IT - 37

37. I Miss You

As Hee-kyung had pointed out, Eun-ho had changed significantly. From the day they parted ways until now, there was no way he would have adopted such a cold demeanor and sarcastic tone without reason.

Just as Ji-soo felt flustered by his unfamiliar behavior, Eun-ho too struggled with the bitterness of his own words after blurting them out.

But then, recalling the image of her passionately kissing Tae-ha in a car, rationality returned. Ji-soo wouldn’t know—she couldn’t possibly understand how difficult it had been for him since that day.

Han Ji-soo and Cha Tae-ha. Countless times, Eun-ho tore apart the picture-perfect image of the two in his mind. It shocked him how cruel and barren his thoughts had become.

Though he couldn’t bring himself to support their love, he could easily shatter it again and again. And when it broke, the one who’d suffer most and fall apart first would be Ji-soo—and the thought of hurting her pained him too.

So he pondered. Should he destroy Tae-ha’s crucial marriage, using Ji-soo’s pain as collateral? Or should he keep Ji-soo by his side to preserve his sibling’s union?

“Thank you for your help. I’ll take care of the rest myself...”

“Lunch first, then we’ll finish together.”

Eun-ho gestured toward the table with a tilt of his chin. Not long ago, this table symbolized a hopeful future with Ji-soo. Just watching her eat the food he brought filled him with pride and anticipation.

“No, I’m fine.”

Nothing had changed since that day. Ji-soo remained guarded, always looking for an escape. An inexplicable sharpness pushed Eun-ho forward.

“Han Ji-soo, what are you so afraid of? I haven’t even confessed my feelings.”

Ji-soo looked up at him, startled by his icy tone.

“Director.”

Ignoring her call, Eun-ho walked over and sat down, coldly pointing to the chair across from him. Despite his silent command, Ji-soo stood frozen.

“Do we need to assign such deep meaning to a meal? We’re just eating because we’re hungry. I’m the director, and you’re my valued employee. We’re simply having lunch later than others because of studio cleanup. Do we really need more justification?”

After hesitating, Ji-soo finally sat in the chair Eun-ho had pulled out.

“I’ll eat well. Enjoy your meal.”

That was the end of their conversation-like exchange. They quickly finished eating, cleared the table, and stood up.

Fearing Eun-ho might stay to help, Ji-soo hastily bid farewell and entered the studio.

But Eun-ho didn’t leave. He waited outside the studio door. He’d already completed the tasks Ji-soo needed to do before she arrived, so he anticipated she’d emerge soon. As expected, Ji-soo appeared not long after.

“What happened to your finger? Did you hurt it again?”

Startled to see him waiting, Ji-soo flinched slightly. Without hesitation, he asked what had been on his mind.

The time apart from Ji-soo had only solidified the depth of his feelings. No matter how bitterly he tried to act, his concern for her persisted uncontrollably.

“Earlier, while moving books... It’s fine now.”

“Did you apply ointment? Let me see.”

“Ah, over there—”

Before Ji-soo could give permission, Eun-ho grabbed her retreating wrist. Through the clumsily applied bandage, small scratches were visible.

Though minor, to Eun-ho, they were the most severe and critical wounds in the world.

“Let’s go to the infirmary right away.”

“I have a workshop-related meeting soon.”

“If you underestimate small wounds, they can get infected, and you might even lose a finger.”

“What? Really? To that extent?”

Her wide, startled eyes brimmed with alarm. Her transparent, earnest gaze met his, and Eun-ho nearly burst into laughter. Had he gone too far with the joke? Even light teasing elicited such adorable reactions.

“It’s just a bit sore, but infection sounds serious... Is it real?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have dropped out of medical school.”

Finally, Eun-ho smiled, recognizing the familiar face of the Ji-soo he once knew. Following his smile, Ji-soo relaxed as well.

“Still, let’s properly reapply the bandage.”

“It keeps falling off. Got it. Thank you.”

Vrrr—Ji-soo’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Simultaneously, Eun-ho glanced at the wall clock. The workshop meeting was about to start.

“Go ahead.”

With a slight bow, Ji-soo answered the call and exited the studio. As he watched her leave, Eun-ho thought that perhaps it wasn’t her wound that needed ointment—it was his own heart.

---

The final preparatory meeting for the workshop ended much shorter than usual, but Ji-soo found it hard to focus due to her incessantly ringing phone. She didn’t need to check to know who it was.

