Minho

Past seven in the evening, the buzz of the open-plan office always faded away. The air conditioning would shift into night mode, trading its daytime rattle for a low, monotonous drone. The only lights left on were in the analytics department.

The numbers on the monitor were blurring into a solid gray mass. Jisung reached blindly for his mug and took a sip, wincing involuntarily – the coffee had gone cold long ago. Hitting save on his document, he rubbed his exhausted eyes and leaned back in his chair, rolling his stiff neck.

The sound of a door shutting at the far end of the floor broke the quiet. Soon, approaching footsteps were heard across the carpet. Jisung cracked his eyes open and turned his head toward the sound, not even bothering to feign productivity.

Lee Minho rarely left work on time, but he appeared in the main office after hours even less frequently. He was wearing a dark shirt, his suit jacket discarded and his top button undone, holding a stack of files and his car keys in one hand. Instead of heading for the elevators, Minho turned down the aisle between the desks and stopped behind his employee.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Minho looked at the graphs over his shoulder, his gaze scanning the screen.

— Your formula for the March column is off, the man's voice sounded calm. He rested one hand on the edge of the desk, leaning closer to the monitor, and Jisung instantly caught the warmth radiating from him and the scent of his cologne.

— And you’ve been sitting here two hours past your shift, Han, Minho added. — This report can wait until tomorrow morning.

He tore his eyes away from the screen and looked down at Jisung. The CEO’s expression remained impassive, but a faint crease appeared between his brows as his gaze swept over his employee's drawn features and bloodshot, screen-tired eyes.