#ft. tyliocellier

[dystincts]

eunbi let herself smile, slow and indulgent, as he traced the hypothetical path of how things might’ve unfolded if they’d met as strangers instead of partners. the image of tylio sheepishly asking about her coffee order, trying to impress her with borrowed flexibility… made her laugh, the sound soft and nostalgic in the quiet room. ❝ oh, you would’ve hated it ! ❞ she teased, shaking her head. ❝ oat milk flat white with lavender syrup. you’d have taken one sip and looked like someone made you drink perfume. ❞ but there was a fondness in her voice, the kind that only years of knowing someone deeply could bring. she watched him, studied him, the same way she used to when he’d go quiet in a meeting — not lost, just processing every word. it was strange, she thought, how much of him still felt familiar. maybe too familiar.

❝ i think i would’ve said yes. ❞ she admitted quietly, letting the honesty settle between them. ❝ if we had met in some café, and you’d asked me about my drink… yeah. i probably would’ve said yes. ❞ she didn’t look at him immediately as she said it, as if the admission was something sacred, better shared in pieces rather than full eye contact. but her smile lingered. ❝ you were always kind in your own way. awkward, sure— but honest. and i like that. even when you were difficult, i always knew where you stood. ❞ she finally turned to him again, gaze warm, steady. ❝ that’s rare. ❞

her fingers drummed lightly against the base of her glass, the tips brushing the condensation that had started to form. ❝ i think the universe was going to throw us into each other’s paths no matter what. maybe it wouldn’t have been a startup, maybe not a café, but somewhere. you just… had that kind of pull. ❞ she shrugged, a little embarrassed by how sincere she was being, but didn’t take it back. ❝ i would’ve noticed you. even in a crowd. even before i knew what we were capable of together. ❞ and maybe that was the real bittersweet truth of it — that no matter how chaotic or flawed it became, there had been something magnetic about the way they fit. something almost inevitable.

❝ but if you’d taken me out for coffee instead of signing me on as co founder… ❞ she said, tone dipping playfully again, trying to lighten the air, ❝ maybe we’d have argued less about quarterly projections and more about what movie to watch on friday nights. i like to think we’d still be yelling about something. just… less budget cuts, more pineapple on pizza. ❞ she lifted her glass again, watching him over the rim. ❝ but you still would’ve kissed me outside the café. i’m sure of that. ❞ it wasn’t a question. just the kind of truth one says only when the clock has wound back enough for two people to remember who they were before it all fell apart.

eunbi hadn’t expected him to say it out loud. not the regret, not the apology. tylio had never been one to dwell on the past — not openly. he was all forward motion, progress, problem solving. he took responsibility in business, sure, but in matters of the heart? they’d both been stubborn, proud, too afraid to peel the bandaid off and look at the bruises left behind. so when his hand reached for hers, when his fingers curled gently over hers like muscle memory remembered what her heart had long tried to forget, she stilled. she didn’t pull away. just let it happen. let herself be touched, quietly startled by how natural it still felt. ❝ thank you… ❞ she murmured, voice softer than it had been all evening, the glass in her other hand suddenly too heavy. ❝ it… means more than i expected. hearing that from you. ❞

she could have brushed it off. laughed about how neither of them knew how to rest, how stupidly stubborn they were that day with the flu… but instead she held onto the quiet. the kind that lingered between two people who had been through too much together to lie anymore. maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way he looked at her now — not with the sharp edge of competition, but with something old and familiar and kind. like he still saw her, beyond the headlines and rival boardrooms. ❝ we gave it everything. ❞ she said after a pause, eyes steady on his. ❝ just not always in the right places. and maybe we thought that was enough. ❞ her thumb brushed lightly against his knuckle before she pulled her hand back, slowly, like unpeeling a memory she wasn’t sure she was ready to revisit in full.

