Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jisung’s Tuesday wasn't going very well.

His alarm went off at 6:30 AM, blaring some annoying default ringtone he'd been meaning to change for six months. He slapped at it blindly, knocked it off the nightstand, and listened to it clatter across the floor while still screaming at him.

"Fuck," he mumbled into his pillow.

From the other room, someone—probably Jeongin—banged on the wall. "Turn that shit off!"

Jisung rolled out of bed and ended up in a heap on the floor next to his phone. He silenced it and lay there for a moment.

Eventually, he dragged himself upright and stumbled to the bathroom, only to find the door locked.

"Hyunjin!" he yelled, pounding on it. "I have class in an hour!"

"I'm shaving!"

"Again? What are you even shaving? Your entire body?"

"Maybe!"

Jisung gave up and went back to his room to get dressed. His wardrobe options were limited: five identical t-shirts, three pairs of jeans, and a collection of oversized cardigans that he'd accumulated over the years. He grabbed the least wrinkled shirt and a gray cardigan with a hole in the sleeve.

By the time Hyunjin emerged from the bathroom, Jisung had exactly twelve minutes to get ready and catch his bus. He brushed his teeth in forty-five seconds flat, didn't bother with his hair, and shoved his glasses on his face.

His reflection in the mirror was not encouraging: dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up at weird angles. He looked exactly like what he was—a senior year engineering student running on four hours of sleep.

"You look like shit," Hyunjin observed cheerfully from the doorway.

"Thank you so much. That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"When's the last time you slept a full eight hours?"

Jisung grabbed his backpack, checking to make sure his laptop and notes were inside. "I don't know, 2019?"

"That's concerning."

"That's college."

He rushed to the kitchen, hoping against hope that the leftover ramen he'd saved from last night was still in the fridge. It wasn't.

"Who ate my ramen?" he demanded.

Jeongin appeared, looking guilty. "Um. Define 'ate.'"

"I'm going to kill you."

"In my defense, it was three in the morning, and I was really high."

"You're the worst roommate in the history of roommates."

"You literally never pay rent on time."

"Because I'm broke! You're high and eat my stuff! There's a difference!"

Jisung didn't have time to make breakfast, so he grabbed a protein bar that tasted like cardboard, shoved it in his pocket, and ran for the bus stop.

He made it with thirty seconds to spare.

The bus was crowded with the morning rush—other students, people heading to work, someone's grandmother with approximately forty shopping bags. Jisung squeezed into a spot near the back and pulled out his phone to check his email.

Twelve new messages. Most of them were university spam about campus events he'd never attend. One was from his academic advisor, reminding him (again) that he needed to finalize his thesis topic. Another was from the financial aid office with the subject line "URGENT: Outstanding Balance."

He deleted that one without reading it. If he didn't look at it, it couldn't stress him out. That was definitely how adult responsibilities worked.

The bus lurched forward, and Jisung grabbed a pole to steady himself. He opened his notes app and scrolled through his to-do list:

• Finish thermodynamics problem set (due yesterday, oops)
• Lab meeting at 2 PM
• Work on thesis proposal 😭💔
• Figure out why the capacitor prototype keeps overheating
• Respond to Mom's texts from three days ago
• Sleep (???)

He was so focused on his phone that he almost missed his stop. He had to shove his way through the crowd and jump off just as the doors were closing.

The engineering building was on the far side of campus, naturally, because the universe hated him. 

He speed-walked across the quad, weaving between groups of students who were moving at a leisurely pace because they probably had their lives together and didn't have a 9 AM lecture on quantum mechanics.

He made it to class with two minutes to spare.

The lecture hall was one of those massive, sloped auditoriums that always made Jisung feel like he was in a gladiator arena, fighting his own inability to understand thermodynamics.

Seungmin was already in their usual spot near the back. He had his laptop open and was typing furiously, probably working on a code for his computer science minor.

"You're late," Seungmin said without looking up.

"I'm not late, I'm exactly on time."

"You're two minutes early, which, for you, is basically late."

Jisung dropped into the seat next to him and pulled out his own laptop. "I had a rough morning."

"You have a rough morning every morning."

"Yeah, well, this one was rougher. Jeongin ate my ramen, Hyunjin hogged the bathroom, and I'm pretty sure I saw a rat on the bus."

"Was it a rat or was it a mirror?"

Jisung’s lips formed into a pout. "Fuck you."

Professor Jung walked in, and the class settled into focused silence. Well, focused was a strong word. Most people were on their phones or online shopping. Jisung actually tried to pay attention because—even if he complained a lot—he was genuinely interested in what the teacher was saying.

The problem was that he'd been awake until 2 AM the night before, running simulations on his thesis project, and his brain felt like oatmeal. He took notes anyway, his handwriting getting progressively sloppier as the lecture went on. He had a system: write everything down first, decipher it later, cry about it eventually.

Around the forty-minute mark, he heard someone behind him whisper, "Did you hear about the budget cuts?"

His pen stopped moving.

"What budget cuts?" someone else whispered back.

"I don't know, I just heard some grad students talking about it. Something about the renewable energy department."

Jisung's stomach did a weird flip. He turned slightly, trying to hear more.

"That's bullshit, they can't cut our department-"

"They can do whatever they want, it's not like we have any say…"

"Shh, Jung's looking."

Professor Jung was indeed looking in their direction with a stern expression. The whispering stopped.

Jisung tried to focus back on the lecture, but his mind was spinning. Budget cuts? That didn't make sense. His department had active research grants, industry partnerships, federal funding. They were one of the more successful programs in the engineering school.

Probably just a rumor. Universities were always full of rumors.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. He copied down equations without really processing them, his thoughts stuck on what he'd overheard. 

When class ended, he packed up his stuff slowly, trying to catch any more gossip. 

Seungmin noticed.

"You okay? You've got your worried face on."

"Yeah, but—um, I heard someone talking about budget cuts."

"Budget cuts happen every semester. It's like, university tradition."

"But they said something about the renewable energy department specifically."

Seungmin shrugged. "Probably nothing. You know how people are, they love drama."

"Yeah. Probably."

Jisung had a two-hour gap before his next class, so he headed to the library to work on his thesis proposal. 

The library was his favorite spot on campus; it was quiet, temperature-controlled, and full of other students who actually cared about school and wouldn't judge him for spending six hours straight reading about battery storage systems.

He claimed his usual desk in the corner, pulled out his laptop, and opened the document labeled "Thesis Proposal - Draft 49."

Forty-nine drafts and he still wasn't happy with it.

His research focused on developing a battery system that could store renewable energy more efficiently than current technology. It was ambitious, probably too ambitious for a senior thesis, but Jisung had never been good at doing things halfway.

He stared at the screen, reading the same paragraph for the fifth time without absorbing any of it. His mind kept wandering back to the rumor. Finally, he gave up on being productive and opened the university forum instead.

The forum was basically a digital cesspool where students complained about parking, argued about dining hall food, and occasionally shared useful information. Jisung scrolled through the recent posts: someone selling a textbook, someone looking for a roommate, someone ranting about a professor who didn't believe in curved grades.

And then he saw it.

MANDATORY DEPARTMENT MEETING - ALL STUDENTS AND FACULTY

Wednesday, 3 PM, Main Auditorium

Attendance Required

Posted by the Dean's office, forty-five minutes ago.

The subject line made his blood run cold.

Important Announcement Regarding the Future of Renewable Energy Research Program.

"No," Jisung said out loud. A few people looked at him. He didn't care.

He clicked on the post, but there were no additional details. Just the meeting time and location, and that ominous subject line.

His phone buzzed. 

mongmongie 

okay maybe not nothing

Jisung felt sick. He closed his laptop and put his head down on the desk.

He spent the rest of the day in a fog of anxiety. His afternoon seminar on sustainable architecture passed without him retaining a single word. He ate a sad sandwich from the campus convenience store without tasting it, and went to the lab and stared at his prototype without seeing it.

"You're being weird," Felix observed. He was perched on a stool, supposedly helping Jisung troubleshoot the thermal regulation system but mostly just eating gummy bears. His department was on the other side of campus, but Jisung had stopped questioning his presence a while ago. 

"I'm not being weird."

"You've been staring at that capacitor for like twenty minutes without moving. That's weird."

"I'm thinking."

"About the meeting tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

Felix popped another gummy bear in his mouth. "It's probably fine."

"It's definitely not fine. When has a mandatory meeting with 'Important Announcement' in the title ever been fine?"

"Mmm… yeah. Probably not fine."

