Some people become impossible to ignore, whether they're there or not.
The dinner rush had barely begun, and the restaurant was already alive with movement.
Knives struck wooden chopping boards in a steady rhythm. Oil hissed in hot pans, steam rose from the stoves, and the rich aroma of freshly prepared food filled the kitchen. Through the swinging doors, waiters moved between the service counter and the dining hall, balancing trays while calling out table numbers to one another.
"Table twelve! Two more dishes!"
"Coming!"
"Chef, the soup for table seven is ready!"
"Then send it out before it gets cold!"
The kitchen was a world of its own. Everyone had a place, a responsibility, and barely enough time to catch their breath.
And right in the middle of it all was Zoya.
Her first day.
She adjusted the black service cap on her head before carefully lifting a tray of freshly prepared dishes from the counter. Her modest black uniform was neat, her sleeves properly arranged, and she moved cautiously, making sure nothing on the tray slipped.
"Careful with that one," a senior waitress reminded her. "The bowls are hot."
"I've got it."
Zoya offered her a quick smile and carried the tray toward the service counter.
One of the other waitresses took it from her and disappeared into the dining hall.
"Thank you!" Zoya called after her.
Then she turned back toward the kitchen, ready for the next task.
Another order arrived.
Then another.
And another.
She had barely finished one task before someone needed her for something else.
By the time she finally had a moment to herself, she could already feel the exhaustion settling into her legs.
Her shift ran from eight in the evening until three in the morning.
Eight.
Until.
Three.
Even thinking about it made her want to sigh.
She had applied for the daytime position, not this one. But after Kim Na-Ri's sudden departure, the restaurant had needed someone to cover her shift temporarily. Zoya had accepted because it was the only way to secure the job for now.
Once they hired a permanent replacement for Kim Na-Ri, she would be transferred to the daytime schedule she had originally wanted.
At least, that was the plan.
And for now, she had to make it work.
She glanced at the tray in front of her, then at the chefs moving rapidly around the kitchen.
It wasn't where she had imagined herself when she dreamed about working in a restaurant.
She wanted to cook.
To stand at a stove, experiment with flavours, prepare dishes with her own hands, and learn from experienced chefs.
Instead, she wore a waitress's uniform and spent her first evening carrying plates from one counter to another.
Still...
A small smile appeared on her face.
It was a beginning.
Perhaps not the beginning she had imagined, but a beginning nonetheless.
Just a few days, she reminded herself.
I can manage a few days.
She picked up another tray.
And then—
The kitchen doors swung open.
Manager Choi Min-Seok stepped inside.
He wasn't running, but there was something unusual about the speed of his movements. His expression was more serious than usual, and he seemed to be looking for everyone at once.
"Everyone."
He didn't shout.
He didn't need to.
Something in his tone made the nearest chef stop chopping.
The female chef looked up from her station. Three male chefs exchanged quick glances, while the kitchen assistants paused with their hands still occupied with ingredients.
Manager Choi waited until he had everyone's attention.
"Leave your stations for five minutes."
One of the senior chefs frowned.
"Manager, is there a problem?"
"No questions for now." Choi glanced toward the clock on the wall. "I need everyone in the conference room. Immediately."
A brief silence followed.
Then someone asked, "Everyone? Including the kitchen staff?"
"Everyone."
He turned toward the door.
"I'll gather the front-of-house team. Please make sure no one gets left behind."
And with that, he was gone.
The doors swung shut behind him.
For approximately two seconds, the kitchen remained silent.
Then the whispers began.
"What happened?"
"Did we get a complaint?"
"Maybe there's an inspection."
"An inspection at this hour?"
"What if something happened to a guest?"
"Wouldn't he tell us if that were the case?"
"Then why does he look like that?"
Nobody had an answer.
Zoya stood beside the service counter, holding a clean tray against her waist.
She looked from one person to another.
It was her first day. She didn't know the restaurant's usual procedures, its management habits, or which rumours were worth taking seriously.
So, naturally, she did the only sensible thing.
She kept her mouth shut.
A few minutes later, she followed the other employees toward the small conference room beside the restaurant office.
The Unexpected Announcement
The conference room had never felt so crowded.
Waitresses stood near the back wall while cashiers and supervisors squeezed into the remaining chairs. The chefs had come straight from the kitchen, some still wearing their aprons.
