreed to partake in this sick and twisted game.

It all started with Rose Haven, an exclusive sex club you’d signed up for in an attempt to find something that was more your taste, so to say.

Although you were by no means a virgin, you’d never really found sex enjoyable, unlike your friends, who swore it was the best thing on earth. Of the few guys you’d been with, none had managed to make you cum, nor had they bothered with anything more than missionary or doggy to get themselves off before taking their leave.

You’d then turned to porn, hoping that it would be better without a useless, self-centered guy getting in between you and your orgasm. But that didn’t do it for you either. It was all so anticlimactic and fake, you felt like you needed something more, even though you weren’t sure what that something was supposed to be.

It had gotten to the point where you were starting to believe that maybe you were the problem — abnormal, defect, whatever you wanted to call it.

But then you’d come across Rose Haven, and you learned about a whole list of sex kinks you didn’t even know existed. That’s how you eventually discovered the world of primal play, aka a type of predator–prey dynamic in which both parties let their primal instincts come out during sex.

You‘d been intrigued from the start, wondering how something so raw and animalistic could be considered elating and pleasurable. However, the more you read through the club’s primal play forum, the more you began to realize that perhaps this was exactly what you needed. Maybe giving into your instincts for once would finally give you what you were looking for.

And what better way than to do it with a random stranger, someone who didn’t know you at all, someone who wouldn’t judge you for indulging in something like that, someone who — just like you — was trying out new kinks because regular, boring vanilla sex was not cutting it for them either?

Yes, you knew it sounded totally crazy and you were pretty sure that none of your friends would understand, but you still signed up that same evening, filling out all the required information and your preferences and submitting the form before you had a chance to back out.

And now here you were, being chased through a dark forest by a hot guy whom you’d been matched with less than a week after sending in your application.

You didn’t even know his name. All you knew about the guy was that he’d engaged in primal play before, and his member ID, which was mentioned in the attendance invitation you’d received earlier this evening — it also stated the safeword and the off-site location you were currently at.

When you arrived at the eerie-looking cabin, you’d been alone. And when he still hadn’t shown up ten minutes after the original meetup time, you started to second-guess your choice to come.

But then he was suddenly there, scaring the living daylights out of you when you felt his warm breath hit the back of your neck. It was only when you turned around and he showed you the card displaying a member ID that matched the one you received, you felt yourself start to relax.

Next thing you knew he told you to run as his lips curled into a devilish smirk, one that was enough to get you moving.

Where, you didn’t know. You could barely see anything in the dark, the trees all looking similar and your vision slightly blurring the longer you ran. So you stopped behind a big tree for a moment to catch your breath, keeping your ears open for any sign of the guy.

A twig snapping on your right caught your attention and your heartbeat sped up instantly as you waited, your body shaking with adrenaline.

“Oh, thank god.” You breathed a sigh of relief when you realized it was just an innocent bunny. You slowly pushed yourself away from the tree and turned around before taking a step, only to freeze when a piece of metal was suddenly pressed against your throat.

“Gotcha, little rabbit. You really have to work on your technique,” he mumbled against your ear.

You swallowed nervously, too afraid to move but at the same time curious to see what would happen if you did.

“Don’t even think about moving. I won’t be so nice next time.” His voice was harsh this time, sending tingles down your spine and to your pussy as he increased the pressure on your throat.

Fuck, how was he having this effect on you already? You don’t think you’d ever gotten that wet this fast. But here this stranger was, doing just that while manhandling you like a freaking psycho.

Within the blink of an eye, he removed the knife and forcefully pushed your back against the large tree, leaving you with nowhere to go as he trapped you with his larger form.

Then the knife was back on your skin, right below your throat, sliding down slowly and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

A loud ripping sound echoed through the empty woods, and you watched with big eyes as your dress fell to the ground in tatters.

A terrifying smile overtook the man's features as his hungry gaze moved over your trembling form.

“Now, little rabbit, where do we start?”

**BONUS CONTENT**

Dear Ms. L/N,

Due to unforeseen circumstances that we cannot disclose, member 234448 is unfortunately unable to attend today's appointment that was supposed to take place at 10pm.

If you wish to reschedule the appointment, please fill out the attached form as soon as possible and we will do our best to arrange something.

Thank you for your understanding and as always, stay safe.

🌹 Rose Haven

Your breath caught in your throat as you read over the club message you'd received over two hours ago.

“Something wrong, little rabbit?”

Your gaze shot up instantly, locking with mystery man's dark orbs as you tried to keep your cool.

If your supposed ‘date’ had canceled on you, then who the hell was the man that had just ravaged you in the best possible way in the forest?

To be continued…

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deusvervewrites · 2 months ago

Note

And another one (for the ask game):

After the big AfO fight, All Might decides to change his policy regarding sidekicks and starts hiring a whole bunch. Without AfO, they are no longer in danger of being targeted, plus he will need more help with his injury and hey, maybe he will even find a successor this way?

All Might and Nighteye have their messy breakup. All Might now believes he's going to die in a few years but hey, All For One is dead, so, you know, acceptable. But also not, because he's the Symbol of Peace and all that. If this is the end of his legacy, he wants there to be more to it than him simply giving out in half a decade.

The news shocks the nation. All Might, taking on sidekicks? He's always sworn against it with the exception of Nighteye, who is no longer working at Might Tower? It's a media field day and Heroes across the country are eager to apply somewhere guaranteed to get them fame and fortune. Naturally, the screening process is extensive.

One of those applicants is Midoriya Inko, also known as Asagumo*. Specializing in investigative work**, Inko has struggled since her debut to break out as a Hero on her own due in part to the saturation of Heroes leading to the high volume of sidekicks in Japan (like Jiro mentions in canon) but also because it's harder to show off and make a name for herself as an investigator. Might Tower's superior resources and communication will at least make her job easier. And yes, those resources include I-Island tech.