Jisung picked up a screwdriver and pretended to adjust something, but his hands were shaking slightly. "What if they cancel all the research projects? What if we lose our lab access?"

"Then you'll figure something out."

"I can't figure this out, Felix. This is my thesis. This is my entire future. I've been working on this for two years." His voice was getting higher. "I have student loans. I have like, eighty-three dollars in my bank account. I can't afford to start over-"

"Hey." Felix hopped off his stool and grabbed Jisung's shoulders. "Breathe. You're spiraling."

"I'm not spiraling, I'm being realistic."

"You're catastrophizing."

Jisung took a shaky breath. "What if I'm right, though?"

"We can deal with it tomorrow. After the meeting. Right now, you need to go home and sleep."

"I have to finish the voltage calculations."

"The voltage calculations will still be here tomorrow. You look like you're about to pass out."

Jisung wanted to argue, but Felix was right. He was exhausted, stressed, and operating on negative hours of sleep. Not exactly peak productivity conditions.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if the lab gets shut down before I finish this project, I'm blaming you."

"That's fair."

Jisung packed up his stuff and headed home. The apartment was empty when he got there—Jeongin was at class, and Hyunjin was probably at the gym, looking at himself in the mirrors—which was a relief. He didn't have the energy for roommate small talk.

He made instant ramen (a new package, since Jeongin had eaten his last one), ate it while watching a documentary about whales, and tried not to think about the meeting.

By the time he went to bed, he'd mentally catastrophized through at least fifteen different worst-case scenarios. His research cancelled, his thesis destroyed, his degree worthless, his future evaporating like water on hot pavement...

Let’s just say, he didn't sleep very well.

⟢

Jisung spent the following morning in classes where he couldn't focus, taking notes that he knew he'd never look at again. At lunch, he met up with Seungmin and Felix at their usual spot—a picnic table outside the engineering building.

"How are we feeling about this meeting?" Felix asked, stealing one of Seungmin's fries.

"On a scale of 'mild concern' to 'existential dread,' I'm at about 'preparing for suicide,'" Jisung said.

"That's higher than yesterday."

"Yesterday I had hope. Today I have anxiety."

Seungmin was scrolling through his phone. "The forum is going insane. Someone started a thread called 'RIP Renewable Energy Department,' and it has like two hundred comments."

"That's not helping," Jisung said.

"I'm just saying, we're not the only ones freaking out."

At 2:45, they headed to the main auditorium. It was in the oldest building on campus, all Gothic architecture and dramatic ceilings. Normally, Jisung thought it was pretty. Today, he didn't even want to go near it.

The auditorium was already packed. Students filled the seats in clusters, talking in low, nervous voices. Faculty members lined the front rows, their expressions ranging from resigned to furious. 

Jisung found a seat in the middle section—not so close that he'd be noticed, but not so far back that he couldn't hear. Seungmin sat next to him, still scrolling through his phone. Felix was on his other side, bouncing his leg nervously.

Felix studied art history. Jisung had no idea what he was even doing here.

"This is fine," Felix muttered. "Everything is fine."

"You're a terrible liar," Jisung said.

At exactly 3 PM, the Dean walked onto the stage.

"Thank you all for coming," he said into the microphone. His voice echoed through the suddenly too-quiet space. "I know this was short notice, and I appreciate your flexibility."

"Get to the point," someone muttered behind Jisung.

The Dean cleared his throat. "I'll be direct. As many of you know, the university has been facing significant financial challenges over the past year."

Jisung bit his tongue.

"We've had to make some very difficult decisions about resource allocation and department funding." It was obvious the Dean was talking around the actual point, using corporate language to soften the blow. Jisung almost rolled his eyes. "After extensive discussions with the board and careful analysis of our programs-"

"Oh my god, just say it," Jisung whispered.

"-the renewable energy research division will be discontinued as a standalone department, effective at the end of this semester."

Students were on their feet, shouting questions. Faculty members were arguing with each other. Someone a few rows back started crying. The noise level went from library quiet to rock concert in about three seconds.

Jisung felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He couldn't breathe. His vision was going fuzzy at the edges.

"No," he said, but his voice was lost in the noise.

The Dean was holding up his hands, trying to restore order. "Please, everyone, let me finish-"

"This is bullshit!" someone yelled.

"What about our research?"

"What about our degrees?"

"PLEASE," the Dean said, his voice amplified to an almost painful volume. "Let me finish. This is not as bad as it sounds."

"Sounds pretty fucking bad," Seungmin muttered.

"We've reached an agreement with a private sector partner," the Dean continued, and Jisung's stomach dropped even further. "A company that has generously agreed to acquire the department's patents, research data, and facilities."

Oh, it was so much worse than he'd thought.

"This partnership will allow current research to continue under a corporate umbrella, with resources and funding that frankly exceed what we could provide in an academic setting-"

"You sold us," Jisung said, louder this time. A few people nearby turned to look at him. "You fucking sold us."

Seungmin put a hand on his arm. "Dude, maybe don't…"

"-LeeTech Industries has graciously offered to continue funding select research projects," the Dean was saying. "They've also extended employment opportunities to qualifying students and faculty members-"

"Graciously," Jisung repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

More people were looking at him now.

"I'd like to invite CEO Lee Minho to explain the transition process and opportunities available."

The lights dimmed slightly as someone walked onto the stage, and Jisung's attention snapped into focus.

The first thing Jisung noticed was that the man was wearing a suit that probably cost more than Jisung's entire year of tuition.

It was perfectly tailored—charcoal gray, fitted in a way that suggested it had been made specifically for him. The kind of suit that businessmen wore in movies, the ones who fired people before lunch and made billion-dollar deals before dinner. It hugged his frame in a way that was almost obscene, highlighting broad shoulders and thick thighs.

The second thing he noticed was the way the man moved. Confident. Controlled. Like he owned every room he walked into.

Because he probably did.

Lee Minho looked exactly like what Jisung had imagined a CEO would look like, and that made him instantly furious.

The man was older—late thirties, maybe pushing forty—with sharp, angular features and dark hair styled in that effortlessly perfect way that definitely wasn't effortless. His face had the kind of bone structure that belonged on magazine covers, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose.

If this were any other situation, if this weren't the man who was actively destroying Jisung's life, he might have admitted that Lee Minho was objectively, unfairly, illegally hot.

Actually, scratch that. Even knowing this was the corporate villain of the hour, Jisung's traitorous brain was definitely noticing. The way the suit jacket pulled across his shoulders, the way his hands looked holding the microphone, thick fingers and-

Jisung bit the inside of his cheek hard. 

Not the time.

"Good afternoon," Minho said into the microphone. His voice was smooth, not particularly deep, but with this quality to it that demanded attention. "Thank you, Dean Park, for the introduction and for facilitating this partnership."

Partnership. Sure. That's what they were calling theft now.

Jisung slouched lower in his seat, arms crossed, glaring at the stage.

"I understand this transition may seem sudden," Minho continued, his expression professionally neutral, "but I want to assure you that LeeTech's investment in your research represents a significant opportunity."

Jisung made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

"Through this partnership, we'll be able to provide resources that simply aren't available in traditional academic settings. State-of-the-art laboratories, industry connections, pathways to real-world implementation of your groundbreaking work-"

Corporate buzzword bingo. Jisung wanted to scream.

"-select students will be offered positions within LeeTech's research and development division, allowing you to continue your studies while gaining valuable industry experience and competitive compensation-"

"Compensation for stolen research," Jisung muttered. Seungmin elbowed him.

On stage, Minho was clicking through a presentation. Charts and graphs appeared on the screen behind him—lots of upward arrows and impressive-looking numbers that probably meant nothing.

"Our goal is to accelerate the development of renewable energy solutions that can make a tangible difference in combating climate change and creating sustainable infrastructure for future generations-"

He sounded so sincere. Like he actually believed the corporate propaganda he was spouting.

"LeeTech has a strong track record of innovation in the tech sector, and we see renewable energy as a natural extension of our mission to create a more sustainable future…"

Jisung was getting progressively more agitated. His leg was bouncing, his hands were clenched into fists, and he could feel his face getting hot.

Seungmin leaned over. "You okay?"

"No."

"You look like you're about to murder him."

"I'm considering it."

On stage, Minho's eyes swept across the auditorium as he spoke—a practiced gesture of engagement. His gaze moved across the rows of students, making eye contact here and there, the kind of thing they probably taught in CEO school or whatever.

And then, for just a moment, his eyes landed on Jisung.