He clearly knew it was work hours and was deliberately doing this. Irritated, she ignored it. Though she could send a quick text explaining the situation, she chose not to. She knew how much Tae-ha hated and couldn’t tolerate missed calls.

“Then, Han Ji-soo, please finalize the site visit to Taesung Resort by the end of this week, including the hiking trail.”

Whether it was punishment for zoning out during the meeting or not, the physically demanding task of organizing weekend activities fell to her. Specifically, to Han Ji-soo, the sole former Media Production Team member in the PR Workshop Planning Team.

“Why are we hiking at dawn on the second day? After drinking all night, no one will have the energy. Right, Ji-soo?”

After the team leader left the meeting room, complaints erupted. However grumpy they were, none faced the burden of traveling to Namhae Resort over the weekend like Ji-soo did.

“This year, alcohol is limited to half of last year’s amount.”

“Unbelievable. Are we high schoolers on a field trip? Should we sneak in hidden bottles?”

Ji-soo hurriedly gathered her materials. Judging by the relentless vibrations of her phone, Tae-ha seemed ready to storm in on a plane any moment—even though he still had three days until his return.

Stimulating Tae-ha only made things harder for her. He was someone who gave rewards and punishments in equal measure. No matter how much she coaxed or appeased him, he always reciprocated or extracted something equivalent.

One thing he never overlooked was unanswered calls, like now.

Ji-soo excused herself from the banter and left the meeting room. Debating whether to return to the office, she instead headed to the women’s lounge.

It felt like an impossible life mission to ever win against Tae-ha. She wiped her sweaty palms and steadied her breathing.

The moment Ji-soo placed her phone on the lounge table, it buzzed violently. The nickname “Mealtime” flashing on the screen was ironically brilliant—a name everyone but Tae-ha himself agreed perfectly suited him.

Trying not to show her trembling, Ji-soo cleared her throat and picked up the phone.

“Yes, this is Han Ji-soo.”

“So, you’re sure this is Han Ji-soo’s phone? Then why didn’t you answer until now, fearless one?”

When Tae-ha spoke in his naturally low, calm voice, it felt like being wrapped in a soft yet heavy blanket. His tone pressured her to respond exactly as he desired.

“I was in a workshop planning meeting. It’s scheduled in the PR Planning Office app.”

Though PR Planning reported directly to Tae-ha, he rarely showed interest in or attended the annual workshop events.

“Is there anything special added to the 3-night, 4-day itinerary at Taesung Resort compared to last year?”

Ji-soo was surprised that Tae-ha even knew the workshop followed the same schedule every year.

“No changes. Everything’s the same, including the morning hike on the second day.”

“Then why didn’t diligent Han Ji-soo answer her phone?”

“I... left my phone at my desk.”

Her voice wavered mid-sentence, nearly causing a stumble, but Ji-soo managed to deliver her hastily concocted excuse.

“I see. So, who took your place writing the meeting minutes in the conference room? A ghost? Or is there another Han Ji-soo at our company I don’t know about?”

Ah, she’d forgotten. For non-strategic meetings, attendee information was displayed on the company app.

“You’re criticizing me for not answering during a meeting you knew about and kept calling persistently? Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black.”

Sometimes Tae-ha acted like he was deliberately trying to sabotage her work. What was his motive for stubbornly calling despite knowing she was in a meeting? It didn’t seem urgent.

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t disturb you during work hours?”

His tone remained calm, but a faint mischievousness lingered. Perhaps if she navigated this conversation carefully, he’d relent. Technically, the person disturbing the meeting bore more fault than the one not answering.

“Have you eaten? Are you tired from your tight schedule?”

“You’re terrible at deflecting. I was energized enough to fly back to Korea just moments ago, but thanks to someone, I’m even more exhausted.”

“Then rest.”

“Playing with you is my idea of resting.”

Ji-soo knew how Tae-ha could say such heart-stopping things in his languid voice. Likewise, she yearned for him intensely.

Was this physical longing? Despite frequent communication, she missed the electrifying sensation of their skin touching. She missed him.

“Answer.”

“I’m not falling for that trick anymore. I’m really busy. I need to go. I have overtime tonight.”

“I miss you.”

Ji-soo exhaled slowly, her breath catching.

“If you give me an answer I like, I’ll grant whatever you want most.”

Glancing at the bustling people outside the lounge window, Ji-soo softly replied:

“I miss you too. I need to go now.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson, betraying her first unguarded admission of affection to Tae-ha.