Zoya found a place near the side and quietly stood beside two other staff members.
Everyone seemed to have a theory.
"Maybe the restaurant is closing early."
"Then why would they call everyone?"
"Perhaps the owner wants to announce something."
"Mr Kang doesn't usually call meetings like this."
That last comment made several people turn toward the speaker.
Before anyone could ask another question, the door opened.
Manager Choi entered first.
Mr Kang Hyun-Woo followed him.
The effect was immediate.
Conversations stopped. Employees straightened, and almost everyone rose to their feet.
"Good evening, sir."
Mr Kang acknowledged them with a slight nod.
"Good evening. Please, sit down."
Chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone settled into place.
Zoya sat near the edge of her chair, her hands resting neatly in her lap.
She had met Mr Kang only briefly since starting work. He was the owner, and there was something about his presence that naturally made people pay attention.
Tonight, however, he seemed different.
He looked calm, as always, but there was a faint brightness in his eyes that Zoya couldn't quite place.
Mr Kang turned toward Manager Choi.
"You can tell them."
Choi nodded, took a breath, and faced the room.
"I've called this meeting because we've received some unexpected news."
Every head lifted.
"About ten minutes ago, I received a direct call from Mr. Jea."
A few senior employees exchanged looks.
They knew that name.
Manager Choi continued.
"Mr Jea is Jeon J's personal assistant."
For a moment, the room was perfectly still.
Then a cashier blinked.
"Jeon J...?"
Someone beside her whispered, "As in TBS Jeon J?"
Choi nodded.
Before the whispers could grow, he continued.
"They've requested a private reservation for tonight."
Silence.
He looked around the room.
"TBS will be having dinner here after their final Busan concert."
For three full seconds, nobody reacted.
It was as though the announcement had reached everyone's ears but hadn't quite made it into their brains.
Then—
"WHAT?"
"Are you serious?"
"Wait, the entire group?"
"THE TBS?"
A kitchen assistant stared at Manager Choi with his mouth open.
One of the senior chefs actually turned toward his colleague as if expecting him to confirm that he'd heard correctly.
Even the usually composed supervisors looked stunned.
Zoya blinked.
Then she looked at the people around her.
One woman had both hands pressed over her mouth. Another was gripping her colleague's arm so tightly that the poor woman was trying to pull it away without being rude.
Someone whispered, "I thought they always went to private hotels after concerts."
"They do!"
"Then why are they coming here?"
"Can you imagine if they like our food and come back?"
"Please, I need someone to tell me I'm not dreaming."
Zoya slowly lowered her gaze to her hands.
TBS?
She knew who TBS were, of course.
It would have been difficult not to know.
But the reaction around her made it feel as though the president himself had announced a surprise visit.
Manager Choi raised his hand.
"Everyone. Please."
The room gradually settled.
"This reservation was not arranged through an outside agency or another management company. The request came directly from TBS's side."
He glanced at Mr Kang before continuing.
"They have specifically requested complete privacy. The entire VIP dining section has been reserved for them."
Mr Kang folded his hands in front of him.
"In all these years, TBS has never visited our restaurant."
His gaze moved across the room.
"So, yes, this is unexpected for all of us."
He paused.
"But unexpected doesn't mean we aren't prepared."
His voice remained even, and the excitement in the room slowly gave way to attention.
"We have built this restaurant on the quality of our food and the standard of our service. Tonight is no different."
He looked toward the kitchen team.
"The chef will receive the final menu requirements directly. Until then, please do not make assumptions about what our guests will want."
Then he addressed the service staff.
"The VIP section must be checked carefully. Table arrangements, crockery, lighting, everything. I don't want anyone discovering a problem after the guests arrive."
Manager Choi stepped in.
"And let me make one thing absolutely clear."
His expression hardened just slightly.
"No photographs. No autographs. No unnecessary conversations, and absolutely no interruptions."
He let that settle before adding,
"They are coming here to have dinner. They are our guests, and we will treat them with the same respect we would offer any other guest."
A few employees nodded quickly.
"Understood?"
"Yes, Manager!"
"Good. Then let's get back to work."
The meeting was over.
But the excitement didn't end with it.
Not even close.
Within seconds, the room broke into a low buzz of conversation as employees filed out and hurried back to their respective stations.
Zoya followed them into the corridor.
She had expected her first day to be tiring.