Minho stopped talking mid-sentence. Just for a second, barely noticeable, but Jisung noticed. Then Minho smoothly continued, "-make a real difference in how we approach energy storage and distribution."

But his eyes kept drifting back to where Jisung was sitting. Like he couldn't help himself.

Jisung glared harder, as if the force of his hatred could somehow laser-beam through the distance between them and make this man understand exactly how much damage he was doing.

"The transition will begin immediately," Minho said, and Jisung noticed that his attention kept tracking back to their section of the auditorium. "Research projects will be evaluated individually. We'll be reaching out to principal investigators to discuss continuation options and potential employment offers."

Translation: they'd pick and choose what they wanted and throw out the rest. 

"We believe this partnership represents a win-win situation-" Minho paused, and his eyes found Jisung again, held for a moment longer than was probably professional, "-and we're committed to maintaining the integrity of the research while expanding its potential impact."

The integrity of the research. Jisung almost laughed.

"I'll now open the floor for questions."

Silence. Heavy, awkward silence.

Nobody wanted to be the first to speak. Nobody wanted to be the target of whatever corporate PR response was coming.

Jisung's hand twitched toward raising itself. His heart was pounding. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say. But there were three hundred people here. And he hated public speaking. His voice always got high and whiny when he was nervous. His hands would shake, and he'd probably cry, which would be humiliating.

So he stayed quiet, slouched in his seat, vibrating with rage.

A few faculty members asked softball questions—logistics about timeline, details about the evaluation process. Minho answered them smoothly, professionally, his responses polished and empty.

"If there are no further questions-" the Dean started.

"Wait," someone called out. "What happens to research that doesn't get selected for continuation?"

Minho's expression didn't change. "Projects that don't align with LeeTech's current strategic focus will be concluded in an orderly fashion. We'll work with researchers to ensure proper documentation and data archiving."

Concluded. What a nice word for destroyed.

"Any other questions?" the Dean asked, clearly eager to end this.

Silence.

"Very well. Thank you all for…"

Minho was gathering his papers, preparing to leave. The Dean was already turning away from the podium. Faculty members were starting to stand.

It was ending. The meeting was ending, and nothing had been said. 

Jisung watched Minho step away from the microphone, watched him exchange some quiet words with the Dean, watched him start walking toward the side exit.

He was on his feet before his brain could catch up with his body.

"Wait," he heard himself say, but his voice was too quiet, swallowed by the shuffling and murmuring of three hundred people starting to leave.

Minho was almost to the exit. The Dean was shaking his hand. It was over.

"Wait!" Jisung said, louder this time.

A few people nearby turned to look at him. Seungmin grabbed his arm. "Dude, what are you-"

Jisung shook him off and pushed past the people in his row, muttering apologies as he squeezed toward the aisle. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat.

"Excuse me," he said, louder, his voice cracking slightly. "Excuse me!"

More people were turning now. The noise level was dropping.

Minho had reached the exit, his hand on the door.

"You can't just leave!" Jisung shouted, his voice coming out higher and whinier than he'd intended.

The auditorium went quiet.

Minho turned around slowly. His eyes found Jisung, who was standing in the aisle halfway down, looking like a mess—cardigan wrinkled, hair sticking up, glasses slightly crooked.

"Yes?" Minho asked.

Jisung's mouth was dry. His hands were shaking. Every instinct was screaming at him to sit down, shut up, stop making a scene.

But he couldn't.

"You can't-" His voice cracked again. He swallowed hard. "You can't just say all of that and leave."

The Dean stepped forward quickly. "Mr. Han, that's quite enough-"

"No, it's not enough!" Jisung was moving forward now, walking down the aisle toward the stage. People were staring. He didn't care. "You're acting like this is some generous opportunity, but you're just stealing research that doesn't belong to you."

Minho's expression was unreadable. He didn't look angry, just... interested. Focused entirely on Jisung in a way that made his skin prickle. Like a lion watching a mouse squirm.

"This research was funded by public grants," Jisung continued, his words tumbling out faster now. "It was supposed to be for environmental benefit, for—for solving actual problems, not so some tech company can make money off patents."

"Mr. Han-" the Dean tried again.

"You said 'win-win situation,' but how is it winning when you're taking our work and locking it behind corporate NDAs?" Jisung was at the front of the auditorium now, staring up at Minho on the stage. "You're going to take everything we've developed and turn it into profit margins. You're going to make it too expensive for the communities that actually need it."

Minho didn’t say anything; he just stared.

"This isn't about innovation," Jisung said, and god, he could feel his eyes starting to burn with tears, which was humiliating, but he was too frustrated to stop. "This isn't about solving problems. This is about money. You're just-"

"What's your name?" Minho asked quietly.

The question threw Jisung off. "What?"

"Your name," Minho repeated. He'd moved closer to the edge of the stage, looking down at Jisung with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "I'd like to know it."

They were staring at each other across the space between the aisle and the stage. Jisung became suddenly, painfully aware of how he must look—flushed, messy hair, glasses crooked on his face.

"Han Jisung," he said, lifting his chin despite feeling like his entire body was shaking. "Not that it matters."

"It matters," Minho said, and the certainty in his voice sent a shiver down Jisung's spine.

"Why? You’re gonna sue me for defamation?"

Amusement flickered across Minho's face. "I'm not going to sue you, Han Jisung."

Jisung swallowed.

"You're clearly very passionate about your work," Minho continued, taking another step closer. "I'd like to hear more about your concerns. Privately."

"I have nothing to say to you," Jisung said, but his voice came out weaker than he intended.

"I think you have quite a lot to say, actually." Minho's lips curved into the barest suggestion of a smile. "And I'd very much like to listen."

The way he said 'listen' shouldn't have sounded like that. It shouldn't have made heat crawl up Jisung's neck.

"My office," Minho said. "One hour."

"I'm not-"

"That wasn't a request, Jisung."

And there it was again. His name in that voice, combined with the unmistakable tone of command. Like Minho was used to being obeyed, like he expected Jisung to do exactly what he was told.

"I have class," Jisung managed.

"I'm sure your professors will understand." Minho glanced at Dr. Kim, who was standing nearby, looking like he was having a heart attack. "Won't they, Dr. Kim?"

"Y—yes, of course," Dr. Kim stammered.

Minho's attention returned to Jisung, and the weight of that stare made goosebumps spread on his skin. "One hour. Don't make me wait."

Before Jisung could respond, Minho turned and walked out, leaving Jisung standing in the aisle with three hundred people staring at him and his heart hammering against his ribs.

"What the fuck," Seungmin whispered, appearing at his elbow. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I don't know," Jisung said faintly. His legs felt shaky. "I think I just yelled at a billionaire."

"In front of everyone."

"I KNOW."

"And he wants to meet with you."

Jisung turned to look at Seungmin, his eyes wide. "What do I do?"

"I mean, you have to go, right? He basically commanded you to."

"That's not—he can't just command me-"

But even as Jisung said it, he could still feel the echo of that voice. 'Don't make me wait.'

His face burned hotter.

"Are you okay?" Felix asked, joining them. "You look really red."

"I'm fine. I—I don't know." Jisung pressed his hands to his cheeks, which were definitely too warm. "I need to go. I need to leave. I need to-"

"You need to calm down," Seungmin said. "Breathe."

Jisung tried to breathe. It didn't really work.

People were still staring at him, whispering. Someone was definitely filming. This was going to be all over the university forum within the hour.

"I'm going to the lab," Jisung announced. "I'm going to go to the lab and pretend this didn't happen."

"You have to meet with him," Felix pointed out.

"No, I don't. He's not my boss."

"He kind of is, though? He literally just acquired your entire department."

Jisung made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I'm so fucked."

"Yeah," Seungmin agreed. "But like, maybe in a good way?"

"There is no good way to be fucked by a corporate CEO!"

Both his friends gave him a look.

"That came out wrong," Jisung muttered.

"Did it though?" Felix asked.

"Shut up. Both of you. I'm leaving."

He fled the auditorium, ignoring Dr. Kim trying to flag him down, ignoring the whispers following him, ignoring everything except the overwhelming need to be literally anywhere else.

He made it to the engineering building and practically ran up the three flights of stairs to the lab. It was empty—everyone was probably still at the meeting or dealing with the aftermath.

He slumped into his desk chair and immediately pulled out his emergency bag of chips. He stuffed a handful in his mouth, his cheeks bulging, and tried to process what had just happened.

He'd yelled at Lee Minho. In public. And then Minho had looked at him like…

Like…

Jisung shoved more chips in his mouth to stop that thought from completing itself.