Due to All Might's decreased time limit, and also the extensive resources at Might Tower, his agency handles sidekicks in a unique way from pretty much any other agency. Rather then serving as support for All Might himself, the agency dispatches sidekicks where they're needed, effectively forming new Hero Teams from the talent pool for a single job.

Again, All Might fully believes he'll be dead in 5-6 years. This is the legacy he wants to create. And so he is watching his new pool of sidekicks very carefully to see if any of them might be a good fit for One For All, or if they might know someone who wants to be a Hero but lacks power (After all, everyone there managed to become a Hero already). Being Yagi Toshinori has its advantages in letting him have normal conversations.

+1. Both Mt. Lady and Burnin will end up as All Might's sidekicks. Miruko had no interest in the position, if you were wondering.

*Asagumo, meaning morning spider, is taken from a Japanese proverb about morning spiders being lucky while evening spiders are unlucky. The spider motif references her Quirk and her investigation work (pulling on threads).

**Yes I based this version of Hero!Inko on the World's Greatest Detective.

#asks #ask game #ask game series 26 #asagumo au

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hoardcloneheadcanons · 1 month ago

Text

Stone & Robotnik's Gaggle of Robot Children P6

Stone needed to find a new way to view Dr. Jeffers, one that allowed him to be polite and gentle.

Think of him as a badnik, they weren’t perfect either when you first worked with them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Robotnik is dead, Agent Stone is "captured" by G.U.N. and is still trying to build Metal and complete his boss' legacy.

On his quest to do so Stone gives the gangliest, saddest researcher he can find an actual spine.

It will come with a price, but Dr. Jeffers doesn't need to know that yet.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Ch 1: The Miserable Start of Kyle Jeffers

Kyle Jeffers liked watching birds, and deer, and dogs, and insects. He disappeared a lot into the woods as a child and his mother was fine with it as long as he returned before sundown.

When he was 8 he wanted to have bird wings and tried to make some for himself out of blankets and plywood before his mom took his jury-rigged construction away from him and herded him into the “animals and biology section” of the local library.

There, he learned that bird bones were hollow, and his were not, and even if he made perfect copies of bird wings for himself, it would not work, because he had the wrong density.

His mom tried to get him interested in paper airplanes after that, but he was so interested in the actual motion of the thing. He didn't want gliders; he wanted something that flapped.

So instead, he tried making a tiny bird toy, one out popsicle sticks, rubber bands glue, and a toy-car engine. And he created something that flapped, but not something that flew.

Frustrated, he switched to creating a copy of the family dog. Flying was hard, but he was certain he could do it perfectly with a dog.

And so with the same materials, he made a thing that walked on four legs. It did not walk like a dog, but it walked. Over the next year he obsessively watched his dog. He studied dog musculature and skeletons from the local library and tooled around with making fake joints with cue-tips and plywood And with each iteration the toy walked a little bit more like a dog. He made floppy ears for it, and a tongue that moved. He considered it finished when his mom looked at it and gave a quizzical but impressed “huh, well I’ll be” at his tiny creation.

And when it was done, he tried to make a deer, then a cat, then a stink bug. He became obsessed with capturing motion in automata. When he remade his bird toy it flew.

He never stopped, he just got better materials, a more intimate understanding of biology, and less adult supervision when he used power tools. He won science fairs, and helped out with parade floats. He was a quiet kid, an odd one, but a nice one. And he never stopped hiking or loving nature.

He got a bachelor degree in mechanics and life sciences, a masters in veterinary science, and finally a PHD in biomimicry.

He never really got the handle on public speaking. He was so attuned to being quiet in the woods, and calm for animals that speaking up never came naturally. He managed to get past his dissertation because the people on the review board liked him well enough and were certain enough of his research to go lightly on him. They took him out to a bar and drilled him on his dissertation on Pangolin-based body-armor while the alcohol allowed him to bypass his natural nervousness and stutter. They told him he would do well working on academic journals and data collection.

It was a gentlest way to tell him his public speaking still sucked.

It was after college, after his PHD, while he was applying to different research positions, when the incident happened.

Kyle was taking a break from the drudgery of applications by doing what he loved best, and walking in the woods. He was hidden under bushes, with some binoculars, excited to see a red-crested woodpecker or some interesting squirrels, when he witnessed the wrong deer, So named in his head, because it moved wrong. It picked up its legs too high, and the motion was out of order. Deer, in general, lift only one leg off the ground while shifting the weight on their other three. But this one would move its feet in diagonal pairs, more similar to a beetle than a deer. Then he saw two more deer, walking exactly like it.

He thought he’d discovered some new neurological disease, specific to deer, and he followed them. closer, taking pictures. But looking closer, he noticed that the hooves were almost iridescent, and their pupils were round instead of rectangular, and he grew even more excited, suspecting he’d discovered a new species of deer.

Then, one of the three deer opened its mouth impossibly wide, unhinging its jaw at a straight 180 degrees, and from the back of its throat a large insect head popped out.

Kyle was very lucky his fear caused him to freeze instead of scream. He stayed in those bushes, motionless, watching the creatures chitter to eachother, rezip the deer jaws, and walk away.

He called animal control, and the police got them to send a town warning to stay out of the woods, and then sent a research report about the new parasitic species he’d discovered. He did not sleep, and he did not go into the woods again for weeks. The longest he'd ever gone in his life.

Then the town warning stopped, and some nice government agents came to his door and informed him that what he witnessed was an not a new species, but an extra terrestrial scouting mission. They were very proud of him identifying the spies before more could be sent over and they assured him that they had already eliminated the threat.

(That didn't really matter, Kyle would see the fist-sized compound eyes in his dreams for the rest of his life.)

However this was not the kind of species that they wanted the global public knowing about. They were already burying the story and hiding his research paper.

He, as a witness was given three options: Have his memory wiped and possibly lose some of his memories of his doctoral program, be imprisoned, or accept a very strict employment contract.

They’d seen his body armor research, they thought he had such promise.

Kyle had taken option 3.

And at first they thought he had potential. He thought had potential. And it seemed like a sweet gig.

