Chapter Text
Gihun pushed open the glass doors of the office building. The lobby was empty, the receptionist’s desk abandoned, and the echo of his footsteps trailed behind him as he stepped into the elevator.
He glanced at his phone.
6:58 A.M. Two hours early.
For the past three months, Gihun had been arriving to work early, enjoying this routine. An office without noise, without orders barked at him from across the room, without his name sneered like it was an insult. He could almost pretend it was his space, that he belonged here.
The elevator chimed, and when the doors slid open, Gihun froze. The view ahead was familiar yet wrong, and his stomach gave a lurch.
This wasn't the sixth floor where he worked.
This was the eighteenth floor. The executive's floor.
"Fuck..." Gihun muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He must have pressed it out of habit, last night’s lack of sleep must've been catching up with him.
Gihun had promised himself never to come back here. Too many memories, some good, most not. And above all, he didn’t want to risk running into the CEO.
But something held him back from pressing the button to the sixth floor. Instead, he quietly stepped out of the elevator.
As he walked down the hallway, he couldn’t help but notice how every director's office was dark, empty, and lifeless. Then, his gaze settled on the CEO’s office at the very end of the hallway.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw the warm light spilling through the drawn blinds and seeping out from the crack beneath the door.
Inho was in there.
Gihun bit back a curse, a familiar ache blooming in his chest, warming him from the inside out. He should hate Inho, despise him for being the reason for his new position in the company.
But he couldn’t.
Not when it was technically Gihun's own fault. Not when this stubborn, unshakable feeling still clung to him, no matter how hard he tried to suffocate it.
He hadn’t thought about that first day in a long time. Tried to bury it like everything else. But standing so close, it all came rushing back.
His first day as Inho’s personal assistant had been nothing short of a nightmare.
Inho's reputation was well known. He was a blunt man and even fewer displays of emotion. Gihun had barely slept the night before, too anxious about screwing up.
When he had finally arrived, arms full of files and documents, he barely made it through the door before tripping over his own feet.
Everything scattered across the pristine office floor. Papers, folders, a cup of coffee he’d foolishly balanced on top. Liquid seeped into important reports, staining them with bitter proof of his incompetence.
Gihun had stilled, heart pounding in his ears, bracing himself for the inevitable reprimand. But Inho didn’t yell or even sigh in annoyance.
Instead, he simply said, "Clean it up and make more copies of the reports."
Gihun scrambled to clean up the mess, his hands trembling so badly he could barely hold the napkins. It took him fifteen minutes, but eventually, the floor was spotless, and he returned with a fresh stack of reports in hand.
That was it. Basic decency, nothing more. But Gihun couldn’t forget it.
Since then, his feelings for the CEO that was Hwang Inho had only deepened. Those small gestures, those brief moments of consideration, had lodged themselves in his heart.
He’d somehow managed to survive six months as Inho’s personal assistant before everything fell apart.
Feeling the bitterness, Gihun turned on his heel, walking away and back toward the elevator.
He was about to press the button when it chimed, sending Gihun into panic. Who was it? Could be any one of the Directors. God, he wanted to run and hide in the bathroom or something.
However, that would look very badly on him. He was already almost fired once. He can't afford to lose his job now.
"Gihun-ssi?" A woman's voice rang out, clear and crisp.
He looked up, his eyes meeting Kang Noeul’s. She was dressed in a dress shirt and pencil skirt, her shoulder-length hair still damp as though she had showered not that long ago.
"Good morning, Director Kang." Gihun greeted, trying to stay calm despite his racing heart.
Noeul gave him a quick nod, her gaze sharp as she studied him, "What are you doing up here? Do you need to see President Hwang?"
"What? No, I... I accidentally pressed the wrong button on the elevator," Gihun stammered, his words tumbling out in a hurry. "I’m heading back down."
He quickly bowed again, stepping into the elevator with more urgency than he intended. The doors closed, and Gihun let out a shaky breath. Sometimes he wondered if it was Noeul who had advocated for him, ensuring he didn’t get fired three months ago.
Gihun shook his head, brushing the thought away. It didn’t matter now. What had happened was in the past, and there was nothing to be done about it.
"Yah, Seong Gihun. Go refill my coffee."
Kim Yeongsam didn’t even bother looking up from his phone as he slid his empty cup toward the edge of his desk, the paper scraping against the surface.
Gihun glanced up from his screen, fingers still hovering over the keyboard, "But I need to finish this—"
"I don’t give a shit," Yeongsam snapped, not even sparing him a glance. "Go refill my coffee."
Gihun hesitated, his jaw clenching as he stared at the half-finished report on his screen. He knew if he didn’t get it done by noon, Manager Im was going to ask why it wasn’t completed. And that was something he didn’t want to face.