She had expected to make mistakes, learn unfamiliar routines, and spend the night trying to keep up with everyone else.
She had not expected to find out that one of the biggest K-pop groups in the country would be dining at her workplace.
And, judging by the reactions around her, neither had anyone else.
Suddenly, the restaurant had changed.
Not physically.
The lights were the same, the tables were in the same places, and the kitchen was still filled with the familiar sounds of cooking and service.
But the atmosphere?
Completely different.
The chefs seemed to have discovered an extra reserve of energy. The service staff checked table settings that had already been checked twice, while supervisors walked through the VIP section with the seriousness of people inspecting a national monument.
A waiter polished a glass, held it up to the light, frowned, and polished it again.
His colleague watched him.
"It's already clean."
"I know."
"Then why are you still cleaning it?"
"Because it's TBS!"
His colleague stared at him.
Then, after a moment, he picked up another glass.
"Give me that cloth."
Zoya watched the exchange from the service counter.
She almost smiled.
This is ridiculous.
But she couldn't really blame them.
The news had spread through the restaurant like wildfire, and even she could feel the curiosity creeping into her mind.
She glanced at the clock above the kitchen entrance.
11:00 p.m.
Her fingers paused on the edge of a tray.
The concert must be around the halfway point by now.
Her thoughts wandered before she could stop them.
Minji and the others must be there, too.
She pictured Minji sitting in the VIP section with Hana, Sophia, and Ruhi, probably enjoying the concert while she stood here counting plates and trying not to drop anything.
A small pout formed on her lips.
Then another thought followed.
Should I ask Minji about dinner?
She hesitated.
No.
Her lips pressed together.
Why would I ask her? If they're actually coming here, I'll find out soon enough.
She picked up a napkin and began folding it.
Then unfolded it.
Then folded it again.
"Why am I even thinking about this?"
The question escaped in a quiet mumble.
"Thinking about what?"
Zoya nearly jumped.
A fellow waitress stood beside her, looking at her with open amusement.
"Hm?"
The girl tilted her head.
"You've been staring at that napkin for the last thirty seconds. And I think you just argued with yourself."
Zoya glanced down at the perfectly ordinary napkin in her hands.
"Oh."
She quickly placed it on the counter.
"Nothing. I was just thinking."
"About?"
"Nothing important."
The waitress narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Zoya gave her a small, innocent smile.
Then she looked toward the kitchen.
"There aren't many orders waiting out here right now. I'll go help inside."
"Zoya—"
But she was already moving.
The waitress watched her disappear through the swinging doors.
"Strange girl," she muttered before returning to her work.
Inside the kitchen, things were even worse.
Or better, depending on how one looked at it.
Every chef seemed determined to make tonight's service the most memorable one in the restaurant's history. One was inspecting the plating of a dish with such concentration that Zoya suspected he had forgotten how to blink.
Another was rearranging a garnish.
Then rearranging it again.
A third chef was polishing the rim of a plate while muttering something about presentation.
Zoya stopped near the counter.
She watched them for a moment.
Then her mind supplied an entirely unhelpful thought.
If they knew...
She looked at the chefs, then at the dishes being prepared.
If they knew that just last night, I was sitting with the very people they're this excited to serve...
Her eyes widened slightly.
She immediately shook her head.
"No."
A kitchen assistant looked up.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing."
Zoya turned away and muttered under her breath,
"Absolutely not. I'm not thinking about that."
She could already imagine the questions.
You know them?
How well?
Why didn't you tell us?
And the worst part was that she didn't even know how she would answer.
So, rather than give her imagination another opportunity to create trouble, she walked back outside.
The service counter was quiet for the moment.
Zoya slipped her phone from her pocket.
She stared at Minji's name for a few seconds before pressing the call button.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
"Hello?"
Minji's voice came through, accompanied by faint background noise.
Zoya's expression softened.
"Hey."
"Zoya!"
Minji sounded happy to hear her.
"How are you? Are you busy?"
"Not too much at the moment."
"Really? How's your first day going?"
Zoya glanced toward the kitchen doors.
"It's going well."
And it was true, in its own way.
She was tired, her feet hurt, and she'd spent half the evening trying to remember where everything belonged.
But she was managing.
"That's good!" Minji said. "I was wondering how you were doing. Have you eaten anything?"
"Not yet."