The door burst open ten minutes later. Seungmin and Felix tumbled in, both talking at once.

"Bro, it’s literally insane."

"Everyone is talking about it."

"The video has one thousand views already-"

"Guys," Jisung said weakly, his mouth full of chips.

They stopped and stared at him.

"That was really stupid," Seungmin said finally.

"I know."

"Like, really, really stupid."

"I KNOW."

Felix was scrolling through his phone. "Okay, but like, you looked kind of badass? Someone made a gif of you, and it's actually pretty great."

"I'm going to die," Jisung moaned. "I'm going to get expelled and blacklisted, and I'll have to drop out-"

"You're not going to get expelled," Seungmin said, perching on the edge of the desk. "If anything, people think you're a hero."

"I don't want to be a hero, I want to finish my degree and not get sued!"

"I don't think he's going to sue you," Felix said. "He looked kind of... into it?"

Jisung choked on his chip. "What?"

"I'm just saying, the way he was looking at you-"

"No. We're not discussing that."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a CEO who just destroyed my department. There's no 'looking' happening. He probably thinks I'm an annoying brat who needs to be put in my place."

The moment the words left his mouth, Jisung realized his mistake.

"Put in your place?" Seungmin repeated slowly.

"I didn't—that's not what I meant-"

"Didn’t know you were into that," Felix said, grinning.

"Shut up!" Jisung's face was burning. "I just meant—professionally! Like, he probably wants to lecture me about respecting authority or whatever corporate bullshit-"

"You want him to punish you? Bend you over his desk and spank you?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Didn’t know you were a freak like that,"

"Stop! I’m not! You know I’m not."

"Uh huh," Seungmin said, clearly not buying it. "So why are your ears red?"

"They're not!"

"They absolutely are."

Jisung pressed his hands to his ears, which were indeed warm. "You guys are the worst. I'm having a crisis, and you're—you're making it weird!"

"You made it weird," Felix pointed out. "We're just observing."

His phone buzzed. An email notification popped up.

From: [email protected] 

Subject: Follow-up

Jisung stared at the notification, his heart beating in his chest.

"What?" Seungmin leaned over to look. "Oh my, he emailed you already?"

"Don't read my emails!"

"Too late. Open it."

Jisung took a shaky breath and opened the email.

Mr. Han,

Thank you for the spirited discussion this afternoon. I appreciate your candor.

I'm still expecting you in one hour. My office is on the 15th floor of the LeeTech building downtown. Security will have your name.

Don't be late.

LM

"'Don't be late,'" Felix read over his shoulder. "Wow, he's bossy."

“What did you expect? He’s a CEO, he’s probably never had anyone say no to him.”

"Are you going?" Seungmin asked.

"I don't know. Maybe? I don't want to, but-"

"But?"

"But I kind of have to, right? He acquired the lab. Plus, I can’t risk making him angrier. I don’t want to get blacklisted from every single job in the world." Jisung slumped forward, putting his head on the desk. "This is a nightmare."

"Or," Felix said carefully, "it could be an opportunity?"

Jisung lifted his head just enough to glare at him. "Don't you start with the 'opportunity' speech."

"I'm just saying, he clearly wants to talk to you specifically. About your research. That could be good."

"Or he wants to tell me to shut up and stop making trouble before he gets someone to kill me and dump my body in a river."

"Only one way to find out," Seungmin shrugged.

Jisung checked the time on his phone. Forty-five minutes until he was supposed to be at Minho's office.

"I look like garbage," he said, gesturing at himself. "I can't meet with a CEO looking like this."

"You look fine," Felix lied.

"I have chip crumbs in my hair, and my cardigan has a hole in it."

"Okay, you look a mess," Seungmin corrected. "But like, it’s not that bad. Very on-brand for you."

"That's not comforting."

"Do you have time to go home and change?"

Jisung did the mental math. His apartment was a thirty-minute bus ride, and the LeeTech building was downtown, which was another twenty minutes in the opposite direction. "No. Definitely not."

"Then you're going like that."

"I hate everything."

"Come on," Felix said, grabbing Jisung's arm and hauling him out of his chair. "We'll walk you to the bus stop. Moral support and all that."

"I don't need moral support, I need a new life."

But he let them drag him out of the lab anyway.

⟢

The bus ride downtown felt like the longest thirty minutes of Jisung's life.

He spent the entire time spiraling, his thoughts racing in increasingly anxious circles. What was Minho going to say? Was he in trouble? Was he about to get blacklisted from the entire tech industry? 

And why did the memory of Minho saying his name keep replaying in his head?

The LeeTech building was in the business district, all glass and steel and modern architecture. Jisung felt incredibly out of place the moment he stepped into the lobby, with its marble floors and designer furniture, and people in expensive suits.

He approached the security desk, very aware of his wrinkled cardigan and the fact that he probably had dark circles under his eyes.

"Hi, um, I have a—I'm supposed to meet with-"

"Name?" the security guard asked.

"Han Jisung?"

The guard checked his computer, then nodded. "Yes, Mr. Lee is expecting you. Fifteenth floor. Elevators are to your right."

Jisung made his way to the elevators, his heart pounding harder with each step. The elevator was empty, thank god, because he caught his reflection in the mirrored walls and nearly died on the spot.

His hair was messy. His glasses were smudged. He had crumbs on his cardigan.

"Okay," he told his reflection. "Everything is fine."

His reflection looked unconvinced.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto the fifteenth floor.

It was exactly as intimidating as he'd expected. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, minimalist décor that probably cost more than his student loans, everything clean and modern, and expensive.

A woman sat at a reception desk, perfectly put together in a way that made Jisung want to sink into the floor.

"Han Jisung?" she asked with a professional smile.

"That's me."

She stood. "Right this way. Mr. Lee is finishing up a call, but he'll be with you shortly."

Jisung followed her down a hallway, past other offices with closed doors and frosted glass. She stopped in front of a door at the end—corner office, naturally—and knocked once before opening it.

"Mr. Han is here," she announced, then gestured for Jisung to enter.

He stepped inside, and the door closed behind him with a soft click.

The office was massive. Windows on two walls, showing the city sprawled out below, a large desk made of dark wood, shelves lined with books, and what looked like prototypes or models of various tech. Everything perfectly organized.

And standing at the window with his back to the door, phone pressed to his ear, was Lee Minho.

He'd taken off his suit jacket. His white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, showing forearms that Jisung had to look away from before he regretted what staring for too long could cause in his pants. But the shirt fit perfectly across his shoulders and his back, and Jisung could only bite his lip and hope his dick stayed as it was.

He stood awkwardly by the door, not sure if he should sit or stand or just... exist.

Minho was speaking in what sounded like Japanese, his tone professional. After a moment, he ended the call and turned around.

Their eyes met.

"Jisung," Minho said, satisfaction clear in his voice. "You came."

"You said not to be late," Jisung replied. 

"I did." Minho's lips curved into that small smile. "I'm glad you listen well."

The comment most definitely shouldn't have made something twitch in Jisung’s pants.

"I'm only here because you basically ordered me to come," Jisung said, trying to regain some ground. "And because my advisor said I'd be an idiot not to."

"Mm." Minho moved toward his desk, perching on the edge of it. The casual posture somehow made him look more intimidating, not less. "Sit."

It was absolutely a command. No 'please,' no question mark. Just an expectation that Jisung would obey. And the worst part? Jisung found himself moving toward one of the chairs before his brain caught up.

He sat, then immediately felt at a disadvantage. Minho was above him, looking down, staring directly at him.

"So," Minho said. "Continue."

The order threw him off. "What?"

"Do you actually think what you said, or were you just angry?"

Why did he keep asking questions like that? Direct, unflinching, like he actually wanted real answers instead of pleasantries.

"I think," Jisung said carefully, "that what you're doing is wrong. The system is exploitative. Maybe you're not personally evil, but the outcome is the same."

Minho tilted his head, studying Jisung like he was a particularly interesting equation to solve. "Keep going."

"Keep going?"

"You had more to say. In the auditorium, before you ran out of steam. Tell me the rest."

This was so weird. This entire situation was so far outside anything Jisung had experience with.

"You want me to keep criticizing you?" Jisung asked.

"I want to hear what you actually think. Without an audience."

Jisung swallowed hard. "Okay. Fine. You're taking research that was developed with public funding and privatizing it. You're going to patent technologies that could help solve the climate crisis and then price them out of reach for the people who need them most. You're dismantling an academic program that was actually trying to do good in the world, and you're replacing it with... what, corporate R&D that only cares about profit margins?"