she smiled then at his joke, a real one this time. ❝ no calendar invites. no cc’ing assistants. what a concept. ❞ the wine was almost gone, but she was too distracted to notice. the room had shifted. softened. whatever lingering tension had existed between them when he’d slammed that article onto her desk had now unraveled into something quieter, more complicated. she wasn’t ready to admit it, not fully. not in words, but it had never really been about the article. she’d known that when she signed off on it. it was reckless, yes, but it was a way to force his attention back toward her. and now that he was here — really here, not just angry, not just defensive, but present… she felt the ache of it settle in her chest. ❝ that night felt like the first time we gave ourselves permission to just be people. ❞ she said, eyes lowering briefly. ❝ not founders. not partners. just you and me… as lovers. ❞

her gaze lifted to his again, now studying his face more openly, allowing herself a small moment of sentiment. ❝ do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d met outside of work? like if we didn’t start the business together? ❞ she asked, curious, but not wistful. it wasn’t a plea for rewinding time — just the idle dream of two people who built something too big, too fast… without leaving room for the smaller things. she leaned forward slightly, voice quieter now, more intimate. ❝ no startups. no deadlines. just… some bar, or bookstore. or maybe you’d be the annoying guy taking up all the table space at my favorite café. ❞ she tilted her head. ❝ think we’d have still made it this far? or would we have burned out even faster? ❞ there was no bitterness in the question, only that familiar spark — half flirtation, half philosophy… that always used to live between them when the long nights blurred into mornings.

[fadinglights]

ara thought she had it all under control, that the worrying eating habits were behind her, but with the relentless pressure growing alongside her blossoming acting career, it takes just one single tabloid article featuring a bad angle and a flood of mercilessly harsh online comments for her about her slight weight gain to spiral down into that dark place once again. "you're just saying that because you have to." because it's what people tell each other when they are in love, but strangers on the internet have no real reason to be just as unfailingly kind. she nods slowly, with tears still glimmering in her eyes and little remaining energy to elaborate further, though she knows rationally that she shouldn't allow them to hold so much power over her — she has chosen this career path for herself, after all, and the constant public scrutiny that inevitably comes with it.

Open to f muses | TW: body image issues | Plot: y/m has a job that requires looking good (could be model/actress/celebrity/influencer/etc) and has recently changed her appearance in some way and received a lot of unnecessary hate for it.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Look at you, you're beautiful", Tylio told her, and he was starting to feel a bit like a broken record. He must have told her this at least five times today but somehow, the message didn't seem to land. When he found her crying in the bathroom that morning, it took him an hour to calm her down and he still hadn't figured out what set her off. "Did somebody say something to you?"

[dystincts]

eunbi hadn’t expected him to say it out loud. not the regret, not the apology. tylio had never been one to dwell on the past — not openly. he was all forward motion, progress, problem solving. he took responsibility in business, sure, but in matters of the heart? they’d both been stubborn, proud, too afraid to peel the bandaid off and look at the bruises left behind. so when his hand reached for hers, when his fingers curled gently over hers like muscle memory remembered what her heart had long tried to forget, she stilled. she didn’t pull away. just let it happen. let herself be touched, quietly startled by how natural it still felt. ❝ thank you… ❞ she murmured, voice softer than it had been all evening, the glass in her other hand suddenly too heavy. ❝ it… means more than i expected. hearing that from you. ❞

she could have brushed it off. laughed about how neither of them knew how to rest, how stupidly stubborn they were that day with the flu… but instead she held onto the quiet. the kind that lingered between two people who had been through too much together to lie anymore. maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way he looked at her now — not with the sharp edge of competition, but with something old and familiar and kind. like he still saw her, beyond the headlines and rival boardrooms. ❝ we gave it everything. ❞ she said after a pause, eyes steady on his. ❝ just not always in the right places. and maybe we thought that was enough. ❞ her thumb brushed lightly against his knuckle before she pulled her hand back, slowly, like unpeeling a memory she wasn’t sure she was ready to revisit in full.

she smiled then at his joke, a real one this time. ❝ no calendar invites. no cc’ing assistants. what a concept. ❞ the wine was almost gone, but she was too distracted to notice. the room had shifted. softened. whatever lingering tension had existed between them when he’d slammed that article onto her desk had now unraveled into something quieter, more complicated. she wasn’t ready to admit it, not fully. not in words, but it had never really been about the article. she’d known that when she signed off on it. it was reckless, yes, but it was a way to force his attention back toward her. and now that he was here — really here, not just angry, not just defensive, but present… she felt the ache of it settle in her chest. ❝ that night felt like the first time we gave ourselves permission to just be people. ❞ she said, eyes lowering briefly. ❝ not founders. not partners. just you and me… as lovers. ❞

her gaze lifted to his again, now studying his face more openly, allowing herself a small moment of sentiment. ❝ do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we’d met outside of work? like if we didn’t start the business together? ❞ she asked, curious, but not wistful. it wasn’t a plea for rewinding time — just the idle dream of two people who built something too big, too fast… without leaving room for the smaller things. she leaned forward slightly, voice quieter now, more intimate. ❝ no startups. no deadlines. just… some bar, or bookstore. or maybe you’d be the annoying guy taking up all the table space at my favorite café. ❞ she tilted her head. ❝ think we’d have still made it this far? or would we have burned out even faster? ❞ there was no bitterness in the question, only that familiar spark — half flirtation, half philosophy… that always used to live between them when the long nights blurred into mornings.

