It started with fried chicken.
Not confessions. Not longing gazes under cherry blossoms. Not some magical night with fireworks.
Just—fried chicken. At 11:47 p.m.
"Are you seriously eating that at this hour?" I asked, standing at the entrance of the company lounge, watching Bo-ra hold a drumstick like it was the Holy Grail.
She looked up, eyes wide, mouth full. "It's midnight chicken. It hits different."
I raised an eyebrow. "So does cholesterol."
She stuck out her tongue and motioned to the seat across from her. "Don't act like you've never stress-eaten fried food at ungodly hours."
Touché.
I sat down, watching her for a beat. Her cheeks were puffed out, lips greasy with sauce, hair messily tucked into a clip. Not a single trace of the polished intern she pretended to be in front of the boardroom.
This was... real Bo-ra.
Too real.
"Want some?" she asked, holding out a drumstick.
I narrowed my eyes. "Did you already bite into this?"
"No."
"You hesitated."
"Only a little!"
"Pass."
She laughed, that full-bellied kind of laugh that made her eyes disappear into crescent moons.
I looked away quickly.
"Did you finish the investor reports?" she asked between chews.
I leaned back, arms crossed. "I did. Unlike someone, I don't require late-night snacks as motivation."
She pointed her chopsticks at me. "Don't act superior. I've seen you drink three cans of coffee in one sitting."
"That's called efficiency."
She rolled her eyes. "It's called a caffeine addiction."
I smirked. "You're strangely talkative for someone raiding a fridge at midnight."
She grinned. "You're strangely chatty for someone who acts like feelings are a disease."
"Tch."
We sat in silence after that—comfortable, surprisingly. The city lights blinked through the window behind her, casting a soft orange glow over the empty room. The air was thick with fried chicken and unsaid things.
Bo-ra slurped her soda and sighed. "You know... I didn't expect to find you here tonight."
"Where else would I be?" I replied.
She shrugged. "Maybe with someone. Or... avoiding me like earlier."
I stiffened. "I wasn't avoiding you."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You literally left the conference room the second I entered."
"That's called strategic timing."
"That's called being a coward."
I looked at her.
She didn't look mad. Just... disappointed.
"You confuse me, Yul," she said softly, eyes flicking down to her half-eaten chicken.
"You already said that last chapter," I muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She gave me a look, but didn't press.
I sighed and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Look... I'm not good at this."
"Good at what?"
"This." I gestured vaguely between us. "Talking. Feelings. All the... 'you're special to me' kind of crap."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"Not that you are—I mean—ugh, you know what I mean."
She grinned. "You're adorable when you panic."
"I am not panicking."
"You just called emotions 'crap.' That's peak panic, Yul."
I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. "You make things complicated."
"How?"
"By existing," I blurted.
She stared.
I blinked. "That came out wrong."
"No, no, go on. This is hilarious."
"I'm being serious."
"I know," she said, suddenly quieter. "That's why it's cute."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
Our eyes locked.
Cue awkward silence.
Bo-ra looked away first, biting her lip. "You really don't know how to talk about your feelings, huh?"
I exhaled. "Not unless they come with a financial report."
She laughed again. "Well, then maybe I should draft a proposal. 'Yul's Emotions: A Market Analysis.'"
"Chapter 1: Denial. Chapter 2: Jealousy masked as sarcasm."
She raised a brow. "You were jealous."
"Let's not get carried away."
"You were!"
I gave her a long look. "You smiled more at him than you ever smiled at me."
She blinked. "So what if I did?"
"It bothered me."
Her smile faded.
I continued. "I didn't know it would. But it did."
There. I said it. Part of it, at least.
Bo-ra set her cup down, fingers fidgeting. "You know, I thought... I thought there was something between us."
I froze.
"But then you said I was just your intern," she added, quietly.
Silence again.
I wanted to explain. That I was angry. That I didn't mean it. That I'm just really, really bad at being vulnerable.
But instead, I leaned back and sighed. "That was a stupid thing to say."
Her eyes met mine.
"I didn't mean it," I said. "You're not just anything."
A soft blush crept up her cheeks.
"You're..." I trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Loud. Stubborn. Always stealing my food."
She pouted.
"But," I added, "you also make the office less miserable. And... I don't mind seeing your face every day."
A beat passed.
Then she smiled—small, genuine. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
She chuckled and stood up, stretching. "Well... I guess I should head home."
"Yeah."
She walked to the door but paused before opening it. "Yul?"
"Hm?"
"You're not the only one who's bad at this."
I looked up.
She gave me a soft smile. "But I'm willing to try. If you are."
I stared at her.
Then, finally, I nodded.
She waved, walking out into the hallway, leaving behind a box of chicken and something heavier in the air.
The moment the door clicked shut, I leaned back in my chair, exhaling.
Small moments. Big meanings.
Maybe that's how this starts.
Not with grand gestures, but with midnight chicken.
And feelings that taste better than they sound.
To be continued...