They were going to set him up with a job monitoring animals. It wouldn’t be outside, that wouldn’t have enough global coverage. Instead it would be from a series of computers monitoring data recorded by citizen scientists and social media. He could create bots and programs to compile data and scan for abnormalities. They gave new shiny lab, with a bunch of computer monitors for the task.

But that was just supposed to be his back-burner assignment, the thing he did while he was finding his footing. His main job was to come up with new cutting, edge military technology based on the animals he observed. More stuff like his body armor, He was to write up a proposal, submit it to a budgeting committee, and then they’d approve it, he’d get a team, and make cool new shit for them.

The problem is he never got that far.

Every idea and project proposal had been shot down.

Most didn’t even make it past the submission phase. The few that did were killed the moment he got in front of an audience, and they got to see his stutter, and hunched formed, and meandering points.

It didn’t help that the incident itself made him a more nervous person. His stutter was worse.

A year passed, and then another, and another, and then it was five years. And people stopped expecting things from him.

everyday all he had to look forward to was looking at screens, day in and day out, and waiting for the weekend when he could drive off base, to the park reservation two hours away and collapse in the woods.

He couldn’t wait until his thirty-year contract ended.

And it was in that dreaded fifth year of no expectations that he found note slid under his door that said:

Come to Dr. Keller's office tomorrow between the hours of 10 and 12 if you want any of your grant proposals to get approved."

He was sure if this was punishment for bad performance, or an offer of assistance, but either way he was a little insulted that he wasn’t worth the email.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Ch. 2 - Predatory, Active Species Need Enrichment

Dr. Keller had always judged people who bought dogs bred to run and run forever, when they knew for a fact that they didn't have the time to take them outside. She'd watched an old work colleague do so and was insanely frustrated when she saw the poor creature vibrate with pent-up energy and bite at its fur.

However, at the current moment she felt like one of them.

Stone was restless, every single part of him. There were times when he'd just sit in a chair at the far side of the lab, staring at the opposite wall while his leg jostled or his fingers tapped. Both of which he did completely silently.

He was driving her primary Agents insane. He was always in their space asking for new tasks, and he didn’t make noise when he moved, so he was just suddenly there, frequently startling all three of them.

It felt like they were going in inverse directions. As she slowly recovered from her years of overwork he seemed to be falling apart from stillness. She was certain the cell he was staying in during his office hours was making the situation worse. The best she could do was slide him more reference books and hope he didn’t explode.

The lab was sparkling, and alphabetized, every reference textbook he was handed was filled with neat tiny notes, and people were handed their tools before they asked for them, and the pastries he made kept getting more complex, and he looked a like he was going a little insane.

So was a little bit more lenient than either Agent Adelaid or Agent Franklin would like when he started asking about Dr. Jefffers.

He’d been in one of his “taskless, staring at a wall states” when she heard.

“Dr. Keller if it wouldn’t bother you too much, I’d like to ask about Lab 707.”

She jumped when he talked, she’d forgotten he was there.

It took her a moment for her brain to click out of the jolt and engage in the conversation.

“Yeah, I got a few minutes, what about it?”

“I am curious as to the reason there is a researcher’s name plate over a door that I was fairly certain was a utility closet last time I was here.”

“Oh- Dr. Jeffers, yeah- Uh.” How did she explain Dr. Jeffers? “A lot of his work is virtual, so he doesn’t need a lot of space, and he’s... new so he gets last pick on lab spaces. He got shuffled there when Dr. Myopic needed more space for his bacteria.”

“Not a great self-advocate?”

“No. “ An understatement. Jeffers gave off the disposition of a startled baby deer. “Honestly, he should have had mentorship upon coming here, but his hiring was sudden, and nobody had the time or space. And he said he was fine, that he needed some time to compose himself.”

“Would you mind if I attempted to help him?”

Keller felt like] she had a glimpse into what must’ve been in Stone’s quiet contemplation, a tiny smirk came to her lips.

“Am I not a dysfunctional enough scientist for you, Agent Stone?”

Behind her, Agent Franklin choked.

Stone's right eye twitched, and the tips of his ears got a little redder.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy working with you, but I am used to scenarios with a little more- stimulation. This lab seems well and sorted, and his situation seems like more of a challenge. And maybe I’m hoping G.U.N will look a little more kindly on my sentencing if I can get one of their assets in order.” ” She looked to the side mulling it over, “If it were just up to me it would be an automatic yes, but I need to run it through Rockwell if I can get your tracker changed to allow you movement between more than one lab.”

“I'd appreciate that for the future, but It's unnecessary for today, I already asked him to come here tomorrow while you’re out at a progress check-in, but I'd appreciate it for the future, it'll probably make working with him easier."

The lab grew cold for a moment, and Keller’s eyes narrowed, “I’m going to let this go because you look very close to chewing off your own leg but never invite anyone else to my lab without clearing it with me first. Understood?"

He held up his hands defensively “Heard.”

“And don’t let it interrupt any of your tasks. I’m lending you out, not giving you up.”

“Absolutely not, I know who my primary scientist is.”

__________________________________________________________

Later Agent Franklin pulled Dr. Keller aside.

"I urge you, strongly to wait on that request with Rockwell. Jeffers lab is so out of date that it is one of the few labs without security cameras or Agents. I know you like him, but can you at least wait until we get cameras installed before you let the security-threat move to the security weak-point."

"We're worried about him in a utility closet?"

"Alone? with a possible hostage that can't defend himself? Yes. I can think of three ways to kill Jeffers with computer parts right now."

"Fine. I'll put in a camera installation request first, it wasn't likely Rockwell was going to approve it anyway."

______________________________________________________________

Ch. 3. Venus Fly Traps Smell Like Nectar to Approaching Insects.

Kyle didn’t know what he expected from the scribbled note under the bottom of his door, but the man with a well-ironed suit, standing by a well-cleaned lab table with a dish of neatly-sliced quiche sittion on it was not it.

"Are you Dr. Keller?

" Oh no, she's away at a meeting right now. I’m Agent Stone. I've heard that you've been having trouble getting some of your projects through."

