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jobyoda-philippines · 5 months ago

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Exploring Career and Job Opportunities in Davao City Philippines

Davao City, recognized as one of the Philippines' most progressive cities, continues to experience remarkable economic growth, creating a vibrant job market that attracts professionals from across the country. The city's diverse economy offers numerous employment opportunities, from entry-level positions to executive roles, making it an attractive destination for job seekers at all career stages.

The Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) sector stands as one of the largest employers in Davao City, providing thousands of jobs across various specializations. Companies in this sector actively recruit customer service representatives, technical support specialists, and quality assurance analysts, offering competitive salaries and comprehensive benefits packages. The industry's continued expansion has created numerous opportunities for career advancement, with many organizations promoting from within and providing extensive training programs.

Part-time employment opportunities have also flourished in Davao City, catering to students, professionals seeking additional income, and individuals preferring flexible work arrangements. The retail sector, food service industry, and education field offer numerous part-time positions with varying schedules and responsibilities. These roles often provide valuable work experience and can serve as stepping stones to full-time careers.

The Information Technology sector in Davao has seen significant growth, with many companies seeking software developers, web designers, and IT support specialists. This growth has been fueled by the city's improving technological infrastructure and the increasing number of tech-focused businesses establishing operations in the region. Tech professionals can find opportunities in both established companies and startups, with many positions offering competitive compensation and the possibility of remote work arrangements.

Davao's hospitality and tourism industry continues to expand, creating jobs in hotels, restaurants, travel agencies, and tour operations. The sector offers positions ranging from entry-level service roles to management positions, with many employers providing training and development opportunities. The industry's growth has also sparked demand for professionals in events management and tourism marketing.

The education sector presents numerous opportunities for both full-time and part-time employment. Educational institutions regularly seek teachers, tutors, and administrative staff. The rise of online learning has created additional opportunities for English language teachers and academic consultants who can work flexible hours from home or teaching centers.

Job hiring in Davao, the digital economy has opened new avenues for employment. E-commerce specialists, digital content creators, and social media managers are in high demand as businesses increasingly establish their online presence. These positions often offer the flexibility of remote work while providing competitive compensation packages.

Professional development resources are readily available in Davao City, with numerous institutions offering skills training programs and industry certifications. Job seekers can access career counseling services, resume writing assistance, and interview coaching through various employment support organizations. These resources prove invaluable in helping candidates prepare for and secure desired positions.

The financial services sector in Davao has also experienced substantial growth, creating opportunities for banking professionals, insurance specialists, and investment consultants. These positions typically offer attractive compensation packages, including performance bonuses and health benefits, making them highly sought after by experienced professionals.

Davao's agricultural sector continues to evolve, combining traditional farming with modern agribusiness practices. This has created opportunities for agricultural technologists, food processing specialists, and supply chain professionals. The sector offers both technical and management positions, with many companies providing specialized training and development programs.

For those entering Davao's job market, proper preparation is essential. Successful job seekers typically maintain updated resumes, prepare comprehensive portfolios, and stay informed about industry developments. Professional networking, both online and offline, plays a crucial role in discovering opportunities and advancing careers in the city.

The future of Davao's job market looks promising, with emerging industries creating new employment opportunities. The city's commitment to economic development, coupled with its strategic location and robust infrastructure, continues to attract businesses and investors, ensuring a steady stream of job opportunities for qualified candidates.

Whether seeking full-time employment or part-time job in Davao City offers a diverse range of opportunities across multiple industries. Success in this dynamic job market often comes to those who combine proper preparation with continuous skill development and effective networking. As the city continues to grow and evolve, its job market remains a beacon of opportunity for professionals seeking to build meaningful careers in Mindanao's premier business hub.

