Friday Night's Sticky, Revolting Depths
The air in the office hangs unusually thick and repulsive on this Friday evening. Kim Manager has finally forced a department-wide compulsory dinner. The venue is a dingy, noisy samgyeopsal joint near the company, its floor slick with meat grease, the ventilation fan barely working as acrid smoke fills the room.
Kim Manager cunningly maneuvers to seat Harin right next to him. It's some outdated excuse about how a new hire should grill meat and pour drinks to prove they're diligent. "Come on, let's taste the pork grilled by our Seo Harin. Seo, my glass is empty— you gonna just sit there without any sense?" He shakes his soju glass with greasy fingers, sneering.
Harin swallows the nausea rising in her gut and forces herself to pick up the soju bottle. The moment she leans forward to pour, Kim Manager's murky, lecherous gaze locks onto the gaping front of her blouse once more, persistent and probing. Not satisfied, he pretends to grab his chopsticks and slides his hand under the table, brushing slyly near her thigh wrapped in thin stockings.
"Ah!" Harin flinches violently, shrinking back. Shame and terror crash over her at once. She wants to hurl the soju bottle and flee, but the seniors around her just pretend not to notice, chewing their samgyeopsal.
Utter isolation. Her lover Junho, far away in another city, can't protect her even in this horrific moment.
Just as Kim Manager's filthy hand creeps toward her knee again—
Drag. The worn sliding door of the samgyeopsal place bursts open roughly, and the noisy din inside falls silent in an instant, like a lie. At the door of the cheap, smoke-filled eatery stands Executive Director Park Minhyuk, head to toe in the finest suit. There's no reason for the branch's top powerholder to show up at a lowly department's shabby dinner.
The employees drop the meat from their mouths and leap to their feet in unison. Kim Manager pales and springs up like he's been shot.
"E-Executive Director. What brings you here? Without any notice..."
Minhyuk, hands in his pockets, strides silently and chillingly toward Kim Manager's table. With every step, the restaurant's overpowering meat stench is completely overtaken by his overwhelming, heavy woody cologne.
Minhyuk pulls out the empty chair opposite Kim Manager—right beside Harin—and crosses his legs leisurely as he sits. "I was passing by after a nearby appointment ended. Heard our marketing department was so united heading into the weekend, thought I'd drop by and cover the bill on my card."
His voice is smooth, but his eyes gleam like ice below zero. "But Kim Manager, if this is a department dinner, why are you making a freshly hired female employee pour your drinks? As far as I know, Seo Harin had a ton of reports due today. Is dragging a newbie's productivity to rock bottom your idea of team building?"
Quiet, suffocating fact-bombing that cuts off breath. Kim Manager sweats bullets, unable to muster a defense. "N-No, Executive Director. Seo here is just so diligent, she insisted—"
"Enough." Minhyuk slices the flimsy excuse with a raised hand. "Seo Harin has documents I specifically ordered for tomorrow morning, so I'm sending her home now. And Kim Manager—you come to my office Monday morning for a proper talk about department management guidelines?"
It's a perfect execution order. Kim Manager's face turns ashen, head bowed low.
Minhyuk turns to the frozen Harin. "Get up, Miss Seo. My car's waiting outside—tell the driver your address and head home comfortably. No taxis."
Harin forces her trembling legs to stand. The man who crushed her grotesque boss's sexual harassment attempt with a single voice. The overwhelming savior who pulled her from that hellish pit and sent her off in a luxury sedan.
Slipping out of the restaurant, Harin climbs into the back seat of Minhyuk's massive black sedan. The moment the door closes, she exhales the breath she'd been holding, ragged and raw. The supple feel of the premium leather seats. The total isolation from outside noise. And filling the car—Minhyuk's thick, sensual body scent.
Harin buries her face in the leather and weeps silently. Relief. And behind it, a dizzying longing and worship for the predator.
And the weekend. Her lover Junho arrives on the first train from Busan after grueling overtime. Harin's tiny studio apartment door swings open, and Junho steps in, face slick with sweat.
They love each other madly. Five years since college. Through the dark tunnel of job hunting, they were each other's entire world, the only comfort—unable to survive even a day apart.
Junho cherishes Harin beyond words. Enduring beatings from his boss in a distant city, nauseating dinners—yet he rushes to Seoul every weekend on packed trains, dozing fitfully, just to see her face.
But the void carved by physical distance is too deep and cruel for love alone to conquer.