"Zoya!"
"What?"
"You're working all night. At least eat something."
"I will."
"You always say that."
"Because I mean it."
"Hmm. I'll believe you when you actually eat."
Zoya smiled faintly.
For a moment, she forgot about the concert, the reservation, and the mystery surrounding tonight's dinner.
Then Minji spoke again.
"Oh, and listen."
Zoya straightened slightly.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to remind you that as soon as your shift ends, you need to come straight home."
Zoya blinked.
"Straight home?"
"Yes!"
Minji sounded almost offended that Zoya had to ask.
"I invited everyone over tonight, remember? We're getting together to celebrate your new job."
Zoya stared at the phone.
Her smile slowly disappeared.
Wait.
She pulled the phone a little away from her ear, glanced at the screen as if the answer might be written there, then brought it back.
She doesn't know?
Her brows drew together.
If Minji was planning to have dinner at home with everyone, then what exactly was happening there?
TBS had booked the entire VIP section.
Their assistant had called directly.
The restaurant's owner had personally addressed the staff.
And yet Minji was talking as though the group would be going somewhere else entirely.
Zoya's thoughts began running in circles.
Maybe the reservation is for another day?
Manager Choi had said tonight.
Maybe Minji knows they're coming here but has another plan?
Then why would she say—
"Zoya?"
Minji's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Are you listening?"
"Yes!"
"Then why have you gone quiet?"
Zoya took a breath.
"Minji, why don't you all come here after the concert?"
A brief pause.
"Come where?"
"Where I work."
Zoya lowered her voice instinctively, even though there was no one close enough to overhear her.
"You can have dinner here, and then we can all go home together."
There was barely a second of silence.
"Absolutely not."
Zoya blinked.
"...What?"
"No."
Minji sounded so certain that Zoya briefly wondered whether she had accidentally suggested something outrageous.
"Why not?"
"Because we're together almost every day!"
"So?"
"So, Jeon J and the others are leaving again after this. We don't know when we'll all get another chance to sit together properly."
Minji continued without hesitation.
"We're having dinner with them tonight."
Zoya went still.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
"With them?"
"Yes, Zoya. With them."
Minji sounded increasingly amused.
"Who else would I be talking about?"
Zoya stared straight ahead.
But they're coming here.
The thought repeated itself.
They're literally coming here.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Minji—"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Then why did you call?"
Zoya closed her eyes for a second.
She could not explain the situation without revealing that she knew about the reservation.
And she wasn't even sure whether she was supposed to know.
Her confusion slowly turned into irritation.
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"I said I'll come home after my shift."
"Good!"
"Okay."
"And don't be late."
"Minji—"
"Love you! See you later!"
The call ended.
Zoya stared at her phone.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she slowly lowered it.
"...What?"
She checked the screen.
The call had ended.
Of course it had.
She had barely managed to say two complete sentences, and Minji had already moved on with her life.
Zoya rubbed her forehead.
"If TBS is coming here for dinner..."
She paused.
"Then why is Minji saying they're having dinner somewhere else?"
She looked toward the VIP section.
Then back at her phone.
"Am I missing something?"
A second later, she shook her head.
"No. Stop."
She slipped the phone into her pocket.
"Wherever TBS decides to eat, what does that have to do with me?"
She turned toward the kitchen.
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
A beat passed.
Then she muttered,
"Still, what is happening?"
And walked back to work.
The Wrong Job, For Now
The moment Zoya entered the kitchen, a waitress called out to her.
"Zoya! Can you take these to table nine?"
"Coming!"
She picked up the tray.
Two bowls of soup, a plate of grilled fish, and a small dish of side vegetables.
She balanced the tray carefully and headed toward the dining hall.
By the time she returned, three more orders were waiting.
She delivered those too.
Then another.
And another.
The hours seemed to stretch endlessly.
Every time she passed the kitchen, she caught herself looking toward the cooking stations.
The chefs worked with ingredients, tasted sauces, adjusted seasonings, and discussed how best to prepare each dish.
Zoya watched them for half a second longer than she should have.
Then someone called her name.
"Zoya!"
She turned immediately.
"Yes?"
"Table six needs more water."
"I'm coming."
She picked up a jug and hurried away.
It wasn't that she disliked being a waitress.
She was grateful for the job. She needed the income, and she understood that starting somewhere was better than waiting indefinitely for the perfect opportunity.