#Davao City #recognized as one of the Philippines' most progressive cities #continues to experience remarkable economic growth #creating a vibrant job market that attracts professionals from across the country. The city's diverse economy offers numerous employment op #from entry-level positions to executive roles #making it an attractive destination for job seekers at all career stages.#The Business Process Outsourcing (BPO) sector stands as one of the largest employers in Davao City #providing thousands of jobs across various specializations. Companies in this sector actively recruit customer service representatives #technical support specialists #and quality assurance analysts #offering competitive salaries and comprehensive benefits packages. The industry's continued expansion has created numerous opportunities fo #with many organizations promoting from within and providing extensive training programs.#Part-time employment opportunities have also flourished in Davao City #catering to students #professionals seeking additional income #and individuals preferring flexible work arrangements. The retail sector #food service industry #and education field offer numerous part-time positions with varying schedules and responsibilities. These roles often provide valuable work #The Information Technology sector in Davao has seen significant growth #with many companies seeking software developers #web designers #and IT support specialists. This growth has been fueled by the city's improving technological infrastructure and the increasing number of t #with many positions offering competitive compensation and the possibility of remote work arrangements.#Davao's hospitality and tourism industry continues to expand #creating jobs in hotels #restaurants #travel agencies #and tour operations. The sector offers positions ranging from entry-level service roles to management positions #with many employers providing training and development opportunities. The industry's growth has also sparked demand for professionals in ev #The education sector presents numerous opportunities for both full-time and part-time employment. Educational institutions regularly seek t

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synity · 11 days ago

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THERE YOU ARE, MY DEAR (Requested)

(Yoon Jeonghan x FemReader)

*Office AUn slow burn, fluff, angst, romance, slice of life, tension, emotional shift, romance, romantic-comedy, Drama, Emotional Angst, Comfort Fic, Friends-to-Lovers, Coming-of-Age Undertones, Healing*

The morning sun filtered through the massive glass windows of the high-rise, casting warm, golden beams across the sleek marble floor of the office lobby. The faint scent of fresh coffee mingled with the subtle hum of chatter and footsteps. I tightened the strap of my bag on my shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to steady the mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in my chest.

Today was my first day at the new company. A fresh start, a chance to prove myself, but also a plunge into the unknown. I couldn’t help but wonder: Would I fit in here? Would this place be as intimidating as it looked from the outside?

The elevator dinged open. I stepped in, pressing the button for the 12th floor, the place where the design team worked the team I was joining. The ride was quiet except for the soft mechanical whir of the cables. My reflection stared back from the polished metal doors: nervous but determined.

When the doors slid open again, I was greeted by the bright, bustling office space rows of desks cluttered with laptops, sticky notes, half-empty coffee mugs, and the ever-present soft glow of computer screens. The murmur of conversations blended with the clacking of keyboards and the occasional burst of laughter.

As I hesitated by the reception desk, trying to collect myself, my gaze landed on a figure leaning against the far wall near the entrance. He looked effortlessly cool a tousled mop of dark hair, a crisp suit jacket draped casually over a plain white tee, and a grin that suggested he’d just thought up a brilliant prank.

And then, like a trumpet blast in a library, he called out loud enough to catch the attention of a few nearby colleagues:

“Ah, fresh meat! You must be the new recruit.”

My eyes widened, and I whipped around to face him, a flush creeping up my cheeks. “Excuse me?”

He pushed himself off the wall and approached me with an easy confidence. “Jeonghan,” he said, extending a hand. His smile was disarmingly charming. “Senior around here. Basically the king of the design floor.”

I looked him over skeptically. “Senior, huh? You look like you just walked out of a runaway.”

He chuckled. “I might just take that as a compliment.”

“I mean, you’ve only been here a month,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes playfully. “That’s hardly seniority.”

“Maybe,” he said, winking, “but I’ve mastered the art of being charming and annoying in equal measure. And you, newbie, are my new favorite target.”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “Favorite target? That sounds like a challenge.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan said, leaning in with mock seriousness. “Watch out. I’m going to make your first day unforgettable.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a little too confident for someone who’s supposed to be ‘senior.’”

He laughed, a rich sound that made the air feel lighter. “Confidence is key. You’ll see.”

Just then, the receptionist called out, “Ms. [Your Last Name], your desk is ready.”

Jeonghan gave me one last sly grin. “See you around, newbie.”

I returned his grin, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. “Count on it.”

As I walked toward my new desk, I couldn’t help but glance back. Somehow, I had a feeling this mischievous guy was going to make this place a lot less intimidating and a lot more interesting.

The first week at the new job flew by in a blur of onboarding meetings, software tutorials, and figuring out which hallway led to the break room and which one was the never-ending meeting vortex. My desk was tucked between two glass panels, with a modest view of the city below and an unfortunately good view of Jeonghan’s desk, diagonally across from mine.