The name Agent Stone sounded familiar, but he couldn't place where, maybe he saw a character with a name like that in a movie?

From the side of the room Kyle Jeffers could see two agents keeping themselves busy working on an experimental engine, close enough to not quite give privacy.

"Do you want a quiche? I'm trying something new, I need more people testing them."

“Um-” the closet Kyle was staying in had one flicking overhead bulb and he usually left it off to prevent seizures. He relied on the light of the screens and a little desk-lamp he found. He was still blinking in the bright, overhead light of Dr. Keller’s sterile and spacious lab.

“Uh-no on the quiche. Is this a disciplinary meeting?”

“Absolutely not.” The strange agent's smile was warm and Kyle wasn’t prepared to respond to it after not talking to people all day. He thinks he was supposed to move his face muscles to match it? The moment had probably passed, but the agent didn’t seem to mind and he kept going, "I think we’re in positions to help each other. I was wondering if you could do me a favor and gather some of your old proposals so we could review them together. See what we can polish on them.”

“What for?”

“Well- ideally to get them approved.”

“Did someone send you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Well. You seem to be… stalled in your career, and it makes me deeply sad to watch and-”

The agent kicked his foot out from under his desk to reveal a blinking anklet.

“-I’m a little stuck myself, My last employer went AWOL on his contract, I got implicated in the incident and now I'm under house arrest here while still filling out my duties to the Agency. I would like more freedom.”

The agent rubbed his face, he looked visibly frustrated. “Keller’s doing what she can but Director Rockwell still insists on treating me like a threat. I’m hoping if I can help you move forward, they’ll see me as enough of an asset to give me some breathing room. Or if I do this right, you’ll get enough influence to pull some strings for me. So I help you move forward you help me get more freedom. Are we clear?”

“You’re hitching your ride to a hopeless case, but I can agree.”

Agent Stone’s smile seems to flicker, before returning to placid and calm.

“Fantastic! I look forward to working together.”

Stone reached out to shake his hand.

“And word to the wise? There are already enough people here who will be looking to exploit your insecurities. You don't’ give them a full-flight path to them in self-deprecation.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ch. 4: Baby Cuckoo Birds Pretend to Be the Children of Other Bird Species to Gain Resources

Kyle brought Stone his old reports, and Stone attacked them in red pen, with a viciousness that rivaled his bloodiest target eliminations.

Some of the problems with Kyle’s work seemed so evident and basic to Stone that it made it hard for him to want to snap in front of the young man. He had to scan and reprint the first few just so Dr. Jeffers didn't read his first round of red-inked insults.

“At this point in your career, how do you not understand the basics of the human attention span This is long, meandering and impractical. How are you so uniquely un-adapted to this environment? Who let your hiring go through? They need to be reported. You could have watched other presentations and read other reports and mimicked their style. How is it still this bad?”

This was unproductive. This wouldn't work if he broke the kid so early, he needed him on his side. These were all words that he needed to be prepared to choke down his throat and shove back into his chest when he talked to Dr. Jeffers.

He needed to find a new way to view this, one that allowed him to be polite and gentle.

Think of him as a badnik, they weren’t perfect either when you first worked with them.

______________________________________________________________

The badniks had always been good at targeting and shooting, but they hadn’t always been good at being subtle.

Robotnik had designed them to be fully shielded; they didn’t need to hide. They could come in, in full force and blast whatever target was there.

But it was easier to eliminate multiple targets if you could take out a few without sending up the alarm.

He’d tried to explain this to Dr. Robotnik, who insisted the drones were fast and plentiful enough to compensate for their lack of stealth and had responded by saying.

“If you think you’re so good at it, show me. I’ve got a bunch of spies who took some proprietary information from me. Fetch it or kill them all. Actually, scratch that. Do both or never correct me on my drones again.”

He then ordered them not to follow their automatic drives, and set them to mimic Stone and follow his orders. He'd have to direct them bit by bit.

Stone remembered shushing the hovering eggs and gently herding them to where the brush was thickest, where the fog covered the area, or where the angle of the sunlight would get in the victim's eyes as they turned around. And then showing them, one small, silenced shot to the back of the head.

“Now you” he mouthed to the one closest to him

They mimicked diligently, and Stone managed to sneak in and get the blueprints before anyone realized that half their men were dead.

Robotnik got his proprietary information back, and he adjusted their programming so Stone remained registered as a head badnik that the others could update from. From that point on the had a combination of their automatic drive and mimicry.

Well I guess as government dogs go you are a nearly-perfect killing machine.

Stone bared his teeth at the compliment ripped from the jaws of the stubborn.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

______________________________________________________________

He let the memory reform his view of the writing, remembering the early badniks bursting through the bushes with reckless abandon, throwing power everywhere instead of focusing on one point.

He thought about it as he continued to mark out the presentations, going word by word.

Perfectly fixable.

………………………………………………………………………………………………...........

Ch. 5. The Stomach Acid of a Vulture has a Comparable PH to Hydrochloric Acid. They Practice Defensive Vomiting.

Kyle had responded to Stone’s summons by giving him all of his past work from the past five years. He was hoping it would delay Stone enough to give him time to figure out how he felt about the man.

It took Stone a day.

“You got through all of them?”

“Yes! I’m a fast reader, and it was engaging although a little-”

(Stone thought of the badniks using full powered blasts on a single victim “that’s noisy, you don’t have to waste your battery on that, one lower powered shot to the neck would do.”)

“-over-eager? Look for instance, this one right here. You had a project based on the corrosive properties of the stomach acid of vultures. And you said you could create a machine that mimicked it perfectly so that you could consistently and cheaply create that stomach acid to use as a rust remover or use as a weapon. Here’s my question- why did you recreate the entire system? Why not just the parts necessary for the corrosion?”

Kyle resisted saying the “Because then it wouldn’t be as cool” part and instead said “Well there’s nuanced variables and I wanted the system to be complete. And that would help us better understand vultures if we could fully mimic them from scratch.

