Chapter Text
The lobby of Jeon Enterprises was a cathedral of glass and cold ambition. For Jimin, standing in the center of the polished marble floor felt like being a smudge on a masterpiece.
He shouldn’t have been here. He had already survived the morning rush, but a frantic call from the daycare—located just a block away from the towering Jeon Enterprises—had sent him racing back. A "fever," the teacher had said. Jimin hadn't hesitated; no matter the circumstances, Minji came first.
But the weather had other plans. The sky didn't just rain; it poured. The wind was so strong that it blew the rain sideways, making the street look like a river. Jimin looked at the open bus stop across the street. He couldn't take a sick child out there—she would get soaked in seconds.
The Jeon Enterprises building was the only place nearby with a large roof over the sidewalk to keep them dry. He had no choice. To keep Minji safe, he had to step into the one place he hated most.
Now, with his five-year-old clinging to his hip, Jimin stood just inside the heavy glass doors. Outside, the world was a grey blur of water and wind. His brown sweater was darker at the shoulders where the rain had already soaked through the fabric. The sleeves were a little too long, stretched out from years of wear.
His heart was racing. He was standing in the middle of a place that felt dangerous to him. To the rich professionals walking past in their expensive suits, he was just a "disgraced" man—the one who had divorced a top Director and left with nothing but a suitcase. They whispered about him, but they didn't know the truth. They didn't know about the coldness that had rotted their marriage from the inside out.
He was a stranger here now, and every minute he waited for the rain to stop was another minute he risked being seen by the man who had broken him.
"Just a little longer, Minji-ya," Jimin whispered, smoothing her hair. She didn't look at the dancing water of the fountain with her usual wonder; she simply buried her face in the crook of his neck, her small hands fisting the fabric of his sweater. "As soon as the taxi comes, we’ll go home and have some warm porridge." Jimin decided it was better than taking the bus like he usually does.
The executive elevators chimed, a low, melodic sound that seemed to command the entire room to stop breathing. The lobby went silent as a group of people in dark suits emerged. In the center was Jeon Jungkook. He didn’t look like a man; he looked like an institution. He was moving fast, surrounded by a tight circle of assistants, his eyes fixed on the revolving doors.
Trailing a few steps behind the group was a boy; Jungwoo—looking small and was completely absorbed in his tablet. He moved by habit alone, his eyes never leaving the screen as he tried to navigate the sea of legs and briefcases.
Jimin watched as a group of hurried couriers pushed a heavy mail cart toward the elevators, their eyes on their clipboards, not the floor. They didn't see the boy. The boy didn't see them.
Despite his own daughter’s weight in his arms and the exhaustion in his bones, Jimin didn’t hesitate. He took two long, quiet strides and reached out, his hand steady as it landed on Jungwoo’s shoulder, gently steering him six inches to the left.
The cart whizzed past, the metal corner missing the boy's arm by a hair’s breadth. It wasn’t a cinematic lunge; it was a parent’s reflex, quiet and efficient.
"Careful there," Jimin murmured, his voice a low hum, soothing. He kept his hand on the boy’s shoulder for a moment, grounding him. "The world moves a bit too fast in this lobby, doesn't it?"
Jungwoo looked up. He wasn't crying, but he looked startled. He saw Jimin—not a businessman, but a man who smelled like rain and vanilla, holding a child of his own.
"Thank you," the boy whispered.
"Jungwoo!" The nanny rushed forward, the frantic clicking of her heels echoing against the marble. She was young, likely in her mid-twenties, with her hair pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful. She was dressed in a crisp, cream-colored blouse tucked neatly into a charcoal pencil skirt—an outfit that was perfectly pressed, professional, and entirely impractical for chasing a curious six-year-old.
Her face was ashen, her eyes darting toward Jungkook with a look of pure, cold dread. In the world of the Jeon household, a missed step wasn't just a mistake; it was a crisis.
The executive group had stopped. Jungkook had turned around, his dark eyes sweeping the scene. He hadn't seen the near-miss, but he saw the aftermath: his son standing with a stranger, and his staff looking panicked.
Jungkook walked over. Up close, his presence was stifling.
"I am so sorry, sir," the nanny stammered, her hands trembling as she reached for Jungwoo. "He—he just moved so fast, I—"
He didn't look at the nanny; he looked at Jimin. He took in the pilled wool of Jimin’s sweater, the way he shifted Minji’s weight to keep her comfortable, and the steady, unblinking softness in his eyes.
"Is there a problem?" Jungkook asked. His voice was like deep water—cool and dangerous.
"No problem, sir," Jimin said, offering a small, shallow bow. He felt a prickle of heat on the back of his neck, his mind screaming at him to leave before Taehyung walked through the doors. "Your son just hit a bit of a traffic jam. He’s fine."
Jungkook looked at his son. "Jungwoo?"
"He stopped me, Father," Jungwoo said, pointing at Jimin. "He has very steady hands."
Jungkook’s gaze returned to Jimin. He lingered there a second too long for it to be polite. He was searching for something—recognition, perhaps, or an ulterior motive. But Jimin just looked tired. He looked like a man who wanted to be anywhere else but here.
"Thank you, Mr...?"
"Park," Jimin said, his heart hammering. He didn't offer anything else. "It was nothing. Have a good afternoon."
He didn’t wait for a reply. He tucked Minji closer, her quiet whimpers muffled against his shoulder, and walked toward the revolving doors. He stepped out into the grey afternoon rain, the cold air of relief against the suffocating perfection of the building.
Inside, Jungkook stood in the center of his own lobby, watching the glass doors swing shut. He didn’t move for a long moment. He looked down at his son, whose eyes were also in the same direction, deep with thought.
"Find out who he is," Jungkook said to the assistant beside him, his voice barely a whisper. "And find out why he looks like he’s hiding from his own shadow."