From day one, he made sure I knew that he was watching me. Every time I looked up from my screen, there he was chin propped on his palm, eyes twinkling, grinning like a cat who'd seen a mouse fumble.

“Struggling already?” he asked on day two, watching me juggle tabs while muttering curses under my breath.

“No,” I said, defiantly not closing any of the twelve tabs I had open. “I’m multitasking.”

“Right,” he nodded, deadpan. “Multitasking your way to a system crash.”

I threw a pen at him. He caught it without flinching.

By the end of the first week, Jeonghan had casually slipped into my daily routine like a persistent notification. From sending me unnecessarily dramatic Slack messages like: “EMERGENCY" Come to the break room, I spilled coffee and emotionally can’t recover alone,”

to randomly declaring that I should “thank the office gods” for sitting close to someone so charismatic it was clear he was determined to keep me on my toes.

One afternoon, while I was waiting for a painfully slow rendering process, he peeked over our shared divider and whispered, “You know, I used to be a lone wolf around here.”

I didn’t look up. “What happened? Got tired of being dramatic in silence?”

He smirked. “Then you showed up. I sensed the chaotic energy immediately.”

“Ah, so you sensed your own reflection,” I said, sipping my coffee.

He laughed loud enough to earn a look from our manager. We both ducked instinctively, like kids in school.

Later that week, we got assigned our first team project together. Something about designing a pitch presentation for a client with a taste for futuristic minimalism. We both rolled our eyes at the brief, then locked eyes across the table and grinned.

“This could be fun,” I said, already sketching something ridiculous on the corner of the printout.

Jeonghan leaned in, inspecting the doodle. “You just drew a chair with laser beams.”

“Exactly. Minimalist... but dangerous.”

He shook his head, laughing, but I caught the spark in his eyes. “I like you,” he said suddenly.

I paused, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“I mean for work,” he backpedaled quickly. “Work me likes work you.”

“Uh huh,” I said slowly. “Definitely not going to write that on the HR form.”

And just like that, the partnership formed. Not just in the sense of teamwork but in the way we moved. Effortlessly balancing each other. His chaos met my goofiness. My eye-rolls met his smirks. And though we teased each other endlessly, our ideas clicked like puzzle pieces. We worked late some nights, arguing about fonts and spacing, laughing over bad stock photos, and bonding over convenience store snacks.

One evening, while reviewing our pitch deck in the meeting room, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Can I confess something?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “If it’s about the time you unplugged my mouse to mess with me, I already know.”

He chuckled. “No, not that.”

He looked serious for a second so rare, it made me sit up straighter.

“I actually hate working with people. I get impatient. I hate when people can’t match my pace or vision.” He paused. “But with you… it’s weird. I don’t feel like I have to explain every single thing. You just… get it.”

Something warm flickered in my chest. I looked down, fiddling with the pen in my hand. “Well, you’re lucky. I usually hate working with people too.”

We sat in silence for a beat. Then I added, “Except when they unplug my mouse.”

He threw a balled-up napkin at me.

And we laughed.

That night, I went home with a strange feeling blooming in my chest. Not quite a crush. Not quite friendship. Just something... new. And terrifyingly good.

It was official. We had become those coworkers.

The ones who laughed a little too loudly during lunch breaks, who exchanged way too many inside jokes, and who the interns whispered about when they thought we weren’t listening. We weren’t exactly subtle. But we didn’t care. Or maybe we didn’t know we should care.

Every morning started the same way now: with Jeonghan stopping by my desk and plopping a drink down next to my keyboard like a ritual offering.

“You looked like a soggy sock yesterday,” he’d say casually. “So I got you the espresso with vanilla foam today. Don’t say I don’t love you.”

“Bold of you to assume I want your pity latte,” I’d reply, already sipping it.

He’d grin. “You’re welcome, my little soggy-sock gremlin.”

Most days he was chaos personified stealing pens, hiding my sticky notes, swapping my computer background with a cursed photo of himself wearing a cat filter.

But in between the teasing and banter, there were moments where time paused.

Like the time I was swamped with reports late one Friday. Everyone had left. I stayed, eyes blurry, screen flickering. At some point, Jeonghan wandered back in with two ramen cups and said, “You’re not dying alone in here.”

He sat beside me. Didn’t even say much. Just worked in silence next to me until I finished. Our shoulders bumped. Our feet rested on the same leg of the table. It was quiet. Warm.