But each time she carried a tray instead of standing at a stove, she was reminded of what she really wanted.
She wanted to cook.
She wanted to learn.
She wanted to prove that she could do more than deliver the dishes other people prepared.
Still, she had made a decision.
She would work hard, save what she could, and wait for the daytime position to become available.
She wasn't going to let a temporary inconvenience make her abandon the opportunity she'd worked so hard to find.
And she certainly wasn't going to complain on her first day.
As for Ji-Ho...
She had only told him that she had found a job.
She hadn't explained the late shift or the temporary arrangement. She had thanked him sincerely for the help he had given her, then left it at that.
He had already done enough for her.
She didn't want to keep going to him every time she encountered another difficulty.
For once, she wanted to handle things herself.
She glanced at the clock again.
The concert should be ending soon.
She immediately looked away.
A few minutes passed.
She checked the clock again.
Maybe the final segment has started.
She carried another tray into the dining hall.
Returned.
Picked up a fresh order.
And somehow, her mind went straight back to the concert.
Are they still performing?
She pressed her lips together.
Why do I keep doing this?
She had a job to do.
A real job, one that required her attention.
She couldn't spend the entire evening wondering where TBS was, what they were doing, or why Minji seemed unaware of the restaurant reservation.
Especially when she had no idea whether she was even supposed to know about it.
Zoya exhaled slowly.
"Focus."
She adjusted the tray in her hands.
"Just focus on your work."
Then she walked back into the dining hall.
And for the next few minutes, she managed to do exactly that.
Almost.
Busan Stadium —
The stadium was a galaxy of light.
More than sixty thousand fans filled the seats, their light sticks creating endless waves of silver, violet, and blue. From a distance, the crowd looked almost unreal, like thousands of stars scattered across the darkness.
Music thundered through the speakers.
The bass vibrated through the stage beneath the performers' feet, while towering LED screens displayed the members in breathtaking close-ups.
Pyrotechnics burst into the air.
The crowd screamed.
And then, as the music reached its peak, tens of thousands of voices rose together.
"TBS!"
"TBS!"
"TBS!"
The final Busan concert of the tour had become everything the fans had hoped for—and more.
Every song brought another wave of cheers. Every movement was met with screams. Every time a member approached the edge of the stage, the noise seemed to grow louder.
Onstage, TBS performed as though the energy of the entire stadium belonged to them.
Even Jeon J.
Especially Jeon J.
Beneath his carefully arranged stage outfit, bandages remained hidden against his skin. The wound still ached, and certain movements pulled at it more than he wanted to admit.
But none of that showed on his face.
His expressions were precise.
His smile appeared at the right moments.
His vocals remained steady, and even when the choreography demanded more than his body wanted to give, he made every movement look effortless.
To the fans watching him on the giant screens, he looked perfectly fine.
Only the people standing beside him knew otherwise.
And even they didn't know the full extent of how much he was pushing himself.
As the choreography shifted, Jeon J moved toward the extended platform.
His eyes swept across the stadium.
Thousands of faces.
Thousands of light sticks.
Rows upon rows of fans, all watching him.
Then, almost unconsciously, his gaze drifted toward the VIP section.
He found Minji first.
She was sitting beside Hana, Ruhi, and Sophia.
For a brief moment, his expression softened.
He recognised them immediately.
But his eyes didn't stop there.
They moved across the seats.
One face.
Then another.
His gaze travelled farther along the row.
Nothing.
He looked again.
Still nothing.
The faint smile on his lips began to fade.
Where is she?
He glanced toward the entrance to the VIP section, then back at the seats.
Perhaps she was standing somewhere behind them.
Perhaps she had arrived late.
Perhaps—
No.
He looked again.
She wasn't there.
The next beat of the music pulled him back into the choreography, but something had already shifted inside him.
His attention had slipped.
And for someone who had spent years learning how to remain composed under the eyes of tens of thousands of people, even a moment of distraction was unusual.
Kim Joon noticed immediately.
He was positioned a few steps behind Jeon J, and as the formation changed, he moved closer without disrupting the performance.
He kept his smile directed toward the audience.
"Jeon J."
His voice was barely audible beneath the music.
"Focus."
Jeon J didn't look at him.
Kim Joon continued, his expression unchanged for the cameras.