eunbi didn’t answer right away. instead, she looked down at the stem of her glass, fingers twisting it slowly between her thumb and index. it was such a tylio question — direct, impossible to answer cleanly, and yet she found herself grateful for it. because despite all the sleepless nights and press releases and bitter distance that followed their breakup, not once had either of them really asked that question out loud. ‘where did we go wrong’. as though they’d both been too proud to admit it ever had. now, sitting across from him with the weight of the city tucked behind glass, she could finally feel the question settling between them like dust on old furniture. something untouched until now. ❝ i think… ❞ she said slowly, choosing her words with uncharacteristic care, ❝ we made the mistake of thinking that loving each other meant we didn’t need anything else. ❞

she raised her eyes to him, expression unreadable for a moment, before softening into something almost apologetic. ❝ we didn’t really make space for the things that weren’t about work. or winning. or being the best. ❞ she let out a soft breath, leaning back in her seat, letting the wine blur the edges of her restraint. ❝ everything we built together was brilliant. efficient. clean. but our relationship became like that too. something scheduled. structured. contained. ❞ there was no resentment in her tone, only a deep, quiet tiredness. ❝ and the messier parts— the days when i was just tired, or needed affection for no reason, or wanted to talk about something stupid and unimportant… they started feeling like flaws in the system. ❞

her mouth twitched like she might smile, but it never quite happened. ❝ we optimized everything, tylio. except for the parts that made us human. ❞ it was a truth that had lived in her quietly for a long time, tucked between meeting agendas and investor decks. she had loved him — that wasn’t a question. and maybe she still did, in that old, stubborn way that had nothing to do with logic or strategy. but love had never been the problem. it had been everything else they’d refused to make room for. ❝ and i think we were both too proud to admit that we needed more. ❞ she looked at him again, this time without her usual armor. just two people who had once built an empire together and still remembered what it felt like to sit beside each other in the dark after the meetings ended.

❝ it’s not that i regret it… ❞ she added, her voice quieter now, as if something in her chest might shatter if she spoke too loud. ❝ we were good. so good, ty. we did things people dream about doing. and i don’t think any of it was fake. ❞ she finally reached for her wine, took a longer sip this time, and blinked once, slowly. ❝ but i think somewhere along the line, we forgot that relationships aren’t companies. they don’t scale. you can’t just pour in more hours and expect them to grow. ❞ she set the glass down, the clink of crystal against wood far too loud in the quiet. then, almost as an afterthought: ❝ but i still think about the candle. and the park. and the wine. ❞ she offered him a fragile smile. ❝ i think about that night a lot. ❞

[dystincts]

eunbi didn’t answer right away. instead, she looked down at the stem of her glass, fingers twisting it slowly between her thumb and index. it was such a tylio question — direct, impossible to answer cleanly, and yet she found herself grateful for it. because despite all the sleepless nights and press releases and bitter distance that followed their breakup, not once had either of them really asked that question out loud. ‘where did we go wrong’. as though they’d both been too proud to admit it ever had. now, sitting across from him with the weight of the city tucked behind glass, she could finally feel the question settling between them like dust on old furniture. something untouched until now. ❝ i think… ❞ she said slowly, choosing her words with uncharacteristic care, ❝ we made the mistake of thinking that loving each other meant we didn’t need anything else. ❞

she raised her eyes to him, expression unreadable for a moment, before softening into something almost apologetic. ❝ we didn’t really make space for the things that weren’t about work. or winning. or being the best. ❞ she let out a soft breath, leaning back in her seat, letting the wine blur the edges of her restraint. ❝ everything we built together was brilliant. efficient. clean. but our relationship became like that too. something scheduled. structured. contained. ❞ there was no resentment in her tone, only a deep, quiet tiredness. ❝ and the messier parts— the days when i was just tired, or needed affection for no reason, or wanted to talk about something stupid and unimportant… they started feeling like flaws in the system. ❞