Too warm.

I tried not to overthink it.

The turning point came during our third joint project. A big one.

A client from overseas wanted a full visual identity for their launch, and our boss wise or possibly drunk decided we should take the lead.

We were excited. Buzzing. High on creativity. We stayed late sketching logos, rewriting taglines, obsessing over colors and layouts. Jeonghan brought snacks and bad music. I brought coffee and worse playlists. We functioned like one machine. One weird, silly machine with too many feelings and no off-switch.

Then came The Argument.

It was over something stupid. A layout change. A font. I can’t even remember. But I do remember the way he looked at me serious, frustrated, raw.

“You always do this,” he snapped.

“Do what?”

“You hide behind jokes when something actually matters!”

I blinked, taken aback. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. ‘Let’s make it funny so I don’t have to feel.’”

His jaw clenched. “This project matters, and you’re treating it like a school skit.”

“I care!” I shouted. “I care way too much, actually, and that’s the problem!”

Silence.

We stared at each other across the room. Breathing hard. The fluorescent lights buzzed above us like a bad omen.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and left.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, Jeonghan wasn’t at his desk.

Not during lunch either.

By late afternoon, I got a text:

Still mad at you. But I brought you a blueberry muffin and left it in the drawer. You get no coffee today. Suffer.

I smiled. Tears pricked at my eyes.

I didn’t know what to do with the aching in my chest. Or the weight in my gut. I didn’t know if we were still… whatever it was that we were.

So I replied:

Fine. I’ll suffer. But I’m stealing your charger later.

He didn’t reply.

But when I got home, I found a crumpled note in my bag that read:

I’m only mad because you mean more to me than this project. Idiot.

My heart cracked open a little.

The project ended up being a massive success. The client loved it. Our manager praised us in front of everyone. But I didn’t care about any of that.

What mattered was that the moment we got back to our desks, Jeonghan passed me a post-it that said:

Truce? I’ll even let you use Comic Sans once a week.

I laughed so hard I snorted. He beamed.

Later that day, while we were reviewing files, his hand brushed mine.

And he didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

You can feel it. That… thing.

It hovers in the air like the weight before a confession. Lurks in every look he gives you when he thinks you’re not watching. Hangs at the end of every teasing remark neither of you finishes anymore.

It used to be easy.

He’d lean against your desk, call you “gremlin,” and you’d call him “rat.” He’d steal your pens and you’d steal his hoodie on cold days. You were a joke, a bit, a comedy duo with an unspoken contract to never cross that imaginary line.

But lately?

Lately, everything felt charged.

Like now he’s showing you photos from his weekend trip, a slideshow of nonsense on his phone. And somehow, some damn how, he ends up scooting his chair next to yours, shoulder brushing yours, knee touching yours, head leaning so close you can smell the citrus in his shampoo.

And when you laugh a little too loud at a blurry picture of his friend’s dog in a tutu, his eyes aren’t on the screen. They’re on you.

Lingering.

Soft.

And when you glance at him, your laughter dies in your throat.

“…What?” you ask, suddenly breathless.

“Nothing,” he says. But he doesn’t look away.

You both pretend not to feel it. Again.

One late night, it’s just the two of you in the office. You’re not even working just eating convenience store ramen at your desks, trading dumb stories under dim lights, the hum of the AC filling the silence between your words.

Jeonghan’s sprawled out across two chairs, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded.

“You ever think about quitting?” you ask suddenly. “Like… just vanishing. Escaping.”

He hums. “Sometimes. Not often.”

“Why not?”

“…Because I’d miss this.”

You frown. “The job?”

“No. You.”

Silence. Heavy and awkward and too intimate for the plastic ramen cups between you.

He clears his throat and looks away. “I mean like the stupid chaos, you know? Your weird laugh. The way you argue with the printer. The way you try to hide snacks from me in the drawer, but I always find them.”

You try to joke. “Yeah, well, you’re like a raccoon. Of course you find them.”

But your voice is soft. So is his smile.

“I’d miss all of it,” he says.

The weirdness blooms after that.

It’s not bad weird. Not uncomfortable. Just… different.

You text more. Stay late more. Walk home together more. Start noticing things you probably shouldn’t notice.