But arguing with Yeongsam was pointless. The man thrived on making his life miserable, and Gihun had learned early on that resistance only made things worse.
After a moment of deliberation, he stood up and picked up the cup, the familiar ache settling into his chest.
He had barely taken two steps when another voice called out from the opposite desk.
"Hey, since you’re going, refill mine too." A coworker said, tossing his own cup onto the pile in Gihun’s hands.
"Mine too." Another chimed in, not even bothering to look up from his monitor.
Within seconds, Gihun was juggling three empty coffee cups, feeling heat creep into his face. He bit back the urge to tell them to do it themselves, knowing full well it would only give them more ammunition to mock him later.
It was always like this. Ever since Gihun had chosen to demote instead of leaving, everyone never missed a chance to remind him how he was worthless.
Pushing the door to the break room open, Gihun tried to ignore the resentment in his gut. He’d thought working directly for the CEO would at least give him some respect, but it only made him a bigger target for everyone else once he lost that position.
He took a deep breath, forcing down the feeling. There was no use dwelling on it. He needed to get through the day, keep moving forward, one task at a time.
By the time lunch had rolled around, Gihun found himself eating at desk instead of the cafeteria, unwrapping a convenience store sandwich as he bit into it. Somehow, he managed to send in the report before the clock had hit noon.
As he leaned back in his chair, massaging the stiffness out of his shoulder, a voice cut through the open workstations.
"Seong Gihun! Get your ass over here. Now!"
Gihun swallowed hard, ignoring the curious glances from his coworkers as he pushed his chair back and hurried over to the manager’s desk. Jeongdae didn’t look up as he walked over, his fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard.
"You wanted to see me, Manager Im?" Gihun asked, keeping his voice steady.
Jeongdae finally turned his gaze on him, eyes cold and mouth pulled into a thin line. He gestured to his screen, "What the hell is this?"
Gihun stepped closer, peering at the monitor. It was the report he’d just sent, opened to one of the financial summaries. Jeongdae jabbed a finger at a number highlighted in red.
"Explain why the Q2 figures are incorrect," Jeongdae demanded, voice dripping with irritation. "You really think I’m gonna send this garbage to the CEO?"
Gihun blinked, his heart picking up speed, "But... I checked those numbers twice. They’re based on the finalized data from accounting. I made sure—"
"Are you calling me a liar?" Jeongdae snapped, his voice rising. "I’m telling you it’s wrong. The revenue forecast doesn’t match the projections from last month. You think the Salesman is gonna be happy seeing that? Or President Hwang?"
Gihun clenched his jaw, fighting down his frustration. Jeongdae scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression.
"How did you even get by as President's Hwang's assistant with this sloppy work? You should be grateful you even still have a job after that mess."
Gihun’s stomach twisted painfully. He could feel the weight of the words settling over him, squeezing his lungs, "Sir..."
Jeongdae leaned forward, voice low and menacing, "You think just because President Hwang didn’t fire you after that strike that you’re safe? That kind of blind loyalty doesn’t go far when you’re incompetent. You should be thanking me every damn day for not sending you out with the rest of those troublemakers."
Gihun bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face neutral, forcing his hands not to clench. It wasn’t like he could argue back. Not when Jeongdae’s words were technically true. The coworkers from that time were fired or willingly left. Names wiped from the company roster like they never existed.
"Redo the report and get it to me within the hour," Jeongdae ordered, already dismissing him. "And this time, don’t waste my time with your half-assed work."
"Yes, sir." Gihun whispered, bowing before going back to his desk.
As he sat down, his hands trembled. He’d fix it. He’d go through the numbers again, triple-check if he had to. But even when he opened the file, he couldn’t stop the lingering weight in his chest. The feeling of being stuck, suffocated within these walls.
He could quit. Turn in his resignation letter to Director Kang and slip away quietly, leaving all this behind. But the thought of never seeing Inho again made his chest tighten, a dull ache where his resolve should be.
Gihun hated himself for it. For being so weak, for holding onto these feelings that refused to let him go. It would be so much easier if his heart would just let Inho go, but no matter how much he wished it, he still clung onto that fragile hope that maybe one day Inho would talk to him again.
It wasn’t even 3 PM when he got summoned to the eighteenth floor. As he stood to leave his desk, he couldn’t help but notice his coworkers exchanging glances and whispering. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.
When the elevator doors slid open, the hallway stretched out before him. Gihun took a deep breath, steadying himself before crossing the polished floor to the office door.
He knocked twice.
"Come in."
Stepping inside, Gihun closed the door behind him and bowed respectfully. Noeul gestured to the chair across from her, and Gihun sat down, feeling his heartbeat pound in his chest. This was it. Today was the day he got fired.