He kept going, his voice getting higher the more frustrated he grew. Minho just listened, his expression neutral, occasionally nodding.

When Jisung finally ran out of steam, there was a moment of silence.

"You're very passionate," Minho observed.

"I care about my work."

"I can see that." Minho stood, moving around the desk. He was closer now, just a few feet away. "Tell me about your research. Specifically."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know what you're working on. What's got you so fired up that you'd publicly call me out."

Jisung bit his lip, considering. This felt like a trap somehow, but he also couldn't resist talking about his research. It was his weakness.

"Thermal battery systems," he said. "Novel approaches to energy storage using phase-change materials. If we can solve the efficiency problem, it could make renewable energy viable at scale."

"How far are you from a working prototype?"

The question was casual, but something in Minho's tone made Jisung's skin prickle.

"I don't know. A few months, maybe? Depends on funding and lab access, which-" He gestured vaguely. "-you just eliminated."

"Not eliminated," Minho corrected. He moved closer until he was leaning against the desk right next to where Jisung sat. Too close. "Acquired."

"That's not better."

"Isn't it?" Minho's voice was quiet now. "I acquired this lab. Which means I acquired your research. Which makes it mine."

The phrasing made Jisung bite his tongue. Something weird happened in his stomach—a twist of heat that he absolutely shouldn’t think about.  He pressed his thighs together, crossing his legs, biting his tongue harder before something embarrassing like a whimper could escape.

"It's not yours," Jisung said, and his voice came out higher, whinier than he intended. "I've been working on this for two years. You can't just—you can't just take it because you bought the building." His lips formed into a pout without his permission.

Minho was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"You're very young, aren't you?" Minho said softly.

"I'm twenty-four."

"Very young," Minho repeated. "How long until you graduate?"

"Three months." If he could finish his thesis. If his research didn't get destroyed. 

"And after that?"

Jisung looked away. "I don't know. I was supposed to continue research, but obviously that's not happening now."

"What if it could?"

"What?"

"What if you could continue your research? With proper funding and proper equipment."

Jisung's eyes snapped back to Minho's face. "Are you offering me a job?"

"I'm offering you an opportunity."

"That's the same thing."

"Is it?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions!"

Minho's smile widened slightly. "You're cute when you're frustrated."

Jisung's breath stuttered. "I—what—that's-"

"Work for me," Minho said, his voice dropping lower. "Continue your research under LeeTech. Full funding. Your own lab. Everything you need."

"Why?" Jisung demanded, his heart racing. "Why me? There are better researchers, more experienced people-"

"Are there?" Minho leaned forward slightly. They were very close now. Close enough that Jisung could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, could smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine and made Jisung's head spin. "You challenged me in front of three hundred people. You understand what you’re talking about and you're not afraid to speak your mind."

He paused, his eyes locked on Jisung's.

"And you're brilliant," Minho added quietly. "Don't think I haven't noticed."

Jisung couldn't breathe. The office felt too warm, too small. Minho was too close and smelled too good and was looking at him so intensely, Jisung felt like he might burn.

"I can't work for you," Jisung said, but his voice was weak. "I have principles."

"Principles don't pay rent, Jisung."

"How-"

"I'm thorough," Minho said. "I know you're on a scholarship. I know you work two part-time jobs. I know you're behind on your student loans."

"That's—how did you—that's private information!"

"I'm thorough in my acquisitions." Minho's eyes held his. "And you, Han Jisung, are exactly what I'm looking for."

He said it like Jisung was something to be bought, possessed, owned. 

It should have been offensive. 

It should have made him angry.

Instead, it made heat crawl up his spine.

"Stop calling it that," Jisung said weakly. "I'm not something you're acquiring."

"Aren't you?"

Minho was still too close, still looking at him with that intensity that made it hard to think.

"I need to think about it," Jisung said finally.

"Of course." Minho reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. Thick, expensive cardstock. He held it out. "My personal number. Call me when you decide."

Jisung took the card with shaking fingers. Their hands brushed, and he jerked back like he'd been burned.

"You have until Monday," Minho said. "After that, the offer expires."

"That's only five days!"

"Then I suggest you think quickly."

Jisung stood up, clutching the business card. "This is insane. You're insane."

"Perhaps," Minho agreed. "But I get what I want, Jisung. And I want you."

Jisung's face went red.

"For the research," Minho added.

"I'm leaving," Jisung announced, backing toward the door. "I'm leaving right now."

"I'll see you Monday," Minho said, like it was a foregone conclusion.

"Maybe! You'll maybe see me Monday! If I decide to sell my soul to the devil!"

"I look forward to it."

Jisung fled.

He practically ran to the elevator, his heart pounding, his face burning, the business card clutched in his hand like it might explode.

The elevator doors closed, and he finally let himself breathe.

"What the fuck," he said to his reflection. "What the actual fuck."

His reflection looked just as confused as he felt.

And maybe—just maybe—a little bit flustered in a way that had nothing to do with anger.

⟢

A few hours later, Jisung was back in the lab, stress-eating his way through his second bag of chips.

His cheeks were puffed out like a squirrel's as he glared at his computer screen, which was open to a dozen tabs of job listings that all required "3-5 years of experience" for entry-level positions.

"This is bullshit," he muttered around his mouthful of chips. "How am I supposed to get experience if every job requires experience?"

The door opened, and Seungmin walked in, took one look at him, and said, "Oh, good, you survived."

"Barely."

"How'd it go?"

Jisung shoved more chips in his mouth instead of answering.

"That bad, huh?"

"He offered me a job."

Seungmin's eyes widened. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously." Jisung pulled out the business card and threw it dramatically onto the desk. "Full funding, my own lab, everything I need to continue my research."

"That's... that's freaking amazing! Why aren’t you hopping from joy?"

"It's a trap."

"How is that a trap?"

"Because he's—he's-" Jisung gestured wildly, sending chip crumbs flying. "He's intimidating and bossy and he keeps saying weird things."

"Weird things like what?"

"Just weird stuff." Jisung tried not to think about Minho’s words. "And he knew all these things about me, like how much debt I have and where I live, which is creepy, right? That's creepy!"

"Kinda, yeah."

Jisung groaned and put his head down on the desk. "I don't know what to do, Seungmin. I need the job. I need the funding. But working for him feels like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Ugh! I don’t know!" Jisung grabbed another handful of chips. 

Felix burst through the door. "Oh, thank god you're alive! I've been texting you for an hour!"

"My phone died."

"What happened? Did he yell at you? Did he threaten to sue? Did he-" Felix stopped, noticing the business card on the desk. He picked it up. "...Is this his personal number?"

"He offered me a job," Jisung said miserably.

"WHAT? That's incredible!"

"That's what I said," Seungmin added.

"It's not incredible, it's complicated!"

"How is getting your dream job complicated?"

"Well, for one, because my boss would be a stupidly hot CEO who says questionable things."

His friends just stared at him.

"You think he's hot," Felix said.

"That's literally not the point."

"That is the point," Seungmin said. "You want him so bad."

"I don’t—he literally just destroyed my department. That'd be like, Stockholm syndrome or something."

"I don't think that's how Stockholm syndrome works."

"I don't care!" Jisung groaned. "He's too old for me anyway. He's like forty."

"He's thirty-eight," Felix said, checking his phone. "I googled him. Also, he has a PhD from MIT and he's been on Forbes' 30 Under 30 and 40 Under 40 lists. Also! also, have you seen these pictures of him? Because oh my freaking god, wow."

"Stop helping!"

"I'm just saying, worse people to be attracted to."

"I'm not attracted to him!" But even as Jisung said it, he could feel his face burning. 

His phone—which apparently wasn't dead—buzzed on the desk.

An email notification.

From [email protected].

"Oh god," Jisung said.

"Open it," both his friends demanded in unison.

With shaking hands, Jisung opened the email.

Jisung,

I've attached some information about the position and benefits package. Review it before you make your decision.

Also attached: research papers I think you'd find interesting, given your work on thermal systems. The third one has an approach to phase-change efficiency that might solve your convection problem.

Don't overthink this.

LM

There were three attachments. Two were PDFs of research papers. The third was labeled "Employment Offer - H. Jisung.pdf"

"He sent me research papers," Jisung said faintly.

"That's...kind of thoughtful?" Seungmin offered.

Jisung opened one of the papers. It was from a top-tier journal, research on exactly the problem he'd been struggling with for months.

"He read my research," Jisung realized. "He actually read it and understood it enough to know what papers would be relevant."