Like the way his hand brushes yours when he passes you papers. Or the way he waits for your laugh before he laughs, like your joy is the green light to his own.

Sometimes you catch him staring. You’re starting to stare too.

But neither of you crosses the line.

Because you’re still colleagues. Still friends.

And whatever’s blooming between you is still too fragile, too terrifying, to name.

Until one evening, when you’re both walking out under the streetlights, he says:

“Hey… what if we weren’t just coworkers?”

You blink.

“What if we were, like… something else?”

You laugh nervously. “Like what? A tag team for prank wars?”

But he doesn’t laugh. He just stops walking.

You stop too.

And he looks at you like you’ve always been the punchline to his favorite joke the one he never knew was serious until now.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Just… think about it.”

And then he walks on ahead.

Leaving you in the pause. In the silence. In the maybe.

The street is too quiet after he says it.

"What if we weren’t just coworkers?"

You stare at him, mouth parted, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The city hums around you, but it all feels far away like the world suddenly stepped three feet to the left, leaving you behind.

“Jeonghan,” you say. Your voice cracks.

He doesn’t turn to face you. He just keeps walking, slow steps, waiting for you to follow.

But you don't.

You can’t.

Because you know something he doesn’t: tomorrow, you’re handing in your resignation letter. You’ve already printed it. Signed it. Folded it.

You were going to tell him next week. You didn’t expect him to say this tonight. Not when your whole life is already quietly falling apart behind the scenes.

“I… I can’t do this,” you say softly.

He stops walking.

Turns.

The expression on his face it’s not angry. Not confused.

It’s quiet devastation.

“I didn’t say anything heavy,” he says, almost too softly. “I just said… what if.”

You laugh bitter, breathless, like there’s something clawing its way out of your chest.

“That what if means everything, Jeonghan.”

Silence stretches.

You wish he’d say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t.

Because he’s always been brave in the ways that didn’t matter, and quiet in the ways that do.

You walk past him.

His fingers twitch by his sides like they want to reach for you.

But they don’t.

You whisper as you pass, “Good night, Jeonghan.”

You don’t look back.

And neither does he.

The next day, your chair is empty.

You don’t say goodbye. You leave your badge on the desk and your memories in the walls. You pack everything but the little drawing he once made of you falling asleep on your keyboard.

He kept it taped on his cubicle. You wonder if it’s still there.

Jeonghan shows up late.

Maybe he hoped it was a dream.

But when he sees your desk cold, stripped bare, the drawer that always had snacks for him now empty something inside him shifts.

The first thing he does is sit at your desk. The second is press his forehead to the surface. The third is pretend he’s just tired when the team walks by and notices the tears that won’t stop falling.

He doesn’t speak of you for days.

But people notice. How his jokes come slower. How he stops stealing pens. How he skips lunch sometimes. How the light behind his eyes has gone out.

Someone asks, “Hey, where’s your partner-in-crime?”

He smiles. Thin. Forced.

“Gone,” he says.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like it didn’t break him to say it.

The office feels colder without you. And Jeonghan feels smaller. Like the air around him is missing something he forgot how to breathe.

He sits at his desk, eyes flickering across emails he barely reads. The world blurs. His pen rolls back and forth across his fingers, a nervous rhythm with no escape.

People ask if he’s okay. He smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

The mischievous sparkle the teasing warmth that made everyone laugh has dimmed, flickering in the dark like a candle gasping for air.

Lunch breaks are quiet. He doesn’t steal snacks anymore. No more “gremlin” nicknames tossed at empty desks.

One afternoon, the team gathers in the break room, joking and chatting. Jeonghan leans against the wall, watching but not really there.

A coworker nudges him, “Jeonghan, you good?”

He shrugs, a ghost of his old smile curling on his lips. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But when he’s alone, the mask slips.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through pictures—snapshots of moments with you: Your silly faces, your contagious laugh, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.

His thumb hovers over your contact name.

He wants to call.

He wants to hear your voice.

But he can’t.

Because you walked away.

Because he doesn’t know how to ask you to stay.

Because maybe you’re already gone.

That night, he stays late.

The office lights dim.

Jeonghan leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling, feeling the quiet weight of emptiness.

A whispered confession he never said out loud:

“I miss you.

You tell your friends you’re doing fine.

You smile at your new office, where everything is shinier, fancier, quieter.

