3

The audit began quietly. No announcement. No drama. Just a group of suits from Compliance walking into the finance department with clipboards and forced smiles.

Jinwoo didn’t look up from his desk when it happened.

But he smiled.

---

By noon, the whispers had begun.

“Is someone getting investigated?”

“They’re looking at purchase orders and bonuses. Something’s off.”

“Wait—Minjae’s name came up?”

Haejin was the first to panic.

She stood at the copy machine, nails tapping against the edge of a report, clearly trying not to look like she was eavesdropping.

Jinwoo passed behind her with perfect timing, dropping a file on the tray, his voice low but loaded.

“Did you know Minjae used to handle bonus allocations manually?”

Her head snapped toward him. “What?”

He gave her a practiced blink of innocent surprise. “Oh. You didn’t?”

Then he walked away.

---

That afternoon, Minjae stormed out of a conference room looking like a kicked dog in a designer suit. His usual cocky smirk had curdled into something mean. Haejin followed three minutes later, pale-faced and tight-lipped.

The sight of them made Jinwoo’s coffee taste sweeter.

He returned to his desk and found a post-it note stuck to his screen.

“You’re playing with fire. Be careful.”

– No name.

But the handwriting was clean. Familiar.

He didn’t need a signature to know it was from Yunho.

---

They met again on the rooftop.

“Was it you?” Yunho asked. He didn’t look angry—just resigned.

“Would it matter if it was?” Jinwoo replied calmly.

“I just want to know how far you’re willing to go.”

Jinwoo turned to face him, the city stretching wide and bright behind him. “Far enough to make sure I never get used again.”

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver. “And if you lose yourself in the process?”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “Then maybe I was never worth saving.”

That made something flicker across Yunho’s face. Not pity. Something harder.

“You are,” he said.

And he stepped closer.

Close enough that their shoulders touched again.

Close enough that Jinwoo could feel his breath, calm and steady, like an anchor in a sea full of traitors.

---

That night, Jinwoo went home and opened his old box of things. Things he’d packed away before he moved in with Minjae in the previous timeline. Photographs. Birthday cards. A chain bracelet he thought he lost years ago—Minjae had said it must’ve fallen out during laundry.

Jinwoo stared at it now, knowing full well what had actually happened.

Minjae had given it to Haejin.

He remembered the photo he’d found just before his death. Her wearing it. Posing in his shirt. Looking proud of what she stole.

He snapped the bracelet in half with his hands.

No more pieces of himself left for liars.

---

The next day, Haejin showed up with coffee and a sickly-sweet smile.

“Jinwoo-ya~” she sang. “You look so tired lately. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, not looking up. “Just busy.”

She slid the coffee cup toward him. “Thought you might want your favorite.”

He stared at it. Slowly. Then pushed it back toward her.

“You can have it. I’m not thirsty.”

Her smile faltered. “Are you… mad at me?”

He finally looked up. His eyes sharp, voice cool. “Should I be?”

She flinched. “Of course not! I just—you’ve been so cold lately. It’s like you don’t trust me anymore.”

“I don’t,” he said, plainly.

And before she could even fake a tear, he picked up his phone and walked away.

---

That evening, Yunho found him sitting in the underground parking lot on the hood of his own car, staring at nothing.

“You alright?” he asked.

Jinwoo didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Do you ever think about what you would’ve done differently if you had the chance to do everything again?”

Yunho leaned against the next car over, arms crossed. “Every day.”

Jinwoo glanced over. “And would you do it?”

“I am.”

Silence.

Then Yunho added, “I used to think forgiveness made people stronger. Now I think it just makes people tired.”

Jinwoo smiled bitterly. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘weak.’”

“No,” Yunho said. “It means you tried.”

He stepped closer.

And for the first time, Jinwoo didn’t pull away.

---

The next Monday, the first blow landed.

Minjae’s team lost its upcoming project contract due to “unreliable financial practices.”

The email went out company-wide.

Jinwoo watched from his desk as Minjae sat frozen, staring at the screen. Then suddenly bolting to his manager’s office, shouting things he couldn’t take back.

The walls were thin. Everyone heard.

By 11 AM, Minjae had been pulled into a private meeting with HR.

By noon, Haejin stopped smiling altogether.

Jinwoo hummed as he watered the office plants.

---

That night, Yunho drove him home again.

But this time, when they reached Jinwoo’s apartment, Yunho didn’t drive away.

He got out. Followed him up the stairs.

Stood in his doorway.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, voice low.

Jinwoo stared at him for a long second. “Why are you really here, Yunho?”

Yunho stepped forward.

“Because I want to protect you,” he said. “And I want to break the hands of anyone who hurt you.”

Jinwoo’s breath hitched.

Then he turned, unlocked the door, and let him in.

---

Inside, the apartment was small. Neat. Too clean. Too empty. Like no one had ever really lived there.

Yunho didn’t comment.

Jinwoo leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.

“I’m not fragile,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“I’m not looking for someone to fix me.”

“I’m not trying to,” Yunho replied. He stepped closer. “I just want to stand beside you.”

Something in Jinwoo cracked. Just a little.

He hadn’t cried since coming back. Not once. But now, standing in front of someone who didn’t want to use him, lie to him, or turn him into a stepping stone—

It hurt.

Yunho reached out.

And Jinwoo let him.

No kisses. No whispered confessions. Just hands on hands. Warmth. Presence.

And a promise:

This time, you won’t fall alone.

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