"Harin-ah." Junho, forgetting his exhaustion, pulls her into a fierce hug the moment he enters.
"Oppa. You worked so hard this week. It was tough, right?" Harin hugs his back tightly. Tenderness and heartache swell.
He's the one man she loves most in the world. Times when she believed she'd devote everything to him.
But the instant she's in his arms, what pricks her nose is the sweat from the train mixed with cheap, fatigued skin scent.
Lightning-like, her mind flashes to last night's scent in Minhyuk's massive black sedan—the heavy woody notes of a multimillion-won niche perfume. The perfect male aroma and power's heat that paralyzed her brain with every breath.
Harin unconsciously holds her breath and steps half a pace back from his embrace. "Oppa, go wash up first. You smell sweaty."
The casual words wound Junho faintly. He feels ashamed of his pathetic state—rushing from dawn without even showering to look good for her.
"Ah, sorry. Train was packed. I'll wash quick and come out, Harin-ah." Watching his hurried retreat to the bathroom, Harin bites her lip hard.
I'm crazy. He drove all night just to see me, and I say something that cruel.
She berates herself, slumping onto the bed. But no matter how reason whips her, her body and instincts are slowly addicting to the overwhelming capital and power Minhyuk showed.
Moments later, Junho emerges from the shower, roughly toweling his wet hair as he approaches the bed. Water droplets still trail down his nape. He flops onto the edge beside her and pulls her waist close.
"Harin-ah... Oppa missed you so much." His voice is low, cracked. A week's pent-up longing and a young man's primal thirst bleed through.
His hands wrap her waist roughly but tenderly, lips pressing hot into her nape. The kiss is urgent. His breath ragged. He loves her truly—so precious he handles her like fragile glass even now.
But fatigue from distant life and long abstinence tangle his touch—impatient, clumsy. No leisure even for his beloved. Just the raw male instinct to fill himself, fast.
"Oppa... Ah, wait a sec..." Harin pushes lightly at his shoulder.
But Junho doesn't register the resistance. Or doesn't want to. His week's thirst erupts; he lays her gently but firmly on the narrow bed. Covering her completely with his weight, he fumbles her blouse buttons open one by one.
Her voluptuous breasts spill free; he groans low, burying his face. "Haa... Harin-ah... Feels so good..." Lips roam her chest, hand rakes roughly up her thigh. Pants slide down, echoing in the room. Soon, in familiar but frantic motion, he enters her.
No full preparation, yet he can't hold back, thrusting his hips.
"Ahh..." Harin whimpers softly, eyes squeezing shut. Her body accepts, but her heart chills.
His movements are fast, deep... but hurried. Breathless hip thrusts like he just wants to finish quick. Why does even her lover's body heat feel so alien, so heavy?
Harin clutches his shoulders tight. And imagines. What if the man holding her now wasn't Junho, but Minhyuk. That slow, merciless claiming.
Just that forbidden fantasy makes her body respond on its own. Her dryness slicks, friction easing.
"Haang... Oppa... Aang..." Unusually heated moans escape her.
Junho, hearing it, grows more aroused. "Harin-ah... Because of me... I love you..." He grips her waist hard, pistoning faster. Breath roughens, shoulders tremble. After fierce thrusts, he groans low in climax.
"Haa... Harin-ah..." He collapses atop her. Seconds later, deep breaths signal sleep—fatigue from the long trip crashing down.
Harin lies legs still spread, staring at the ceiling. Her body hot... but no peak. She feels him soften and slip out, lifeless—but senses nothing.
Only deeper thirst remains.
She rises quietly, gazing at his sleeping face. Dark circles under eyes, pale fatigue-worn skin.
Oppa sacrifices everything for me... and what filthy fantasy did I cling to while holding him?
Guilt crushes her chest. She cups her face in both hands.
But closing her eyes, Minhyuk's cool voice echoes. 'When you were crying alone in the empty late-night office. That man didn't come save you, Seo Harin.'
The devil's sweet whisper.
Harin rises silently, grabs her smartphone from the vanity. Screen on, she stares blankly for ages at Minhyuk's number in her contacts.
Etched in her mind: that kind tall uncle mask, the chill taste of power pounding her eardrums like heartbeats.
The countdown to total carnal falloff has already shattered her reason, blazing fiercely from her heart's depths.
Perhaps Harin craves it madly—the day she walks into that massive beast's maw of her own will. The day she shatters in that perfect married man's arms.