"So he's smart and hot," Felix said. "Still not seeing the problem."

Jisung sighed and grabbed more chips. "What if I can't handle it? What if he's just playing with me and I'm too stupid to see it?"

"Or," Felix said, "what if this is your chance to actually finish your research?"

"And maybe get fucked by your hot CEO boss," Seungmin added.

"Can you stop? Like, actually. That is never ever going to happen."

"I'm just saying, it's an option."

Jisung buried his face in his hands. "I hate both of you so much."

"You love us," Felix said, ruffling Jisung's hair. "And we love you. Which is why we're telling you that you should seriously consider this offer. Read through everything he sent. Think about it. Make a pro-con list if you have to."

"Pro-con lists are for people who make rational decisions," Jisung muttered. "I'm not one of those people."

"Then sleep on it," Seungmin suggested. "You have until Monday. That's five days. Take the weekend, really think about what you want."

What he wanted. That was the problem, wasn't it? Because what Jisung wanted and what Jisung should want were apparently two very different things.

"Okay," he said finally. "Okay, I'll think about it."

"Good," Felix said. "Now can we please go get actual food? You can't live on chips alone."

"Watch me."

He let them drag him out of the lab anyway, the business card tucked safely in his pocket and the research papers downloaded to his laptop.

⟢

Friday night found Jisung in his apartment, supposedly doing homework.

He'd pulled up the employment contract Minho had sent and read through it approximately eighteen times. It was... generous. Generous to the point of being suspicious.

The salary alone would solve most of his financial problems. The benefits were incredible—health insurance, retirement matching, gym membership, even a relocation stipend if he wanted to move closer to the office.

And the research terms were actually fair. His name would stay on all publications. He'd have creative control over his project. The intellectual property would be shared between him and LeeTech, not wholly owned by the company.

It was everything he needed.

So why did it feel like he'd be signing away more than just his work?

Jeongin found him at 11 PM, still staring at his laptop, surrounded by empty ramen containers and balled-up chip bags.

"Hyung," Jeongin said. "You look like you're on the brink of suicide."

"I might be," Jisung admitted. "I got offered a job."

"That's good, right?"

"It's complicated."

"How complicated?"

Jisung groaned. "You don’t wanna know."

"Okay…? fuck you, I literally do, that’s why I asked." Jeongin rolled his eyes and sighed. "But like, you need a job, right? And this one sounds good?"

"It sounds too good. Like there has to be a catch."

Jeongin sat down on the floor next to Jisung's chair. "Look, I don't know anything about corporate stuff or engineering or whatever. But I know you. And I know you've been stressed about money and your thesis and your future for like, the entire year."

"Your point?"

"My point is that maybe this is the universe throwing you a bone. Maybe you should just... take it. See what happens."

Saturday was worse. 

Jisung spent the entire day oscillating between "I'm definitely taking the job" and "I'm definitely not taking the job" approximately every ten minutes.

He made a pro-con list like Felix suggested:

PROS:

• Money
• Research funding
• Proper lab equipment
• Could actually finish thesis
• No more financial stress
•  ̶M̶̶̶i̶̶̶n̶̶̶h̶̶̶o̶̶̶ ̶i̶̶̶s̶̶̶ ̶h̶̶̶o̶̶̶t̶̶̶ ̶ Professional development 

CONS:

• Would be working for corporate evil
• Minho is intimidating
• What if I can't handle it
• What if he's just messing with me
• I̶'̶l̶l̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶m̶p̶l̶e̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶u̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶t̶r̶o̶l̶

He stared at that last item for a long time.

Under his control.

The thought should have sent him running in the opposite direction. Instead, he pressed his thighs together and bit his lip, willing himself not to get hard merely at the thought.

"I'm so fucked," he told his ceiling.

His ceiling offered no advice.

He tried to distract himself by actually doing homework, but he kept getting sidetracked. Kept pulling out Minho's business card and staring at it. The heavy cardstock, the embossed lettering, the personal phone number written in sharp, precise handwriting.

Call me when you decide.

Jisung's thumb hovered over his phone multiple times. He typed out messages and deleted them.

"I've thought about your offer-" Delete.

"Regarding the position-" Delete.

"Why are you doing this?" Delete delete delete.

By Sunday evening, he was a wreck. He'd barely slept, had eaten nothing but junk food, and was pretty sure he'd given himself an anxiety stomachache.

Seungmin video called him at 9 PM.

"Have you decided?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

"Jisung."

"I know! I know! But every time I think I've made up my mind, I change it!"

"Okay, real talk. Forget about the money and the research for a second. Do you want to work with him?"

"I-" Jisung stopped. Thought about it. Really thought about it. "I think I do. I mean, he actually understands the research. He asked good questions. He sent me papers that were actually useful. And he didn't talk down to me, even though I'm just a student and he literally owns a company."

"So what's the problem?"

"...The problem is that I'm scared I want it for the wrong reasons." Jisung answered quietly.

"What are the wrong reasons?"

Jisung's face burned. "You know what reasons."

"Ah." Seungmin was quiet for a moment. "Here's the thing though. You can be attracted to someone and still have professional boundaries. Lots of people work with attractive people. It doesn't have to be a thing."

"But what if he—what if he knows? What if he uses it against me?"

"Did he actually do anything inappropriate?"

"No," Jisung admitted.

"Then maybe you're overthinking this."

"I'm definitely overthinking this."

"So stop thinking. What does your gut say?"

Jisung closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Tried to quiet all the anxiety and fear and over-analysis.

His gut said: yes. Take the job. You need this. You want this.

"Okay," he said, opening his eyes. "Okay, I'm going to do it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm going to call him right now before I lose my nerve."

"You've got this," Seungmin said. "Text me after."

"Okay. Okay." Jisung ended the video call and stared at his phone.

It was 9:15 PM on a Sunday. That was probably too late to call, right? He should wait until tomorrow, send a professional email during business hours-

His phone rang.

Unknown number.

No—not unknown. He recognized those digits from the business card.

"Fuck," Jisung whispered. "Hello?"

"Jisung." That voice, smooth and rich even through the phone. "I was wondering if I'd hear from you tonight."

"I was just about to call you."

"Were you?" There was amusement in Minho's tone. "Or were you going to spend until tomorrow overthinking it?"

"I—how did you-"

"I know what overthinking looks like." A pause. "Have you made a decision?"

Jisung took a shaky breath. "Yes. I'll take the job."

Silence on the other end. 

"Say that again."

"I'll take the job. I'll work for you."

"Good." The satisfaction in that single word sent a shiver down Jisung's spine. "Can you start tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? I have classes-"

"After classes then. Come to the office at 5 PM. We'll get the paperwork handled and I'll show you your new lab."

"My... lab?"

"You didn't think I'd make you wait, did you?" There was that edge of command again, the assumption that things would happen exactly as he wanted. "I'll have everything ready."

"This is moving really fast."

"Do you want it to move slower?"

"No," Jisung admitted. And that was the truth. If he thought about it too much, he'd talk himself out of it.

"Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow at 5." A pause. "Don't be late, Jisung."

"I won't," Jisung heard himself say.

"Good boy."

The line went dead.

Jisung sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, his entire face burning.

Good boy.

If he wasn’t hard earlier, he most definitely was now.

The words echoed in his head. 

The way Minho had said it, like it was both praise and promise, like Jisung had done exactly what he was supposed to do and that made him good.

His face was on fire. His heart was hammering, and he was painfully aware of how hard his cock was just from two simple words.

Heat was pooling low in his stomach, spreading through his limbs. His jeans felt too tight, uncomfortably so.

He stood up quickly, as if that would somehow help. It didn't.

"This is so bad," he whispered, pressing his palms to his flushed cheeks. "This is so, so bad."

Jisung made a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a groan.

He dropped his hands and stared at himself in the mirror above his dresser. His reflection looked back—flushed, disheveled, glasses slightly crooked.

He needed to do something. Take a cold shower. Go for a run. Call Seungmin and have him talk sense into him. Literally anything other than what his body was currently suggesting he do.

But Minho's voice kept playing in his head. The way he'd said Jisung's name, smooth and possessive. Good boy. Like Jisung belonged to him already.

"Fuck," Jisung breathed, and his hand moved without conscious thought, palming himself through his jeans.

The pressure made him moan. Made his eyes flutter closed.

He shouldn't. This was so wrong. Minho was going to be his boss. His employer. The person who controlled his research funding and his job security and probably his entire future at this point.