Noeul gave him a soft smile, her expression gentle, "Relax, Gihun-ssi. You look like you’re about to pass out."
Gihun forced a weak chuckle, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pants, "Sorry, Director Kang. I... wasn’t expecting to be called in."
She nodded, folding her hands on her desk, "I wanted to check in with you. Have you been okay lately?"
The question caught him off guard, and Gihun hesitated, "Yes, I’m... I’m fine."
"Are you sure? I’ve been getting some concerns about your performance recently." Noeul said as she raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.
Gihun’s mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard, "Is... is it about those reports that were wrong?"
Noeul sighed softly, "Yes, among other things. They said the data didn’t match the accounting records and it happened multiple times."
Gihun lowered his head, biting his lip to keep from blurting out his frustration. He knew he had checked those numbers. Double checked, even. But Jeongdae insisted they were wrong. And then the others kept piling on, telling him he was incompetent.
Noeul seemed to notice his tenseness, her voice gentler now, "Listen, you can tell me anything. I know you may have... reservations about talking with the executives after the strike, but you're a hard worker. I've seen it. You're not the type to make these careless mistakes."
Gihun’s throat tightened, and he forced himself to meet her gaze. Noeul’s expression wasn’t harsh or accusing. Just genuinely concerned.
She leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk, "Are you sure it was a mistake?"
Gihun hesitated. He wanted to say it. Wanted to tell her that he’d checked those numbers more times than he could count.
But the fear of speaking up, of accusing a supervisor made his stomach churn.
He couldn’t trust anyone here anymore, even though Noeul had always been kind to him. There was just too much at stake.
"Yes, Director. It was my mistake," Gihun forced out, keeping his voice steady. "I... I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again."
Noeul pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly dissatisfied with his answer, but she didn’t push any further, "Alright. You’re free to go."
That night, Gihun sat in his small, dimly lit apartment, is fingers hovering over the keyboard but frozen in place. The glow of the screen illuminated his tired face, casting shadows under his eyes.
The words "Letter of Resignation" glared back at him from the blank document, as if daring him to make the decision.
He had written it already. Twice. Each time, he deleted it, too afraid to take that final step. It wasn’t just the thought of walking away from his job. It was the thought of leaving behind everything he had fought for, everything he had clung to in the hopes of making things right.
A bitter laugh escaped him as he ran a hand through his messy hair. He didn’t even know what "making things right" meant anymore. All he could see was failure, over and over again. The reports he’d sent in, the mistakes he could've sworn weren't there before, the constant feeling of being on the edge of something he couldn’t control.
Gihun leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. He thought about his days at the office, the long hours of stress and exhaustion.
And then there was Inho. The reason why Gihun was still here, clinging to something that seemed impossible.
Gihun shook his head, trying to push away the feelings that seemed to linger no matter how much he tried to bury them. The thought of never seeing him again, of walking away from the one person that made the job bearable, it made his chest tighten.
But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? The constant mistakes, the ever-growing distance between them. It was clear now. He had no future here.
With a deep breath, he started typing. The cursor blinked, waiting for him to begin.
But just as he began typing the first line, his phone buzzed with a notification.
"Make sure to not miss the shooting star tonight!"
Gihun's hand instinctively reached for his phone, and he clicked on the message. The news article predicted that a shooting star would streak across the sky in just a few hours. As he read, a memory surfaced.
One from his childhood. He remembered sitting on the monkey bars with his best friend, Sangwoo, staring up at the night sky, both of them making silent wishes as a shooting star flashed overhead.
It felt like another lifetime, a simpler time. Back then, he had seen it as a moment of magic, something to believe in. It seemed so childish now, so far removed from the weight of his life in the present. Gihun and Sangwoo hadn't talked in a while either, neither reaching out since Gihun had left his company.
Yet, something about the idea of the shooting star made him pause. Maybe it was the nostalgia or the unexpected sense of wonder.
Gihun sat back in his chair and glanced at the glowing screen in front of him.
The letter of resignation could wait.
As the clock on the wall ticked, Gihun found himself walking over to the living room window.
He slid it open, the warm night air washing over him as he peered outside. The breeze ruffled his hair, and he drew in a deep breath.
He let his gaze drift upward, searching the dark sky for the first hint of the shooting star.
The seconds ticked by, and the anticipation began to build in his chest.
Then, finally, there it was.
A streak of light sliced through the night sky, leaving a trail of brilliance behind it. It was faster than he expected, almost too fast to catch, but it was unmistakable.
Gihun’s breath hitched, and before he even realized it, his eyes squeezed shut. His hands clasped together tightly; his knuckles white.
"I wish..." He murmured softly, the words barely escaping his lips. "I wish he could live a healthy and happy life... Please..."
It was a pathetic wish. Selfless and foolish. A wish that wasn’t even for himself.