“Right it would. And when you get an established reputation you might be able to ask for that. But this is a military facility, and they’re not going to fund research that’s pure academic curiosity. You have to have a use-case and you have to focus on it. If you pared this project down to just get the parts you’d need for the acid you could cut your budgets and timeline down easily and make it much more acceptable. Did no one tell you this?��

(Hold it back, Stone)

“They told me no one was interested in the digestive system of vultures, and that I was wasting their time. So I switched to other animals that sounded more militaristic.”

Stone had read through the clamps based on alligator jaws that required the entire head.

(Take a deep breath)

“The Agency isn’t always clear with it’s directions. They didn’t want different animals, they wanted a less thorough exploration of them, they wanted evidence that you would have a result on a shorter deadline.”

But there are additional applications if we fully mapped out their stomachs! They eat bacteria filled meat all the time, there could be disinfecting applications if we research further, not to mention the propulsion capabilities.”

“But do you hear how that’s two additional projects? And it means a longer time for the agency before they get some results back on their investment. You were busy trying to justify why the animals were interesting instead of showing that you could make something based on your study. All of these are salvageable. Every single one. Pick one and cut the budget and timeline down as much as you can.

Pick the shiniest feature you can create, emphasize how it’s cheaper and more effective than what they’re using now, guesstimate a timeline based on similar projects, and then repeat what the shiniest feature is until it’s impossible for the reader to forget This is an easy fix. We’ll go over it when you’re done”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It hurt Jeffers to adjust his proposals. Even if his hopes had been diminished over the years he had never stopped dreaming of being able to study a creature’s insides and create a perfect simulacrum. And he’d gone into depth each time describing why each part was fascinating.

Cutting it down to a simple focus felt like a baby's first project. It felt like cutting off his own limbs, making the entire thing stunted and small.

Surely, they were looking for more than this?

He looked at his own cramped office, filled with nothing but screens and shelves, and one hanging light-bulb with bad wiring.

Then again maybe not.

At a certain point he got spiteful, started scratching it down to its most basic parts. Until it was nothing but the barest essential practical's.

He could’ve done 5 projects based solely on vultures if it was just like this. It must be more efficient to loop all under one proposal. Surely that isn’t what they wanted?

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ch. 6. Sea Turtles and Most Species of Snake, Abandon Their Eggs After Laying Them.

He handed it to Stone a week later.

“This is markedly better.”

“You’re kidding. Please, you have to be kidding. This is barely anything. This is injecting some chemicals into a vat with some microbes and calling it a day.”

“It isn’t. It’s based on knowledge you have in you expertise, but you’re too deeply in it to see it that way. You can make some figures to prove it’s better than our current metal treatment techniques, and how it can be made easily into a weapon. This would actually be good for making a body appear older than it is...” He said the last part as an afterthought, disappearing into some dark part of his mind.

That would haunt Kyle when he wasn’t distressed by the tragedy of lost possibility.

“But all of this technology already exists! And it’s based off of pre-established knowledge. It’s just taking things we already have and mashing it together. There’s so little discovery!”

Stone had his hands steepled in front of him. And Kyle could’ve sworn that he was repressing a smile.

“Well. Yes. Which makes your chance of success more certain for the people giving you funding. Don’t worry, they’ll likely complicate it, once they’ve accepted it.”

“How does that make sense? You just insisted I simplify it.”

“Because it’ll be changes, they ask for instead of the ones you want. They want it to be cheap and fast, but they will also want to add their own interests and addendums. The trick is to negotiate for more money every time they do.”

“No- I- that’s gotta be a special circumstance. They can’t want this. I’m a research scientist, this is technician work.”

Now Dr. Jeffers was certain that Stone was suppressing a laugh.

“You’re in Research and Development, heavy on the development. I’m going to mark out a few formatting errors. Submit it and see what happens. In the meantime, work on a few others, get them to the same level.”

Jeffers turned to leave, still wanting to protest. But assured that he’d be able to shove it in Stone’s face when he got rejected as it always did.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was in review.

They were asking him to present it in a week.

Dr. Jeffers felt high.

This was better. It was better than being locked in a closet, just reviewing screens for possible aberrations in animal behavior. There was hope of moving forward.

But it was a project that he could finish in a couple of months. It wasn’t that exciting. It felt like he was shifting from boring to slightly less boring.

He’d found a dark tunnel out of his hole and now he wanted to know how long the dig would take.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was the first time he’d come into Dr. Keller’s lab without a note stuck to his door telling him the time to come in at a specific time. He found Stone, the other Agents, and a woman he didn't recognize, who he assumed was Dr. Keller, in the middle of welding together smaller parts onto the experimental engine he’d seen them work on for the entire time he was coming.

He waited in the corner until Agent Stone walked over to him.

“Jefffers, I didn’t expect you here today. Did your proposal make it through?”

“Yeah-actually, thanks. I didn’t expect it to work.” The reminder that this was intended to move him forward, made him feel guilty and ungrateful about asking the next question, but it was eating at him and he pushed the words out anyway,

“You said I could negotiate for more exciting work once I got more respect? How long do you think that will take?”

“Well- I don't actually know. My last boss was already established by the time I was working for him." Stone waited for a pause in the welding, "Keller?”

She lifted up her welding mask to look at the two. Jeffers shifted to put Stone in between them. The other scientists in the facility still intimidated him a touch.

“How long do you think it took you before you got to the point in your career where you could request a project that had a year’s deadline or more, and had more exploratory features rather than guaranteed ones?”

Keller squinted at Jeffers.

He seemed to be standing up just a little bit straighter, and she's not sure he'd ever asked another scientist a direct question before.

Keller rubbed her teeth with her tongue, thinking.

“You’re comparing apples to oranges there. Technically I got to a point like that the moment I started working for the agency, it’s why I joined. However that was 17 or 18 years into my career. Before that it was a lot of saying yes to whatever project was thrown my way and being part of a team that was under supervision by a more established project lead. A lot of designing the gear shift or break mechanism of the car rather than the entire vehicle. Even now- I get more project requests that someone else thought of, they just give me a lot of creative freedom to solve their problems. They still haven’t approved my mech suit design.”