But the thought of that—of being under Minho's control, of having to do what he said, of being called good when he obeyed…

Jisung unzipped his pants. 

"Just this once," Jisung whispered to himself, his hand moving lower until it wrapped around his aching cock. 

He bit his lip hard at sensation, his hand stroking slowly at first. 

In less than twenty-four hours, Minho would be his boss. He should not be doing this, should not be thinking about him this way.

But the words kept echoing. 

Good boy. 

Good boy. 

Good boy. 

Jisung whimpered.

He licked his palm, stroking himself faster. His head fell back, breath coming quicker.

He thought about tomorrow. Walking into that office. Signing papers that would bind him to Minho for the foreseeable future. Having to see him regularly, take orders from him, be evaluated by him.

The thought sent heat racing through his entire body.

He was so fucked. In every possible sense of the word.

His movements became more urgent, more desperate. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more; he needed to feel full.

His fingers were on his mouth before he could even think twice, coating them in saliva before pressing a digit against his tight hole.

It was just a job. Just a professional relationship. The fact that his body was reacting this way meant nothing about his actual feelings.

He didn't like Minho. He didn't.

A soft, helpless sound slipped from his lips in the quiet room. “Fuck,” he moaned as he pushed the finger inside, his body trembling with every thrust. 

He added a second finger, fucking himself faster now, his moans and whines growing louder when he brushed his prostate. Then, a third finger went in, and he tried very hard not to think about Minho’s cock being the one filling him up.

Would three fingers even be enough to open him up?

If Jisung had to guess, it probably wasn’t. 

His other hand kept stroking his cock, matching the rhythm at which he fucked himself on his fingers. Jisung’s breaths came faster now, shaky and uneven.

He closed his eyes, imagining Minho’s hands on him. 

How it would feel to be good just for him.

His body shook with every movement, his mind spinning with thoughts of Minho. His fingers moved with growing urgency. A whimper escaped him, and he bit his lip to keep from making louder sounds. 

The pressure building in his stomach became overwhelming as he came all over himself, too worked up to care about his bed sheets. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his heart pounding, and his body feeling completely worn out.

He had never done this before—not like this. Never while thinking of someone.

"Oh my god," he whispered to his ceiling. "I'm the worst person alive."

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, making him jump.

Lee Minho (BOSS—DO NOT BE WEIRD)

Sleep well.

How was he supposed to face this man tomorrow? How was he supposed to act normal when he'd just—when he'd…

"I'm going to die," he announced to the empty room. 

He turned his phone face down, pulled the covers over his head, and prayed for either sleep or a meteor to strike him before morning.

Neither happened.

⟢

Jisung woke up tangled in his sheets, disoriented for about three blissful seconds before the memories of the previous night came flooding back in high definition.

"No," he said into his pillow. "No no no no no."

Why the fuck did he allow himself to masturbate while thinking of Lee Minho? His future boss. The man he was supposed to have a professional working relationship with.

"I'm gonna kill myself," he informed his pillow. 

His first alarm went off, then his second, then his third. He silenced them all and continued lying face-down, contemplating whether it was possible to simply cease existing through sheer force of will.

His phone buzzed. Another text from Minho.

Lee Minho (BOSS—DO NOT BE WEIRD)

Don't forget. 

5 PM. 

Don't make me come find you.

Jisung groaned, pushing his face further into his pillow. 

The casual authority in his words… The implication that he would actually come find Jisung if necessary… The underlying assumption that Jisung would do exactly as told…

Jisung would chop his dick off before masturbating at the thought of Minho again. 

"I need therapy," he muttered, finally dragging himself upright. "So much therapy."

He shuffled to the bathroom, carefully avoiding his own reflection because he didn't need that kind of judgment this early in the morning.

The shower was cold. Ice cold. 

A penance for his sins.

It didn't help as much as he'd hoped.

As he got dressed—his usual uniform of t-shirt, jeans, and cardigan—he tried to give himself a stern internal lecture.

The fact that he thought Minho was attractive was irrelevant. Lots of people have attractive bosses. It's fine. He just has to…not act on it. Maintain boundaries. Be polite and professional and definitely not think about him in any non-professional capacity ever again.

Last night was a momentary lapse in judgment brought on by stress and exhaustion. It meant nothing. He was going to go to his office today, sign his contract like a normal adult, get lab access, and start his research. That's it. That's the plan.

He could do this.

"I can do this," he said out loud, trying to inject some confidence into his voice.

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself to jump off a cliff.

"Whatever."

He grabbed his backpack, checked that he had his laptop and his notebook and approximately fourteen pens (he really, really liked pens), and headed out.

Jeongin was making coffee in the kitchen, looking barely conscious.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Morning," Jisung replied, trying to sound normal.

"You okay? You look weird."

"I'm fine. Totally fine. Just nervous about my first day."

"Right, that's today. The hot CEO job." Jeongin took a sip of coffee, made a face, added more sugar. "Good luck not doing anything stupid."

"I won't do anything stupid because there's nothing to be stupid about. It's just a job."

Jeongin stared at him. "Okay.”

"I'm going to be so professional today that people will write papers about my professionalism."

"...Okay."

Jisung flipped him off before moving to the door and leaving.

The bus ride to campus was its usual nightmare of crowded bodies and questionable smells, but at least it gave Jisung something to focus on besides his afternoon.

Classes were a blur. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but his mind kept wandering to what would happen at 5 PM.

In his thermodynamics lecture, Professor Jung was explaining something about entropy and heat distribution, and all Jisung could think about was Minho's office. The windows overlooking the city. The way Minho leaned against the desk.

How far are you from a working prototype?

Because I just acquired this lab, which makes your research mine.

Jisung shifted in his seat, crossing his legs, trying to focus on the equations on the board.

"Mr. Han?"

His head snapped up. Professor Jung was looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you could explain the relationship between temperature differential and energy transfer efficiency."

Jisung's brain scrambled. He knew this. He absolutely knew this. It was literally his research area.

"Um, the greater the temperature differential, the higher the theoretical efficiency, but in practice you have to account for heat loss through convection and radiation, which is why most systems only achieve about 60-70% of the Carnot efficiency…"

He continued, even while his brain was still half-focused on inappropriate thoughts about his future employer.

Professor Jung nodded approvingly. "Good. Pay attention, please."

"Yes, sir."

After class, Seungmin caught up with him in the hallway.

"Hey, big day today, right?"

"Yeah. Starting at 5."

"You nervous?"

"A little. It's a real job, you know? With a real company. I just want to make sure I don't mess it up."

"You'll be fine. You're smart, and you know your stuff."

"Thanks." Jisung adjusted his backpack. "I'm just going to go in, be professional, sign papers, get my lab setup. Easy."

"That's the spirit." Seungmin studied him for a moment. "…What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"What happened after you talked to Minho?"

Jisung's face went red. "Nothing happened. We talked on the phone. I agreed to take the job. That's it."

"Then why do you look like that?"

"Because I'm nervous about starting a real job! That's normal!"

Seungmin stared. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! I literally didn’t do anything.”

Seungmin held up his hands. "Okay, damn. If you say so."

"I do. Everything's fine."

Lunch was a sad salad that Jisung barely tasted. Felix joined them, took one look at Jisung, and said, "Yikes."

"Thank you so much, sunshine. You make life worth living."

"You look like you're about to pass out. How much did you sleep last night?"

"I slept fine."

"Liar."

"A few hours. It's fine."

"It's not fine," Felix said, stealing one of Seungmin's nuggets. "You need to take care of yourself. Especially before starting a new job."

"I know, I know. I'll sleep tonight. After I survive today."

"That's the spirit. So optimistic."

By 4 PM, Jisung's last class had ended, and he had an hour to kill before he needed to be at Minho's office.

He spent it in the library, pretending to study.

In one hour, he'd walk into that building and officially become an employee of LeeTech Industries. He'd sign papers. Get his lab access. Start his new life as a professional researcher.

Working directly under Lee Minho.

Under. Lee Minho.

"Stop it," he hissed at himself. An undergrad at the next table looked at him strangely.

He needed to get his head on straight. This was a job. A good job. A job he desperately needed, even if he still thought it was pretty morally ambiguous. He was going to walk in there, be completely normal and professional, and start his research.

That was the plan.

At 4:40, he gathered his things and headed for the bus stop, his heart pounding harder with each step.

The bus ride downtown felt both too long and too short. He spent it staring out the window, trying to breathe normally, occasionally checking his reflection in the glass to make sure he looked at least somewhat put-together.

He didn't. 