her mouth twitched like she might smile, but it never quite happened. ❝ we optimized everything, tylio. except for the parts that made us human. ❞ it was a truth that had lived in her quietly for a long time, tucked between meeting agendas and investor decks. she had loved him — that wasn’t a question. and maybe she still did, in that old, stubborn way that had nothing to do with logic or strategy. but love had never been the problem. it had been everything else they’d refused to make room for. ❝ and i think we were both too proud to admit that we needed more. ❞ she looked at him again, this time without her usual armor. just two people who had once built an empire together and still remembered what it felt like to sit beside each other in the dark after the meetings ended.

❝ it’s not that i regret it… ❞ she added, her voice quieter now, as if something in her chest might shatter if she spoke too loud. ❝ we were good. so good, ty. we did things people dream about doing. and i don’t think any of it was fake. ❞ she finally reached for her wine, took a longer sip this time, and blinked once, slowly. ❝ but i think somewhere along the line, we forgot that relationships aren’t companies. they don’t scale. you can’t just pour in more hours and expect them to grow. ❞ she set the glass down, the clink of crystal against wood far too loud in the quiet. then, almost as an afterthought: ❝ but i still think about the candle. and the park. and the wine. ❞ she offered him a fragile smile. ❝ i think about that night a lot. ❞

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

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

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

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

[dystincts]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dystincts]

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

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

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

eunbi stood still as he laughed, letting the sound brush against her like a memory she hadn’t meant to remember. there was something familiar about it, something she had trained herself not to react to. but it was hard not to notice how easily the past crept in between the lines of their conversation. she watched him scan the room, the way his eyes swept across the space like he was trying to catch her in it — in the shelves, the shadows, the corners. but she had made sure to leave no trace. no framed photos. no personal touches. the only part of her still here was the silence. when he asked whether staying had felt like progress or surrender, she gave him a quiet, noncommittal hum. ❝ maybe it’s just inertia. ❞ she said after a beat, ❝ perhaps i stayed because it was easier than letting go. ❞

his offer caught her a little off guard, not because of what he said, but because of what it sounded like. coffee. a conversation. no lawyers, no press. for a split second, it was as if they weren’t enemies standing on opposite sides of an invisible battlefield. it was dangerously disarming. she considered turning him down, out of sheer self preservation, but her body betrayed her — relaxing ever so slightly, like it remembered how things used to feel when they sat like that. shoulder to shoulder. ❝ coffee is a weak bribe, you know i’ve always preferred wine. ❞ she said, raising an eyebrow, ❝ but you’ve made worse pitches. ❞ her lips quirked, not quite a smile, but not far from it either. ❝ fifteen minutes. no press spin. ❞

she turned toward the chairs, her heels silent against the floor, the tension in her shoulders slowly bleeding into something softer. this was dangerous territory, but maybe that’s what she had come here looking for. something dangerous. something familiar. as she passed him, she tilted her head slightly toward his shoulder, and without looking, she murmured, ❝ and next time, if you’re really that curious about how i’ve been… you could just ask. ❞ her voice was softer now, almost a whisper, but there was an edge of truth to it. something that pulled at the thread between them. the one that neither of them had managed to cut cleanly. she sat down like she wasn’t about to unravel.

[dystincts]

eunbi stood still as he laughed, letting the sound brush against her like a memory she hadn’t meant to remember. there was something familiar about it, something she had trained herself not to react to. but it was hard not to notice how easily the past crept in between the lines of their conversation. she watched him scan the room, the way his eyes swept across the space like he was trying to catch her in it — in the shelves, the shadows, the corners. but she had made sure to leave no trace. no framed photos. no personal touches. the only part of her still here was the silence. when he asked whether staying had felt like progress or surrender, she gave him a quiet, noncommittal hum. ❝ maybe it’s just inertia. ❞ she said after a beat, ❝ perhaps i stayed because it was easier than letting go. ❞