You sit at your new desk, in your new seat, surrounded by strangers who know nothing about you. Who don’t know your coffee order. Who don’t call you weird names like “printer gremlin” or “paper hoarder.”

No one steals your stapler here. No one argues over what playlist to use. No one teases you for the way you hum when you focus too hard.

No one is Jeonghan.

And that… that’s the part you never expected to miss so much.

You try not to think about it.

But when you open your drawer and see a lone strawberry candy rolling in the corner, your breath catches.

Jeonghan used to sneak them into your bag.

You sit back, press your hands to your eyes, and tell yourself it’s fine.

You wanted this. A better position. A fresh start.

But why does it feel like you left something unfinished behind?

That night, you open your old work group chat.

It’s mostly memes now.

You scroll, wondering if Jeonghan’s still there.

He hasn’t sent anything in weeks.

You think of the way he looked that night the hesitation in his voice, the hope in his eyes.

"What if we weren’t just coworkers?"

Your chest tightens.

You replay your own words, how fast they came out.

“I can’t do this.”

It wasn’t a lie.

You couldn’t handle it then.

Not when you were already planning to leave. Not when you didn’t even know how you felt about yourself, let alone someone else.

But now?

Now, all you feel is the echo of him.

In your laughter that doesn’t quite come out the same. In the silence between your favorite songs. In the way you look over your shoulder when something funny happens forgetting, for a second, that he isn’t there to hear it.

You wonder if he still uses your mug.

You wonder if he still drinks that overly sweet coffee you made for him just to mess with him.

You wonder if he misses you too.

You hope he does.

"Yoon Jeonghan, you’ve been using the same Excel sheet for two hours.”

Jeonghan blinks up, startled.

Jisoo, one of the older team leads, stands beside him with a look that’s both amused and concerned. “It’s literally just the title. You haven’t written a thing.”

Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair and offers a lazy grin. “I’m brainstorming.”

“That sheet’s blank.”

“I’m... internally brainstorming.”

Jisoo narrows his eyes, then sighs, pulling up a chair beside him. “Look, I wasn’t gonna ask. But you’re acting weird, and honestly? It’s freaking everyone out. Even Seungkwan’s been quiet around you. That’s not normal.”

Jeonghan tries to laugh, but it’s weak, hollow.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Silence stretches between them.

Jeonghan’s fingers twitch against the mouse.

“I miss her,” he says suddenly, softly, like the words have been hiding in his throat too long. “I miss her so bad it’s pathetic.”

Jisoo stays quiet, letting him speak.

“She used to argue with me about the coffee machine. About who printed the most pages. About whose playlist was better. And now the silence feels like a punishment.”

He swallows.

“She left, and I didn’t stop her. I thought maybe she needed space, or that she didn’t feel the same. She said she couldn’t do this.”

“Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

Jeonghan stares down at the keyboard. “Not really. Not like I should’ve.”

He finally looks up, eyes tired, voice breaking just slightly. “I thought I had more time.”

Jisoo places a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you still do.”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “She walked away. That night, I- I looked like a fool. I stood there in the parking lot like some K-drama second lead getting rejected in the rain. Only it wasn’t even raining. Just me and my stupid heart.”

They both let out a breath. Jisoo half-chuckles. “Damn. That’s depressing.”

Jeonghan laughs, for real this time. It hurts, but it’s real.

“I still check the backseat of my car sometimes,” he says quietly. “She always used to leave her water bottle in there.”

Jisoo leans back. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan says. “I think I’m just… waiting.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then softly: “For her to miss me too.”

It arrives on a rainy Thursday. No warning. No sender name. Just a neatly wrapped box on your new desk.

“Who’s that from?” one of your new coworkers asks, half-curious, half-teasing.

You shrug, heart thumping already. Something about the handwriting on the label makes you freeze.

It’s… familiar.

You peel back the wrapping carefully. The box isn’t big, but it’s heavy with thought. Inside:

– A bag of your favorite gummy candies – A new lanyard, lavender and soft, with a tiny keychain of your favorite cartoon character dangling from it. – A small notebook with your initials written in messy cursive on the cover. – And a photo. A photo of your old desk your shared desk. A sticky note stuck to the screen in Jeonghan’s handwriting:

“Still yours. Come back whenever.”