She wiped the sweat from her head looked at Dr. Jeffers with pity.

“ But I’m not sure if any of that applies to you. I don’t think G.U.N has the established infrastructure to train someone new. I don't know what they were thinking when they hired you. They normally hire scientists established in their careers. I don’t know how your path will go. It could go faster because you’re essentially starting a new department from scratch, and have some freedom to play around or slower because you have no support.”

She watched Jeffers face get paler. She had tried to explain it to him gently but he did need to learn.

Stone turned to look at Jeffers, “Does that answer your questi- oh you should sit back down, let me get you some water.”

,.............................................................................................................................

17 years.

And he had no mentors when he should have

Stone handed him an open water bottle and he stared at it blankly.

“I should’ve had my memory wiped. It would’ve taken me a year to relearn anything I lost, and then I could’ve taken a research position. They told me I was made for academic journals and obscure research when I did my dissertation. I wasn’t made for development. I’ve spent years wondering what I’ve been doing wrong and it turns out I was acting like I had a different job that the one I actually had.”

He was a circular peg trying to fit into a triangular hole and no one had told him.

“It’s not going to help you to focus on the past at this point. It’s time to focus on what’s left. When’s your presentation?”

“Next thursday.”

“Let’s focus on getting that in order. We can arrange some time for you and I to go over some practice questions, figure out how to fix your presentation style.”

Jeffers nodded, he was still staring into blank space, locked into the void.

(Stone remembered fixing the wiring of a badnik as it struggled to contract and expand it’s main optical aperture. It sparked under his gloved hands.

“I’m sorry my darling, we didn’t know they had armor piercing bullets. I’m going to get this fixed up and then your Dad’s going to figure out how to reinforce your shell, ok?”

He said it in Arabic, hoping no one would hear the softness with which he spoke to the badniks. As far as he knew, no one had, Robotnik had certainly never brought it up.)

He sighed

“Look if you really need exploration to function, you can send an email. To Director Granite of Warehouse F. I’ll see if I can get his contact info.”

“Warehouse F?”

“Yeah, F for failure- and that’s the politer phrase. It’s where all the decommissioned projects go. Ones that ran out of money or never accomplished their target goals. Things they don’t know what to do with. It’s just junk that they have no idea what to do with but hide for proprietary reasons. They’re overly ambitious puzzles that more experienced researchers failed to solve. Ask for one of them. It’ll give you something to explore while you wait for something bigger. It might even help you get more approval if a department head sees you showing initiative. I wouldn’t let it distract you from your primary work, but if you need something to puzzle through, it’s there.”

And suddenly, Jeffers felt like there was a small lamp in a long tunnel.

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.”

One main anxiety down, one to go.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Something bugged at Keller, and she brought it up Stone once she knew Kyle had left the room.

“Stone, answer me something.”

“Hm?”

“I only remember G.U.N. having one scientist with a biomimicry degree. So, be honest, Was Robotnik supposed to be the one to train Jeffers?”

Stone shrugged.

Internally, he may have remembered a ‘request for trainee form’ sliding across his desk around the time. Most of those requests, along with ‘additional agent requests’ slid off his desk and into the trash too fast for him to recall.

“It’s possible, but Jeffers came in around the Montana incident. At which the Agency cut ties with both of us.”

“So they hired him with the idea that there’d be someone to train him, and then couldn’t admit they’d messed up when there wasn’t.”

“Likely. It’s probably for the best. He wouldn’t have survived Dr. Robotnik.”

She thought of the way the kid hid behind Stone from her and gave a morbid chuckle.

“No, he wouldn’t.”

Her faced screwed up in irritation, and then rage.

"Jeffers has a degree in mechanics, right? Biomimicry in chemistry and mechanics?"

"Yes."

"Goddam it I was requesting extra-personal for years and he was right down the hall. I could have trained him. It would have solved two problems in one go."

She sighed and then fiddled with her blow torch.

"Excuse me for a minute while I set something small on fire."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Ch. 7: Striped Hyenas are Born Blind and Helpless. They Do Not Develop Bone Crushing Jaw Strength Until They Are 3 Years Old.

Kyle sent the email to director Granite. It felt weird how many additional channels there were to get work and prove yourself.

Nobody had told him anything except the basics, They expected so much out of him that he hadn’t been given guidance and then they let him fail.

Thank god for Stone.

He’d had to have a desperate criminal give him the option.

..........................................................................................................................

The next thing Stone told Dr. Jeffers to do, was make the most dumbed-down version of his presentations he could, and then write up a script for it.

Something basic that he felt like he could recite even if he was drowning.

He then requested that Jeffers present it to him, in the hallway while Stone stood in the doorway of Kellers lab.

When Jeffers brought up how hideously awkward that would feel with anyone being able to walk by. Stone claimed “That's the point, if you can present it in an inherently awkward way now, it'll make it easier for you to do it in front of a crowd later.”

It also gave them a modicum of privacy from Keller and her agents, who seemed to be calming down after several of Kyle's visits.

The process was simple.

Kyle would present for 15 minutes or until he broke. Then they would go over breathing techniques, or some way to refocus him and they'd do it again. It was easy. He was starting to get comfortable with Stone, and even if he was nervous, he could say it all if he was going slow and staring at the wall. He eventually got to the point where he could say it without. Stuttering. He knew all the words, it was easy.

He thought after that, that Stone would extend the time. He didn't.

Instead he started asking questions. The first few were soft balls, ones that just, allowed him to expand on a point that he knew the answer to. Then they got hard, questions he hadn't thought of. But then they got more annoying. More condescending. He'd ask him to repeat parts he'd already said, Ask him minute details that just didn't matter.

And Dr. Jeffers was tired of saying the same thing over and over and over again in an exposed hallway, holding print outs of his slides and he starting snap at him.