his offer caught her a little off guard, not because of what he said, but because of what it sounded like. coffee. a conversation. no lawyers, no press. for a split second, it was as if they weren’t enemies standing on opposite sides of an invisible battlefield. it was dangerously disarming. she considered turning him down, out of sheer self preservation, but her body betrayed her — relaxing ever so slightly, like it remembered how things used to feel when they sat like that. shoulder to shoulder. ❝ coffee is a weak bribe, you know i’ve always preferred wine. ❞ she said, raising an eyebrow, ❝ but you’ve made worse pitches. ❞ her lips quirked, not quite a smile, but not far from it either. ❝ fifteen minutes. no press spin. ❞

she turned toward the chairs, her heels silent against the floor, the tension in her shoulders slowly bleeding into something softer. this was dangerous territory, but maybe that’s what she had come here looking for. something dangerous. something familiar. as she passed him, she tilted her head slightly toward his shoulder, and without looking, she murmured, ❝ and next time, if you’re really that curious about how i’ve been… you could just ask. ❞ her voice was softer now, almost a whisper, but there was an edge of truth to it. something that pulled at the thread between them. the one that neither of them had managed to cut cleanly. she sat down like she wasn’t about to unravel.

eunbi saw the shift in his expression the second she admitted it. it wasn’t anger, it was closer to surprise — the kind that slipped through when someone one thought they knew did something they didn’t expect. he had probably thought she’d lie. she would ’ve, once. before they became rivals. before the meetings turned cold and her name on his calendar meant war instead of lunch. but she’d told the truth anyway, even knowing it could burn her — maybe because part of her missed what it was like to be honest with him. she let his words settle around her, biting the inside of her cheek at the way he acknowledged the bug. it wasn’t a full concession, but it was close. better than the spin he’d feed the press. ❝ exaggerated or not… ❞ she murmured, ❝ it’s still real. and if it’s already being fixed, then perhaps i did you a favor. ❞ her tone was light, teasing almost, but her gaze remained steady.

she didn’t expect the next thing he said. that single word — nostalgic — landed heavier than it should have. eunbi’s eyes flicked away for just a second, tracing the edge of the room. the office hadn’t changed much. same sharp corners, same sterile minimalism. but there were memories buried in the silence here. ❝ yes… i’ve been here. ❞ she said, finally meeting his gaze again, softer now. ❝ i thought about moving out of this space after you left. but i couldn’t decide if that would feel like progress… or surrender. ❞ she exhaled slowly, tension creeping into her shoulders despite her best efforts to appear composed. ❝ funny thing is, i thought i’d gotten used to not seeing you. ❞ her voice dipped at the end, as if she was speaking more to herself than to him. she didn’t reach for him, didn’t move, but the air between them had shifted. thick with something unspoken. something very nearly admitted.

[dystincts]

eunbi didn’t even blink when the paper landed with a slap against her desk — she simply glanced down at the headline, then back up at him with that infuriating calm he used to know too well. ❝ tylio, ❞ she said, voice smooth like polished glass, ❝ if i had planted that story, don’t you think i’d have done a cleaner job of it? this reeks of desperation— not exactly my brand. ❞ she leaned back in her chair, legs crossing as if she had all the time in the world, the glint in her eyes sharper than the diamond pendant at her throat. ❝ besides, i don’t remember ‘fair’ being part of our contract— not in business, and definitely not in love. ❞ her gaze lingered, cool and unreadable, before a slow smile curved at the corners of her lips. ❝ so, tell me, was this about the press… or were you just looking for a reason to see me again? ❞

Open to f (35+) | Plot: Our muses are exes who used to run a business together. Now they're rivals who own competing tech companies. Your muse put out a smear campaign about one of the products in Tylio's company. Could be that it was just an excuse to see each other again and hook up, or it was revenge over a relationship gone sour, or it's purely pragmatic and she simply wants his business to go under.

"This was you", Tylio stated without a hint of confusion or hesitation, slamming this morning's newspaper down on her desk. The article on the front page detailed the supposed 'defects' in the security software of his latest product line that would allegedly make their users susceptible to viruses. A bullshit story that, unfortunately, was most likely generating buzz at this very moment. He knew she must have paid a lot of money to get this published. "This is what you're doing now. Lying to the press. I thought you said you wanted to play this fair?"