"You came here injured, and now you're barely doing half the choreography."
Jeon J's jaw tightened.
"And you're still distracted."
The music swelled around them.
Kim Joon glanced toward the audience, then back at him.
"Do you have any idea what's happening out there?"
Jeon J gave him no response.
"Every single person has a light stick in one hand and a phone in the other."
Kim Joon smiled as he turned toward the nearest camera.
"If they could, they'd record the entire concert from beginning to end."
He leaned a fraction closer.
"So please, don't give them a moment they'll remember for the wrong reason."
Jeon J finally glanced at him.
Their eyes met for barely a second.
Kim Joon didn't need another word.
Jeon J gave a small nod.
I heard you.
Then he turned back toward the crowd.
The next sequence began.
This time, he kept his eyes on the stage, his movements measured and his expression perfectly controlled.
No more searching the VIP section.
No more looking toward the entrance.
He completed the performance without another visible lapse.
But the question remained.
Why isn't she here?
And no amount of music could make it disappear.
The final note of the first half rang through the stadium.
The audience erupted.
Light sticks rose into the air, screams filled the space, and the members gathered near the front of the stage to wave at the fans before disappearing behind the curtains.
The noise followed them all the way backstage.
Then, as they moved deeper into the corridors, the roar of the stadium became distant.
Staff members rushed past with fresh costumes, towels, water bottles, and equipment. Someone called for a microphone. Another staff member checked the schedule while a stylist hurried toward the dressing rooms with a garment bag.
It was the usual controlled chaos of a concert intermission.
Jeon J walked through it without saying much.
His expression had returned to its usual calm, but his eyes kept moving as though he were searching for something else to occupy his mind.
Then he spotted Jea.
Jea was speaking to a staff member near the corridor.
Jeon J didn't call his name.
He simply lifted his hand and made a small gesture.
Jea noticed.
He excused himself and followed Jeon J away from the main passage, toward a quieter corner where the constant movement of the crew couldn't interrupt their conversation.
"What is it?" Jea asked.
Jeon J didn't answer immediately.
He crouched beside his duffel bag, unzipped the front pocket, and began searching through it.
Jea watched him.
Then his expression changed.
Jeon J pulled out a cigarette.
For a second, Jea simply stared.
He looked at the cigarette.
Then at Jeon J.
Then back at the cigarette, as though there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for its existence.
There wasn't.
"...Jeon J."
Jeon J placed the cigarette between his lips.
Jea's eyes widened.
"Are you serious?"
Jeon J took out a lighter.
The small flame flickered against his face before disappearing.
He inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
A thin trail of smoke drifted into the air.
Jea looked genuinely offended.
"You're smoking?"
Jeon J glanced at him.
"Does it look like I'm eating it?"
"I'm not joking!"
Jea stepped closer and lowered his voice.
"You have the second half of the concert left. You're injured, you've barely been resting properly, and now you're doing this?"
Jeon J took another drag.
Jea shook his head.
"You were trying so hard to quit."
No response.
"Do you remember how difficult it was for you the last time?"
Still nothing.
"If you start again every time something bothers you, how exactly are you supposed to stop?"
Jeon J listened without interrupting.
He didn't argue.
He didn't even look particularly defensive.
He simply stood there, smoking as though Jea were discussing the weather.
Which, somehow, made Jea even more frustrated.
"Are you listening to me?"
Jeon J exhaled and finally turned his head.
"Jea."
"What?"
"The thing I asked you to check."
Jea stared at him.
Jeon J's expression remained unreadable.
"Did you find out?"
For a moment, Jea didn't speak.
Then he let out a long, disbelieving sigh.
"...You're actually going to ignore everything I just said?"
Jeon J's mouth curved faintly.
"You know Teahun?"
Jea narrowed his eyes.
"What about him?"
"He's always saying you'll never leave me alone."
Jeon J took another drag.
"So explain the rest of your lecture to me later."
He flicked a little ash away.
"For now, answer my question."
Jea closed his eyes briefly.
There were days when dealing with Jeon J required the patience of a saint.
Today, apparently, was one of them.
He opened his eyes.
"Fine."
His voice lost its teasing edge.
"She didn't come."
Jeon J's hand paused.
Only for a moment.
Then he lowered the cigarette.
"I know."
His gaze shifted toward the distant corridor.
"She wasn't sitting with Minji and the others."