"That's a stupid an irrelevant question?! Yeah, it could dissolve a hinge if you got a few hours to spend on your B & E but may I suggest a screwdriver?"

"Good response. Good diction and energy, no stutter. Work on the anger. Learn to say the first part in your head. You can take a minute."

"I can't just tell them their question is stupid?"

"You? No. Keller? Maybe, but you don't have the reputation, established respect, or pile of blackmail for it. You'll get shot."

"Metaphorically?"

"Depends on who you insult."

____________________________________________________________

The worst session, by far, was when Stone stopped asking quesions.

Jeffers kept waiting for them to come, but instead Stone looked restless and bored and was looking the other way to check in on Keller's lab and then would switch to looking at his watch.

Kyle's vision started to flatten, and his heart rate picked up, and he couldn't form the next word of his sentence. It kept coming out wrong. And his chest hurt.

He knew it, this still wasn't going to work. It was all going to turn out the same for him, and when they kicked him out, the compound eyes would be waiting.

Stone stopped the timer, “Jeffers I'm going to need you to list three things in the room for me.”

“WE'RE IN A HALLWAY.”

“In the hallway then”

“Your stupid overly shiny shoes, the overhead lights that are giving me a headache and Dr. Kellers's name tag on the door.”

He felt his heartbeat go down as he was forced to pay attention to his surroundings.

“Now do you want to tell me what happened there?"

“They're not going to care. We're going to do all this and they're still not going to care. You can't even care. I mean- I know when it's you, it's an act to make a point, to help me practice but it won't be when I get up there.”

“... that's not necessarily true. A lot of them have the training I have. And breaking down someone's self esteem before negotiating with them, is part of that.”

Suddenly Jeffers wasnt struggling to breathe. He was momentarily distracted by anger.

“Say psyche right now.”

“ If they did accept your project, then they would be negotiating with you for how many details they can add without you adjusting the budget, hoping you'll do unrecorded hours to compensate. And that's easier if you're already... pliable. You're also just in a room filled with people used to being in charge.”

“I've not even able to show them what I have that's valuable because I'm so terrified that it sends me into stuttering fits. I can't even get to the negotiating table.”

“They find that an acceptable loss. They look down on weakness and a lack of presentation skills is that.”

“But- if that's true - they’re doing it so much that I can’t even show them what I have is useful, they’re destroying me before I even get to the negotiating table.”

“They are under the impression that, that is an acceptable loss. In their minds if you’re too weak to do a presentation, then your science isn’t worth looking at.”

“But my science is good. I was a good researcher before this. I was before they got me here and shoved me in a closet. They forgot to give me resources. I just suck at presenting. That doesn’t make my science faulty just because they can’t listen through a stutter.”

Jeffers felt like he was flailing as he said it. But it also sounded true. He was a good researcher. He was dedicated and had the most rigorous studies and was the best at keeping notes and finding sources, and diagnosing the errors in machines and identifying behavior patterns. He was good at this, and he felt like that fact had been beaten out of him.

There was a slight quirk to the corner of Stone's lips, so small. Repressed.

“I know. I didn’t say they were all that bright. They waste useful resources all the time. It’s what happens with a lot of money and a lack of oversight.

Something shifted in the register of Stone's shifted as he said it. The unmistakable tone of condescension as he talked about their employers.

Something in Jeffers’s brain was breaking. The thought that people might be intentionally tripping him up, intentionally getting in his way was infuriating. He’d been stuck in a closet for years, for a dick measuring contest.

“Dr. Jeffers?”

Kyle looked up.

"Are you ready to keep going?"

He half shook himself out of his rage trance.

"Yeah- yeah let's do this."

……………………………………………………...........................................................

Dr. Jeffers, had a new problem.

He could now say, the entire presentation fully, entirely without stutter, with confidence, with his full chest.

The thought of a room filled with idiots, who had actively screwed him over, and had coaxed him into an employment contract they weren't prepared for was- oddly relaxing? It was easier now that all the respect was gone.

He just couldn't say respond to questions anymore without at least one insult slipping out. Stone noticed, and they'd stopped and restarted on a different day, but the anger was still there, trying desperately to bubble out of his throat.

“Well yes, this project would be easy to scale up. You basically just need a larger vat. And I'd be happy to shove you in once you get one, so we could estimate the size and capacity."

It probably didn't help that Stone just thought it was funny. He had put in an effort to look disappointed on the beginning of the second day, but Jeffers caught Stone's shoulder's shaking in his peripheral when he thought Jeffers had his back turned.

"Are you still laughing at me?

He was audibly snickering now that he knew Jeffers was looking.

"I swear I used to be better at hiding this, I think I'm out of practice."

Stone looked exasperated and fond.

“This is really going to be a problem for you isn’t it? You’ve gotten a taste for it and you can’t stop.”

“It’s easier not to be scared when I’m angry.”

Strone considered, and then looked to the side at what Keller and her agents were doing and noticed that They were working with a large loud buzz saw and had hearing protection on.

“Look, I have a solution, but it's going to require you to ask a limited number of questions."

"Oh, actual super spy shit?"

"Yes. I'm going to find the guest list for your presentation. Then I'm going to find the person with the least amount of social status amongst their peers. Someone they won't mind being mocked, and I will give you a name. If you find them and confirm their name, you can rip into them once. Do you understand? It’s not my favorite solution, but I believe a controlled detonation is better than an unpredictable blast.”

Dr. Jeffers cocked his head to side. That sounded...practiced.

"Did you have to do this for your last boss?"

“Oh- him? Yes. Though he had the authority to have a few more names on his list.”

If Stone’s expression had been fond before, it could now melt sugar-cookies with its level of warmth as he looked into the past, into a memory that- based on the expression- must've been hazy and pink and filled with flowers.

“I used to get him a list of everyone in the room, maybe discounting one or two major sponsors, numbered in order from “least problematic to insult” to “most destructive to insult” and on a good day he’d only go through three or four and on a bad day I'd be lucky if there was three or four left. But he always went in order, every time. He had them memorized. Some of those lists had more than two hundred people on them. I think he was showing off. But that was just for meetings and conferences. Couldn’t do anything about him in the field though, then it was just whomever was closest.”