You press your hand to your mouth before anyone sees the tears in your eyes.

Then, like it was orchestrated by fate, the office door opens.

And there he is.

Jeonghan.

Standing in the doorway, soaked from the rain, holding a bouquet of wildly chaotic flowers not the pretty kind that come from shops, but the kind that look handpicked, like he ran through a field grabbing every color he thought you’d like.

“You left before I could learn how to stop annoying you,” he says, voice softer than the storm outside.

You blink fast. “You came all the way here?”

He grins. “I told you. I’m persistent.”

“Jeonghan...”

He steps forward, setting the flowers gently on your desk.

“I know what I said that night was a lot. I don’t regret saying it, but I get it. You were leaving, and maybe I should’ve kept my feelings in my chest.” A pause. “But the truth is… I miss you... I miss your laugh. I miss the way you stole my pens and left crumbs on my keyboard and made every boring deadline feel like a cartoon episode.”

You bite your lip. “I missed you too.”

His voice dips. “I’d like to start again, if you’ll let me. Not from scratch. From where we paused.”

You stare at him, then the box, then the flowers.

Then before you can overthink you step forward, arms wrapping around his neck.

He smells like rain and paper and home.

“You didn’t have to bring all of this,” you mumble into his chest.

He smiles against your hair. “I wanted to remind you of all the things you forgot you left with me.”

Your arms are still wrapped around his neck when Jeonghan pulls back just enough to see your face.

His hands cup your cheeks like you’re made of spun sugar. His thumbs gently wipe a tear you didn’t realize had slipped.

“You really missed me?” he whispers, voice trembling at the edges, hopeful and afraid all at once.

You nod.

“I missed everything about you, Jeonghan. Even the way you put three sugars in your coffee and act like you’re above caffeine addiction.”

He huffs a watery laugh. “I told you my body is 70% iced americano.”

You both laugh half from nerves, half from sheer emotional exhaustion. But then, as the laughter fades, silence falls.

And in that silence, he leans in.

And kisses you.

Not fast. Not shy. Not afraid.

A long, deep, breathtaking kiss that feels like a promise or maybe like the end of a drought. The kind of kiss where your heart forgets how to beat normally and instead, learns the rhythm of his lips.

He kisses you like he’s making up for every day apart. Like he’s rewriting the months of ache with this single act.

And when he finally pulls back, you realize

You’re not alone.

Your coworkers are standing. Watching. Eyes wide. Some mouths agape. And then

Applause.

Loud. Joyful. Surprised, but genuine.

Someone even lets out a whistle.

You bury your face into Jeonghan’s shoulder, mortified. He just grins like he planned this.

Then your deskmate, Jina, calls out dramatically from behind you, “Finally! We were tired of her crying at her desk every day like a heartbreak drama!”

A few chuckles follow. Another coworker adds, “You better not hurt her again or the whole department’s coming for your kneecaps.”

“Too late,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, glancing down at his still-recovering leg, then looks at you. “But honestly? Worth the risk.”

You glance up at him.

“You’re insane,” you say, voice breathless.

“And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he answers.

Your heart stumbles. For once, you don’t argue back.

After the kiss, the laughter, and the embarrassment that only a full-office standing ovation can bring, Jeonghan doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not once.

He keeps it wrapped snugly in his, thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles like he’s checking over and over that you’re really there. That you’re not just some dream in a pinstriped blazer.

“I have something to show you,” he says after the office starts emptying out. “Come upstairs?”

You arch a brow. “Upstairs?”

“The rooftop,” he grins. “Don’t worry, there’s no karaoke involved this time.” You still haven’t forgotten the night he sang “My Heart Will Go On” during your team retreat. Completely off-key. With interpretive dance.

You follow him up the familiar staircase, heart pounding with every step. The door creaks open and

You gasp.

It’s transformed.

The rooftop once boring and gray now glows with warm, golden fairy lights strung from corner to corner. In the center is a massive, ridiculous, wonderful blanket fort made out of mismatched sheets and chairs. Pillows are piled up inside like clouds.

A laptop and projector are set up on the wall of the rooftop water tank, the screen frozen on a paused frame: a blurry picture of you, laughing with your mouth wide open, holding a coffee cup like a trophy.

“What is this…?” you whisper.

Jeonghan looks nervous now, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s… a little something I’ve been working on.”