Jea watched him carefully.
"You noticed that?"
Jeon J looked at him.
"What do you think?"
"Nothing."
Jea lifted both hands slightly.
"I'm just asking."
Jeon J looked away again.
"The concert started at eight."
He spoke quietly, almost to himself.
"So why isn't she here?"
Jea's expression softened a little.
He understood the question.
And, unfortunately, he already knew the answer.
"She started working today."
Jeon J turned back toward him.
"Working? This time?"
"Yes."
Jea paused.
"For the first few days, her shift is from eight at night until three in the morning. Apparently, they're covering someone's position temporarily."
Jeon J said nothing.
"Once they hire a permanent replacement, they'll move her to the daytime shift."
The cigarette burned between Jeon J's fingers.
He looked down at it briefly.
Then back at Jea.
"Where?"
Jea blinked.
"Where what?"
"Where is Miss Problem working?"
Jea froze.
For a fraction of a second, he forgot about the cigarette, the injury, and the fact that Jeon J had just interrupted his attempt to make him quit smoking.
Miss Problem?
The nickname caught him so off guard that a laugh nearly escaped.
He pressed his lips together.
Looked away.
Took a breath.
Don't laugh.
Whatever you do, don't laugh.
Because if he laughed, there was a very real possibility that Jeon J would decide he was the problem.
And Jea had enough problems already.
"Lunelle Harbor," He answered.
Jeon J waited.
Jea added, "It's about half an hour from here."
A brief silence followed.
Then Jeon J nodded.
"Good."
Jea frowned.
"Good... what?"
"Arrange dinner there."
Jea stared at him.
Jeon J continued as though he'd just asked for a glass of water.
"Make the reservation yourself. When the concert ends, we're going there directly."
Jea's mouth fell open.
"Wait. What?"
Jeon J crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe and turned toward the dressing rooms.
"Jeon J!"
He stopped, though he didn't turn around completely.
Jea hurried after him.
"Hold on a second."
Jeon J glanced over his shoulder.
"What now?"
"Did you forget something?"
"No."
"Yes, you did!"
Jea pointed vaguely toward the direction of the stage.
"Yesterday, you were the one who told everyone we'd be going to Minji's place after the concert!"
Jeon J said nothing.
"You remember that, right?"
"Yes."
"Then how are we suddenly having dinner somewhere else?"
Jeon J looked at him for a moment.
Then he replied, with complete calm,
"Just make the reservation."
Jea stared.
"I heard you. That's not the question."
"I'll handle the rest."
And with that, Jeon J turned and continued walking toward the dressing rooms.
Jea remained where he was.
For several seconds, he watched Jeon J's retreating figure.
Then he looked up at the ceiling.
"...What is wrong with him?"
No one answered.
Jea rubbed his forehead.
"He can't tolerate Miss Problem being around..."
He paused.
Then his expression changed.
"And apparently, he can't tolerate her not being around either."
He stood there, processing that thought.
A second passed.
Then another.
Suddenly, his brows drew together.
"Wait."
He looked toward the corridor Jeon J had disappeared down.
"Why am I calling her Miss Problem now?"
He genuinely considered the question.
Then he let out a helpless laugh.
"Unbelievable."
He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.
"Jeon J is seriously going to drive me insane one day."
He began walking back toward the main corridor, still muttering to himself.
"I haven't even gotten married yet."
A pause.
"Actually, I haven't even confessed to the girl I like."
He gave a short, humourless laugh.
"And this man is over here turning one girl into a full-time problem."
He shook his head again.
"Poor Miss Problem. She's completely innocent."
He reached the corner, then stopped.
A thought occurred to him.
"Somehow, he's the one who's turned into the actual problem."
The words had barely left his mouth when Jea fell silent.
He blinked.
Then slowly looked down at the floor.
"...Ah."
A small, unconscious smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
For once, he wasn't laughing at Jeon J.
He was thinking about someone else entirely.
And, judging by that smile, he had just remembered exactly why he hadn't confessed to the girl he liked yet.
He sighed, shook himself out of his thoughts, and continued toward the dressing rooms.
There was a reservation to make.
A concert to finish.
And one very complicated man to deal with.
Poor Miss Problem.
Jea almost laughed again.
She has absolutely no idea what she's gotten herself into.
To be continued...
Regards,
ZK💌