The loud buzz-saw Keller and her Agents were using sounded off and ripped him from the happy memory and the expression vanished.

“-and it was completely destructive to his reputation, and you should not mimic it."

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Jeffers learned that Stone very much liked his old boss. And that he wasn’t supposed to, which meant he was probably a traitor.

Jeffers did not feel loyal enough to G.U.N. to care.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………...

Ch. 8: The Death's-Head Hawkmoth Can Mimic the Presentation and Smell of Bee Well Enough to Enter a Hive Without Harm.

Keller went to Jeffers Budget-hearing presentation as a walk-in. She had the time now.

She didn't feel the need to add anything, she was just there with her chai latte, observing.

Agent Franklin was still on her case about not trusting Stone, and she figured she'd keep tabs on his latest project to see how it was going, to see if he was actually helping Dr. Jeffers out or doing something secret behind their backs while using the kid as the justification.

If all went well, She was planning on bugging Rockwell about updating Jeffers lab to their current security standards and lengthening Stone's leash.

Based on everything she saw, yeah, he was.

Jeffers had maybe tripped-up word here and there, but the presentation was, well-timed, clear, engaging to follow. Which was a vast improvement over the last time she saw his presentation, which inspired in her second-hand embarrassment, and a desire to nap.

She wondered how many presentations Stone had helped Robotnik with- all of them? Stone seemed to be an adept communicator; it wouldn't surprise her.

That would make it hard for him to avoid learning technical skills though, being so close to the project proposal. A more paranoid voice in her head said.

She shrugged it off. Theory was different application. You could know what direction to turn a wrench and still hold it wrong. He'd probably take to it though if given half a chance.

Her musings were interrupted by a reedy voice asking if he knew the itemized pricing on the titration equipment.

Jeffers rattled off a rough estimation, at which point the voice asked if it was a fully researched budget or if he was just guessing.

She glanced over to the speaker. Ugh- Feldspar, one of the accountants who took a little too much pleasure in her job. She'd be at this for the next 20 minutes.

Keller glanced down at her phone screen. It was 11:57. Dang it she was hoping to have enough time to have lunch outside today, rather than ordering in and eating it in her lab.

Jeffers froze, for several long beats, Keller was worried that he'd lost whatever nerve he'd carefully built up. Then he squinted, reading a name-tag.

"Harmony Feldspar, right?"

(A memory itched at Keller, Dr. Robotnik on stage, crouched, squinting at a nametag before saying "So do you not have five braincells to clack together or are you deaf? Because I need an explanation for why you didn't hear me the first six times.")

"So do you have tunnel vision, or are you actually capable of seeing the other people around you? Because I cannot think of a drier topic than what every spoon and syringe costs. And as much as I want to watch everybody's head slowly drop to the table or try to claw the walls to escape as you satisfy your curiosity, then maybe we don't go down this line?"

Feldspar was squirming.

"This is unprofessional behavior- and it's perfectly reasonable way to gauge you research techniques."

"My entire presentation was a perfectly reasonable way to gauge my research techniques. Tell you what. I'll answer any question you have if you stand up here with me, look at your colleagues and tell them you don't care about their time. Ok Harmony?"

The kid wasn't blinking, and he was vibrating with rage.

Harmony Feldspar clicked her teeth shut.

"Any other questions?" No one spoke.

"Great! Presentation over, everyone get-out and have a nice day."

Oh.

Oh that was too familiar.

Maybe Keller could wait on asking Rockwell to extend Stone's leash. At least until she did a little extra digging.

...........................................................................................................................

Dr. Jeffers manages to act cold, calm and collected, all the way to his office, at which point, he closed the door and let his bones turn to soup as he collapsed on the floor.

The main accounting officer? That was the name Stone had given him?

His brain was flipping back and forth between blacking out and reviewing all the words he'd said to see just how much of an asshole he'd been.

He'd felt giddy, he felt sick. He felt like he'd finally succeeded for the first time in a while, and he was wondering the cost. He'd felt confident when he'd been speaking, but he'd also had the anger waiting to pop.

He'd memorized the seating chart because he'd been eager for it. Then when it happened it took everything in him to hold his cool and not apologize when the woman looked flabbergasted and afraid.

She was just doing her job.

"Part of her job was breaking you down." A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Stone's said. "She had her teeth bared just as much as you did and she wouldn't have given you half the consideration you're giving now."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it feels good."

He needed normalcy.

He logged on to the computer to do his normal, standard job of reviewing global animal behavior.

One email notification popped up, then two.

He skimmed through them.

Glad to see your presentation skills have improved. Excited to work with you. Can we meet to discuss details at lunch tomorrow?

He made a face.

"This place is weirdly fucked up."

............................................................................................................................

The next morning, Dr. Jeffers opened his office to see a white, spherical, object taking about 30% of his office floor. It had, what appeared to be a large powered off-eye, and not much else. He couldn't see any buttons or switches to turn it on or activate it, just slats where it could theoretically open up.

On top was placed one, yellow sticky note.

“Check Your E-mail, Director Granite."

"Oh, yeah Warehouse F" he thought, "I'd almost forgotten about that"

He did, staring at the unidentified object the entire time.

The email read as follows:

Hey kid, saw your presentation yesterday. Glad to see some initiative and some guts out of you finally. I got project tailor-designed for you.

We used to have a different scientist on staff who was interested in biomimicry and weapons, but he went absolutely insane and died and now nobody's been able to activate any of his drones. I figured your specialties aligning you might have additional insight. We’ve sent some files on what’s been tried so far. Whatever you do, don't try prying them open, they explode.

The guy went by Dr. Ivo Robotnik. I think G.U.N. got ahold of his old assistant, you might want to try asking him some questions.

Don’t get too distracted by this, we still need you on potential alien monitoring. Tell us if you find anything.

-Director Granite.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

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