[dystincts]

eunbi saw the shift in his expression the second she admitted it. it wasn’t anger, it was closer to surprise — the kind that slipped through when someone one thought they knew did something they didn’t expect. he had probably thought she’d lie. she would ’ve, once. before they became rivals. before the meetings turned cold and her name on his calendar meant war instead of lunch. but she’d told the truth anyway, even knowing it could burn her — maybe because part of her missed what it was like to be honest with him. she let his words settle around her, biting the inside of her cheek at the way he acknowledged the bug. it wasn’t a full concession, but it was close. better than the spin he’d feed the press. ❝ exaggerated or not… ❞ she murmured, ❝ it’s still real. and if it’s already being fixed, then perhaps i did you a favor. ❞ her tone was light, teasing almost, but her gaze remained steady.

she didn’t expect the next thing he said. that single word — nostalgic — landed heavier than it should have. eunbi’s eyes flicked away for just a second, tracing the edge of the room. the office hadn’t changed much. same sharp corners, same sterile minimalism. but there were memories buried in the silence here. ❝ yes… i’ve been here. ❞ she said, finally meeting his gaze again, softer now. ❝ i thought about moving out of this space after you left. but i couldn’t decide if that would feel like progress… or surrender. ❞ she exhaled slowly, tension creeping into her shoulders despite her best efforts to appear composed. ❝ funny thing is, i thought i’d gotten used to not seeing you. ❞ her voice dipped at the end, as if she was speaking more to herself than to him. she didn’t reach for him, didn’t move, but the air between them had shifted. thick with something unspoken. something very nearly admitted.

eunbi didn’t answer right away. she stared at him for a moment, drinking in the familiar lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the fire in his eyes she used to mistake for love. she hated how it still made her chest tighten. ❝ fine. you want honesty? ❞ she said finally, her voice cool, almost bored, like she wasn’t admitting to setting fire to his public image. ❝ yes, i leaked it. ❞ she walked slowly past him, deliberately brushing close enough to make her presence linger, then turned back with her arms crossed. ❝ but not out of spite or because i wanted to see you. ❞ a lie, smooth as marble. ❝ i did it because your software has holes and your company is skating by on old hype. i saw an opportunity. i took it. welcome to business darling. ❞

she hated how familiar this felt — fighting him in a room full of glass and sunlight, her heart pounding harder than it had during any product launch. he always got under her skin, and that was the real danger. ❝ you act like this is personal, but it’s not. ❞ she added, softer now, more measured, even as the lie twisted bitterly on her tongue. ❝ when you left, you took our engineers, our investors, the name we built together. you said you needed space. so i made my own. i built something bigger. and now that you’re not on top, suddenly i’m the villain. ❞ her gaze dropped for just a second, flickering toward the very place he used to sit across from her, laughing over cold takeout and broken code. she swallowed it down. ❝ i didn’t come here to revisit old feelings. ❞ another lie. ❝ i came here to remind you that you’re not untouchable. and if you’re losing sleep over a headline, perhaps you’re not as bulletproof as you thought. ❞ but even as she said it, her pulse betrayed her. because the truth was, she had missed him. and maybe, deep down, she’d hoped he’d still miss her too.

[dystincts]

eunbi didn’t answer right away. she stared at him for a moment, drinking in the familiar lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the fire in his eyes she used to mistake for love. she hated how it still made her chest tighten. ❝ fine. you want honesty? ❞ she said finally, her voice cool, almost bored, like she wasn’t admitting to setting fire to his public image. ❝ yes, i leaked it. ❞ she walked slowly past him, deliberately brushing close enough to make her presence linger, then turned back with her arms crossed. ❝ but not out of spite or because i wanted to see you. ❞ a lie, smooth as marble. ❝ i did it because your software has holes and your company is skating by on old hype. i saw an opportunity. i took it. welcome to business darling. ❞

she hated how familiar this felt — fighting him in a room full of glass and sunlight, her heart pounding harder than it had during any product launch. he always got under her skin, and that was the real danger. ❝ you act like this is personal, but it’s not. ❞ she added, softer now, more measured, even as the lie twisted bitterly on her tongue. ❝ when you left, you took our engineers, our investors, the name we built together. you said you needed space. so i made my own. i built something bigger. and now that you’re not on top, suddenly i’m the villain. ❞ her gaze dropped for just a second, flickering toward the very place he used to sit across from her, laughing over cold takeout and broken code. she swallowed it down. ❝ i didn’t come here to revisit old feelings. ❞ another lie. ❝ i came here to remind you that you’re not untouchable. and if you’re losing sleep over a headline, perhaps you’re not as bulletproof as you thought. ❞ but even as she said it, her pulse betrayed her. because the truth was, she had missed him. and maybe, deep down, she’d hoped he’d still miss her too.