The LeeTech building loomed ahead, all glass and steel. Jisung took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked inside.

The lobby was even more impressive in the late afternoon light. Marble floors reflected the sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. People in expensive suits walked around, everyone looking like they belonged in a world Jisung was still trying to understand.

He approached the security desk, very aware of his wrinkled cardigan and worn jeans.

The security guard looked up and smiled. "Mr. Han, right? Mr. Lee is expecting you. Fifteenth floor."

"Thanks."

The elevator was empty when he stepped in, which was a relief. He caught his reflection in the mirrored walls and immediately regretted it. His wavy hair was still sticking up at weird angles despite his attempts to fix it. His glasses were crooked. 

"You got the job already. He knows what you look like. It’s whatever," he muttered to his reflection.

The elevator climbed smoothly, the numbers ticking up. With each floor, Jisung's heart beat faster. By the time it reached fifteen, he felt like it might beat right out of his chest.

The doors opened.

Miyeon—the secretary—was there, as polished and professional as before, her smile warm and welcoming.

"Mr. Han, right on time," she said approvingly. "Mr. Lee appreciates punctuality."

Don't be late, Minho had said. 

An order Jisung had apparently followed without question.

"Follow me, please."

She led him down the hallway he'd walked before, past other offices with closed doors and frosted glass. They stopped at the corner office. Miyeon knocked once, a soft sound that still seemed to echo.

"Come in," Minho's voice called from inside, and Jisung's stomach did that flip again.

Miyeon opened the door, gestured Jisung inside with another smile, and then left him alone.

With Minho.

Who was standing by the window with his back to the door, phone pressed to his ear like last time, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows.

Jisung stood awkwardly just inside the door, not sure if he should announce himself or just wait.

Minho’s tone was professional. Business talk, probably. CEO things. After a moment, he said something that sounded like a goodbye and ended the call.

Then he turned around.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Minho just looked at him, those dark eyes traveling slowly from Jisung's messy hair down to his feet and back up again. Not judging, exactly. More like... cataloging. Memorizing.

"Jisung," Minho said finally. "You’re here."

"It's already 5. You told me not to be late," Jisung managed, his voice steadier than he felt.

"So I did." Minho nodded. "And you listened. Good."

Good. 

Such a simple, innocent word.

Except nothing about the way Minho said it felt simple or innocent.

Jisung's face heated. "I'm just... punctual."

"I've noticed." Minho set his phone down on the desk, then moved closer. He walked with that confident, predatory grace that made Jisung feel like a small mouse about to be eaten. "It's a quality I appreciate."

He stopped a few feet away, close enough that Jisung had to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact.

"I have your contract here," Minho continued, gesturing to a folder on his desk. "Everything we discussed. Take your time reading through it."

He picked up the folder and held it out.

Jisung stepped forward to take it, and their fingers brushed as they had before. This time, Minho's hand lingered just a moment too long, his fingers warm against Jisung's.

"Sit," Minho said softly.

Jisung sat in one of the leather chairs facing the desk, his hands slightly shaky as he opened the folder. The contract was thick, professional, printed on expensive paper.

Minho didn't go around to sit behind his desk like Jisung expected. Instead, he perched on the edge of it, right next to where Jisung sat. Too close. His thigh was at Jisung's eye level, the expensive fabric of his dress pants perfectly tailored.

Jisung tried to focus on the contract.

The words swam slightly in front of his eyes. He was incredibly aware of Minho above him, watching him read. 

He forced himself to actually read the contract. It was everything Minho had promised—generous salary that made Jisung's eyes widen, full benefits, research terms that were surprisingly fair. His name at the bottom, waiting for his signature next to where Minho had already signed in bold strokes.

"Everything look acceptable?" Minho asked, his voice coming from above and slightly behind Jisung.

"Yes. It's... It's really good."

"I told you I take care of my investments." 

Jisung swallowed thickly. 

"Sign it." 

Not a question. 

Jisung picked up the pen with slightly shaking hands. The pen felt heavy as he pressed it to paper, signing his name, his strokes looking shaky and uncertain next to Minho's signature.

"There," Jisung said, setting the pen down. "Done."

"Excellent." Minho reached over, his arm brushing past Jisung's shoulder, and picked up the contract. He looked at Jisung's signature, and Jisung could see it clearly on his face—the satisfaction, the possessiveness.

It made Jisung's mouth go dry.

"Welcome to LeeTech, Jisung." Minho set the contract aside and stood, offering his hand. "I think this is going to be very... productive."

Jisung stood and took his hand. Minho's grip was firm, warm, his hand engulfing Jisung's. The handshake lasted just a beat too long, Minho's thumb brushing against Jisung's wrist before letting go.

"Now," Minho said, moving toward the door. "Let me show you your new lab."

They took the elevator down to the fifth floor, the space feeling smaller with just the two of them in it. 

The elevator dinged.

"This is our research and development level," Minho explained as they stepped out. 

He led Jisung through a security door that required both a keycard and a fingerprint scan. The lock clicked open with a sound.

"We take our intellectual property very seriously," Minho continued. "Your lab will have the same security."

They walked down a hallway lined with frosted glass walls. Other labs, Jisung assumed, though he couldn't see inside them.

Minho stopped at a door near the end. Pressed his hand to the biometric scanner. The lock clicked open.

"After you."

Jisung stepped inside and forgot how to breathe.

The lab was perfect.

Not perfect like "adequate" or "acceptable." Perfect, like someone had reached into Jisung's brain and pulled out exactly what he needed.

Equipment lined the walls—thermal imaging cameras, precision measurement tools, things he'd only ever seen in academic papers. Benches with proper ventilation. A full computer setup with multiple monitors. Storage for materials. Even a small desk area with a comfortable chair. 

The far wall was entirely whiteboard, pristine and waiting for equations.

"This is..." Jisung looked around, trying to take it all in. 

"Yours."

Minho's voice came from right behind him. Close. Jisung hadn't heard him move, but suddenly he was there, close enough that Jisung could feel his body heat.

"Everything you need to continue your research," Minho continued, his voice low. "If something's missing, tell me. I'll get it."

"This is too much," Jisung said, but his voice came out breathy.

"It's exactly what you deserve." Minho moved past him, and Jisung caught a whiff of his cologne. He watched as Minho walked to one of the benches, trailing his fingers along the surface. "I've had your prototype and research notes transferred here," Minho said, turning to face Jisung. "They're in the storage unit."

"You moved my stuff?"

"I told you." Minho leaned back against the bench, arms crossed, and that posture should not have looked as good as it did. "When I acquire something, I'm thorough. This is your space now, Jisung. Your research continues here. Under my supervision."

Jisung felt himself nodding.

"I want weekly progress reports," Minho continued, his eyes locked on Jisung's. "Every Friday, my office, end of day. I want to know exactly where you are with your work. What you're thinking. What you need."

"That's pretty hands-on for a CEO."

"I'm hands-on with things that interest me." Minho's voice dropped lower. "And you interest me very much."

The air suddenly felt too warm.

"Your access card will be ready tomorrow," Minho said, pushing off from the bench and walking closer. "For now, I'll let you in whenever you need."

He stopped right in front of Jisung. Close. Too close. Jisung had to tilt his head back just a little to maintain eye contact.

"Don't work too late. I want you fresh tomorrow morning. 8 AM, my office.” Minho's hand came up, and Jisung's breath stopped completely. 

For one heart-stopping moment, he thought Minho was going to touch his face. Instead, Minho reached past him, his arm brushing Jisung's shoulder, and adjusted something on the equipment behind him. "We'll discuss your research plan in detail."

Jisung didn’t answer. This close, he could count his eyelashes.

"Is that a problem?" Minho asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No. No problem."

"Good." Minho stepped back, giving Jisung space to breathe again. He moved toward the door, and Jisung struggled to react.

"Oh, and Jisung?"

Jisung turned. "Yeah?"

"Don't be late tomorrow." Minho's eyes held his for a clock-tick. "I really hate waiting."

"I-I won’t be."

A satisfied smile spread on Minho’s lips. "Good boy."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut, leaving Jisung alone in his new lab with his heart racing and his thoughts spiraling.

He stood frozen, staring at the closed door.

"Fuck," Jisung breathed, pressing his palms to his overheated cheeks. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck my stupid life."

His whole body was buzzing. His jeans were tight again. His skin felt too sensitive, like every nerve ending was on fire. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless. He swallowed hard and tried to calm his heart.

"I’m so fucked."

So completely, utterly, absolutely fucked. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.