He clicks a button.

The screen flickers.

Then: a video begins to play.

Clips. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. All tiny moments of your life filmed from afar, or up close when you weren’t looking. You in the break room, humming while making tea. You falling asleep at your desk. You fixing your hair in the reflection of your laptop. You teasing Jeonghan, laughing, rolling your eyes, playfully throwing paper balls at him.

Then clips of you not smiling staring out the window, looking tired, looking lonely. Your resignation day. The empty desk.

All stitched together. Soft music. Gentle transitions.

Then, toward the end, his voice a voiceover.

“I used to think you were the most chaotic person I’d ever met. That you were loud, messy, all over the place. But then I realized… that chaos made sense of mine. I don’t know how to say I love you without sounding stupid. So I made this.”

When the video ends, you’re already crying.

He hands you a small box.

two handmade pearl bracelets one for you, one for him. Tiny charms attached to each: a coffee cup, and a paperclip. (Your inside joke from year one the first time you shared a coffee, and the day he untangled all your paperclips just to annoy you.)

“You did all this?” you whisper.

He nods. “I didn’t know how to say everything. So I made it.”

“And the video?”

“I’ve been filming you for years,” he admits sheepishly. “In the least creepy way possible. I swear.”

You throw your arms around him before he finishes that sentence.

Then you whisper, muffled against his hoodie, “I love you too, idiot.”

His heart stops.

Then speeds up.

He kisses your temple, your cheek, and finally your lips. Slow. Sweet. Sure.

The stars blink above you.

And for the first time in a long time… neither of you feels alone.

It started with a Post-it note on your desk.

Scrawled in Jeonghan’s messy, boyish handwriting:

“Pack a bag. We leave at 5. No questions. Trust me.”

Naturally, you had a thousand questions.

But you packed anyway.

Which is how you now find yourself in his rickety old car, barreling down a winding country road at golden hour, the sun painting his face in orange brushstrokes as he taps the steering wheel to the rhythm of your shared playlist.

“You sure this place even exists?” you ask, peeking at the dying phone signal.

“Of course!” Jeonghan says confidently, just as the car sputters.

And then clunk. pop. silence.

You both sit frozen.

“…Babe,” you say slowly, “did your car just die?”

“It’s not dead,” he protests. “It’s just… tired.”

“You didn’t check the engine before a road trip?”

He shrugs. “I was busy editing your face into a video montage, sorry.”

You stifle a laugh and sigh. “What now, Mr. Romantic?”

He grins. “We walk. It’s just 15 minutes from here.”

Thirty-five minutes, three bug bites, and one accidental encounter with a suspicious goat later… you arrive.

It’s a tiny wooden cabin nestled between two hills. Wildflowers cover the edges. Lanterns line the porch. Inside, it smells like lavender and old books.

And it’s beautiful.

Even with the power flickering and a chicken (yes, a chicken) casually perched on the windowsill like he owns the place.

Jeonghan points. “That’s Kumo. He came with the Airbnb.”

“…Of course he did.”

Later that night, after you’ve laughed yourself sore over instant noodles, forgotten utensils, and Jeonghan’s failed attempt at opening a wine bottle with a spoon (he broke it instead lol), you step outside.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

But the sky the sky is dazzling.

Stars stretch endlessly above you, glowing like confetti, as if the universe is trying to show off.

Jeonghan steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Pretty,” he murmurs.

You turn slightly. “The sky?”

“No,” he says. “You. Right here. Like this. In the starlight.”

Your heart flutters.

You lean back into him, letting the moment stretch.

Then he whispers, almost too quietly, “I think… you’re it for me.”

You blink.

He swallows hard, tightening his grip a little. “I didn’t mean to fall. But I did. And now I can’t imagine a single boring day without you arguing with me about coffee orders or typing too loud or calling Kumo your emotional support chicken.”

“I never called him that”

“You did,” he smiles into your hair. “And I loved you for it.”

You turn around fully now, facing him.

The look in his eyes is nothing like the mischievous Jeonghan from the office. It’s raw. Open. Vulnerable.

You reach up, thumb brushing his cheek.

“I think you’re it for me too,” you whisper.

And just like that, the chaos quiets.

The teasing fades.

And for the first time, the space between you holds no jokes only truth.

Only love

@lixisoul99

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