I didn't remember walking back to my office. One second I was standing inside the elevator with Jungho calling after me, and the next, I was pushing open the door to my floor with my mind completely blank.
Everything felt… muted. Like someone turned the volume down on the entire world.
When I finally sat in my chair, the leather let out a small creak. I leaned back, letting my head fall against the rest. The ceiling came into view.
My chest felt tight.
My fingers curled slightly on the armrests.
And the thought slipped out before I could stop it.
"I really want to die sometimes."
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't loud. It wasn't even emotional.
It was just… true.
Quiet, familiar truth.
I closed my eyes once. Took a slow breath. Then I straightened up, pushed the thought aside like I always did, and pulled the nearest stack of paperwork toward me.
Work was better.
Work didn't think.
Work didn't hurt.
Hours passed. I wasn't sure how many. Six? Seven?
Time blurred.
I typed, printed, reviewed, signed.
My hands moved on their own.
My mind stayed empty.
At some point my coffee went cold, but I kept drinking it anyway because it felt like something to do. The building got quieter as people left, one department after another. The laughter from the break room faded. The footsteps in the hall disappeared. The lights on the other floors dimmed.
Eventually, only the top floor stayed bright.
It was almost comforting.
By the time I checked the clock, it was already past midnight.
I didn't stop.
Paper after paper.
Report after report.
Trying to bury the echo of my father's voice somewhere under all the ink.
The door suddenly opened.
"Jay?" Jungho's voice cut through the silence.
I didn't look up. "You should go home, Hyung."
"I should go home?" He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Jay, it's almost twelve thirty. Why are you still here?"
"I'm working."
"No shit, sherlock." He walked closer, frowning. "Why haven't you gone home?"
"Because my work didn't end yet."
"That's not an answer. You could finish tomorrow."
I turned a page and kept writing. "No. It has to be done."
"Why? Who said?"
I paused for half a second before answering, "It's my job."
"Jay." His tone sharpened. "Is this because of what Dad said? Is that why you're pushing yourself?"
I kept my eyes on the papers.
"Jay."
"I said it's my job," I repeated calmly.
My voice was flat. Too flat.
He hated that tone.
He knew exactly what it meant.
Jungho pulled a chair over and sat in front of my desk. "Look at me."
"I'm working."
"Look. At. Me."
I finally raised my head.
His face was tight with worry. And guilt. And anger—not at me, but at our father.
"You're exhausted." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You haven't eaten since lunch."
"I ate."
"You took three bites."
"That counts."
"It doesn't." He exhaled, frustrated. "Jay, talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Yes, there is. Jay—"
"I'm fine."
He let out a humorless laugh. "You're not fine."
"Hyung."
"Don't 'Hyung' me right now." His voice cracked slightly. "You can push everyone else away if you want, but not me. Not when you look like you're about to collapse."
"I said I'm fine."
"Jay—"
"I said I'm fine."
Sharper this time.
Louder.
The room froze for a second.
I didn't raise my voice often.
He knew I didn't mean it as anger.
It was just the only way I knew to make him stop.
Slowly, he leaned back. "Okay." His voice softened. "Okay. I get it. You don't want to talk."
"Good."
"But I'm not leaving."
I sighed quietly. "Hyung—"
"No." He crossed his arms. "You keep working. I'll wait."
"Why?"
"Because if I leave, you'll stay here until you pass out."
"That won't happen."
"Jay, you've done it before."
I didn't respond.
Because he wasn't wrong.
Jungho rubbed his face. "I don't understand. Why didn't you tell Dad it was my fault? Why didn't you say anything?"
"There's no point."
"There is a point!"
"He wouldn't listen."
"He needs to hear it from you!"
I shook my head, returning to the paperwork. "He doesn't care either way."
"You don't know that."
I gave him a look that said, Really?
He shut his mouth.
He did know.
He just didn't want it to be true.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
The only sound in the office was the soft clicking of my pen.
Time carried on.
One hour.
Two.
My eyes grew dry.
My shoulders ached.
My breathing felt heavy.
But I kept working.
When the last document was finally complete, I gathered all the files, stacked them neatly, and tapped them twice to align the edges. Everything in perfect order.
My vision blurred for a second when I stood up. The room tilted slightly. I grabbed the desk edge until the dizziness faded.
"Jay?" Jungho stood up fast. "Hey—"
"I'm fine."
"That's what people say before they fall over."
"I said I'm fine."
He frowned hard but didn't argue again. He just hovered near me like I might break.
Honestly, it wasn't an unreasonable concern.
I slipped my coat on, grabbed my keys, and headed for the door. My steps were steady, but my legs felt heavier than usual, like I was wading through water.
In the elevator, the silence grew thicker.
Jungho finally spoke. "Jay."
"Yes?"
"…I'm sorry."
I kept my eyes forward. "There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I should've kept Dad from talking to you."
"You tried."
"Not fast enough."
I didn't answer.
He looked at me, defeated. "You know you don't deserve what he says to you, right?"
"That's your opinion."
"It's the truth."
I didn't respond.
He stopped trying after that.
When the elevator doors opened, I walked toward the parking lot. The night air hit my face, cool and quiet. I could still feel the dull ache behind my eyes, the weight in my chest, the hollowness spreading slowly.
Jungho followed a few steps behind. Always watching. Always worrying.
At my car, he stopped. "…Jay."
"What."
"You'll go straight home?"
"Yes."
"And sleep?"
"Probably."
"And call me if—"
"I know, Hyung."
He pressed his lips together. "Okay."
I opened the door.
"Jay."
I paused.
"…Don't disappear on me."
My chest tightened.
But I simply said, "I won't."
Then I got into the car and closed the door.
The engine hummed softly.
The parking lot felt empty.
I stared at the steering wheel for a long moment before starting the car.
I didn't feel anything.
Or maybe I felt too much at once.
I couldn't tell.
All I knew was that the peace I felt this morning—warm, gentle, unfamiliar—
Was gone again.
Just like always.
And the silence settled over me like a familiar blanket as I drove home.