After everything that had happened, after all the pain and distance and mistakes, Gihun couldn’t bring himself to be angry anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to wish for anything other than Inho’s happiness.
He swallowed, his throat tight, and he clenched his hands harder. It was stupid, so unbelievably stupid. After three months of silence, of being ignored and treated like he didn’t exist, Gihun still couldn’t hate him. He wanted to... God, he wanted to so badly.
But those six months of quiet conversations and unspoken closeness wouldn’t let him. Inho had always been outwardly stern, but Gihun had glimpsed the softness hidden beneath.
Even now, standing alone at his window, staring at the dark sky where the shooting star had already faded, he couldn’t force his heart to let go.
Gihun let out a bitter smile. He couldn’t even say Inho’s name out loud, despite it being etched into his vocabulary for the longest time. It was as if acknowledging it would make his feelings more real. And he didn't need that.
He needed more time to simply move on.
Gihun wondered if Inho was still awake, still at the office, buried under piles of work like always. Was he eating properly? Was he exhausted from another sleepless night?
"Idiot," He whispered to himself, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "You’re such an idiot..."
He stayed there for a moment longer, breathing in the night air, hoping it would clear his mind. But it didn’t. It never did.
Eventually, he pulled away from the window, closing it shut.
The resignation letter was still open, cursor blinking at Gihun. He stared at it for a long moment before finally sighing, closing the laptop without saving. He turned off the lights and sulked toward his bedroom.
He'll turn in his resignation letter in tomorrow.
✩ᯓ.✧˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .
Gihun stirred as the blaring sound of his alarm cut through the fog of sleep, dragging him back to consciousness. He groaned, blindly reaching out to the side to silence it, but his hand met empty air. Confused, he forced his eyes open, blinking away the blur.
Something was wrong. The weight on him felt too heavy, too suffocating. The mattress was softer than he was used to, and the faint, unfamiliar scent of clean linen filled his nose.
His heart thudded as he pushed himself up, the covers slipping down his shoulder. He looked around, disoriented.
This wasn’t his room.
The walls were dark, the windows large and framed by sleek, black curtains. A polished wooden desk sat against one wall, and a framed abstract painting hung above it. Everything looked immaculate and expensive. Nothing like his cramped, cluttered apartment.
Panic shot through him like ice water. Gihun scrambled to sit up fully, his hands gripping the soft, luxurious sheets as he tried to make sense of it.
He pulled the covers back, noticing how uncomfortable he was.
Gihun racked his brain, trying to remember what happened last night. He’d been at his apartment, at his desk, staring at his resignation letter. Then the shooting star, his wish, the aching feeling in his chest... but nothing after that.
His pulse quickened as he took in more of his surroundings. The neatness of the room, the minimalist decor. His eyes landed on a small glass trophy sitting on the desk, engraved with a name.
"Hwang Inho - CEO of Ojingeo Group"
Gihun froze, his blood turning cold.
No. No, this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be here. In Inho’s bed. His mind raced with questions, but none of them made sense.
Had he been drunk? No, he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. Was this some kind of mistake?
His heart pounded as he threw off the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the plush carpet under his bare feet when he noticed that he wasn't even in his own clothes.
Instead of his usual worn T-shirt and sweatpants, he was wearing a black T-shirt, and a pair of pajamas. The expensive fabric felt foreign against his skin, and he couldn’t remember ever putting them on.
Panic surged through him, and he stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over the edge of the bed.
He ran toward the first door that he saw, hoping it was the bathroom. Pushing it open, he flicked on the light and stumbled inside. He barely had a second to register the spacious, spotless bathroom before he caught sight of the mirror above the sink.
A strangled scream tore from his throat.
Staring back at him from the mirror wasn’t his own face. It was Inho’s.
Gihun slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling another panicked noise as he took a stumbling step backward. He couldn’t breathe, his chest tightening with sheer terror.
Hesitantly, he lifted his trembling hand and watched as the reflection did the same, mimicking his movements exactly. He reached up to touch his face, feeling the unfamiliar, sharper jawline, the smoothness of skin that wasn’t his own.
"This... this isn’t happening," He whispered, voice cracking. But the voice wasn’t his either. It was deeper, smoother. Inho’s voice.
Gihun squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up, to snap out of this nightmare. But when he opened them again, Inho’s face still stared back at him in the mirror, dark eyes wide with panic.
He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, but it did nothing to change what he saw.
Gihun couldn’t make sense of it. How or why it had happened. All he knew was that he wasn’t himself anymore.
He straightened up slowly, forcing himself to look in the mirror again, swallowing the rising panic. He couldn’t afford to lose his mind now. If he was in Inho’s body, that meant...
The realization hit him like a truck.
Where was his body? Where was the real Inho?