eunbi tilted her head slightly, watching him with that maddening calm, the kind of look that had once made investors trust her and had driven tylio absolutely insane — in every sense of the word. ❝ you’re always threatening to drag me somewhere. ❞ she murmured, voice low, almost indulgent. ❝ is that how you deal with things now? lawsuits and headlines? you used to want conversation. solutions. now it’s just who can throw the first punch. ❞ she took a step towards the man she once fell in love with. slow, heels clicking against the floor in a way that made the space between them feel tighter than it had in years. ❝ if you’re going to threaten me sweetheart, at least be honest about why it bothers you. ❞

her eyes softened slightly, something rare flickering behind them, something almost vulnerable if he looked closely enough. ❝ maybe i’m not invincible. but neither are you. and i’m not the only one who knows how to perform. ❞ she let the silence stretch for a moment, thick with history, with all the things they never said. ❝ go ahead. take me to court. but don’t act like you’re doing it for justice when you’re just trying to forget me. because if that actually worked… you wouldn’t be standing here. ❞

[dystincts]

eunbi tilted her head slightly, watching him with that maddening calm, the kind of look that had once made investors trust her and had driven tylio absolutely insane — in every sense of the word. ❝ you’re always threatening to drag me somewhere. ❞ she murmured, voice low, almost indulgent. ❝ is that how you deal with things now? lawsuits and headlines? you used to want conversation. solutions. now it’s just who can throw the first punch. ❞ she took a step towards the man she once fell in love with. slow, heels clicking against the floor in a way that made the space between them feel tighter than it had in years. ❝ if you’re going to threaten me sweetheart, at least be honest about why it bothers you. ❞

her eyes softened slightly, something rare flickering behind them, something almost vulnerable if he looked closely enough. ❝ maybe i’m not invincible. but neither are you. and i’m not the only one who knows how to perform. ❞ she let the silence stretch for a moment, thick with history, with all the things they never said. ❝ go ahead. take me to court. but don’t act like you’re doing it for justice when you’re just trying to forget me. because if that actually worked… you wouldn’t be standing here. ❞

eunbi let the sting of his words roll off her like water against glass, expression smooth and unreadable even as his voice rose. ❝ you’re right, ❞ she said after a beat, not confirming or denying, but offering the sort of agreement that only served to disarm. ❝ i am the kind of trouble you never quite recover from. ❞ she stood slowly, eyes never leaving his, the sharp click of her heels echoing like punctuation in the charged silence. ❝ and you can send your lawyers if it makes you feel better, tylio. but deep down, we both know this isn’t about a headline. ❞ her voice lowered, silken and cruelly intimate, ❝ it’s about the fact that no matter how many firewalls you build, you still haven’t figured out how to keep me out. ❞

[dystincts]

eunbi let the sting of his words roll off her like water against glass, expression smooth and unreadable even as his voice rose. ❝ you’re right, ❞ she said after a beat, not confirming or denying, but offering the sort of agreement that only served to disarm. ❝ i am the kind of trouble you never quite recover from. ❞ she stood slowly, eyes never leaving his, the sharp click of her heels echoing like punctuation in the charged silence. ❝ and you can send your lawyers if it makes you feel better, tylio. but deep down, we both know this isn’t about a headline. ❞ her voice lowered, silken and cruelly intimate, ❝ it’s about the fact that no matter how many firewalls you build, you still haven’t figured out how to keep me out. ❞

eunbi didn’t even blink when the paper landed with a slap against her desk — she simply glanced down at the headline, then back up at him with that infuriating calm he used to know too well. ❝ tylio, ❞ she said, voice smooth like polished glass, ❝ if i had planted that story, don’t you think i’d have done a cleaner job of it? this reeks of desperation— not exactly my brand. ❞ she leaned back in her chair, legs crossing as if she had all the time in the world, the glint in her eyes sharper than the diamond pendant at her throat. ❝ besides, i don’t remember ‘fair’ being part of our contract— not in business, and definitely not in love. ❞ her gaze lingered, cool and unreadable, before a slow smile curved at the corners of her lips. ❝ so, tell me, was this about the press… or were you just looking for a reason to see me again? ❞