Chapter 9
Two in the morning. The fourth-floor architecture workshop was cluttered like a scrap yard.
Mica dust floated beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, empty coffee cups piled on desk corners, and the rhythmic slice-slice of utility knives cut through formex boards. Exactly six hours remained before the preliminary project deadline.
"I swear, if I ever apply to Architecture again in my next life, I’m turning into a panda instead," Keonho groaned with Juhoon sitting beside him, his face buried in A0 blueprints. "God, I’ve cut this roof slope four times and it’s still off by a millimeter!"
Seonghyeon—James’s classmate—casually tapped a half-meter aluminum ruler against Keonho’s head with a crisp CLACK:
"If you're tired, go wash your face. Crying won't magically align the roof slope. Recut another piece for me, hurry up."
"Seonghyeon, you heartless demon..." Keonho whimpered, clutching his head, though he dutifully picked up his utility knife again.
James sat at the central desk, his eyes weary from staying up. His rolled-up sleeve exposed a bandage wrapped around his right forearm—a remnant of yesterday's site incident. He operated his computer mostly with his left hand, occasionally using his right to steady the scale model.
Seonghyeon raised his head, squinting at the bandage on his friend’s arm:
"Hey James, what happened to your arm? Cut yourself late last night making models?"
Before James could answer, Juhoon—who had been quietly applying glue—interjected casually with his familiar irony:
"Hardly. Senior got pinned by wooden scaffolding at the site. But he claims it’s 'lead architect duty,' so the wound should feel honored."
Seonghyeon turned to James: "Huh? What site? Did the scaffolding collapse when you guys surveyed yesterday?"
James cleared his throat, tossing a roll of masking tape onto Seonghyeon’s desk:
"It’s nothing serious. Keep cutting the structural frame, Seonghyeon, stop listening to his nonsense."
Keonho stood up and rummaged around: "Alright, I’m making instant cup noodles! Anyone want one?"
"Kimchi flavor for me, extra hot water," Seonghyeon called out.
Five minutes later, Keonho returned clutching four steaming noodle cups, dropping them onto the table. All four sat cross-legged on the tiled floor to eat.
James reached out his slightly stiff right hand to open his seasoning packet. Before he could, a hand reached across, snatching the cup away.
Juhoon said nothing, casually tearing open the packets, pouring them in, snapping open wooden chopsticks, and pushing the cup back in front of James. The movement was so natural that James froze for a second.
Keonho stopped mid-bite, staring at his friend with wide eyes:
"Holy crap... Young Master Juhoon actually serving noodles by hand? Prepare a pre-opened cup for me too, big boss!"
Juhoon glared at Keonho: "Do it yourself. Your arm isn't scarred."
Keonho raised both hands, whispering to Seonghyeon loud enough for the table to hear: "See that, Seonghyeon? A Lead Architect sure has more clout. Us grunts just have to fend for ourselves."
Seonghyeon nodded: "The camaraderie in this project is truly bringing tears to my eyes."
Sitting between them, the tips of James’s ears flushed subtly beneath his hair. He picked up his chopsticks, keeping his tone even:
"Eat quickly and finish the drawings. Anyone still blabbering cleans the workshop alone."
Both Keonho and Seonghyeon ducked their heads down to eat. Juhoon smirked, watching the slight embarrassment hidden beneath the senior's composure.
Eight in the morning.
Sunlight filtered into the faculty lobby. Four students emerged from the submission room with dark under-eye circles and heavy shoulder bags.
"We survived... I am officially resurrected, guys!" Keonho stretched his arms wide. "If you give me a bed right now, I’ll sleep for three days straight!"
Seonghyeon tapped Keonho’s back with a stack of papers: "Don't dream. We have Modern Architecture Theory this afternoon."
Keonho collapsed backward: "Nightmare! Student life is a series of tragedies!"
Juhoon leaned against a pillar with arms crossed, watching James—who stood straight, adjusting his collar despite the fatigue on his face.
"Head over to Martin’s place," Juhoon said softly. "Going back to the dorms now won't give us good sleep anyway. Grab a coffee and rest there."
Keonho’s eyes lit up: "Great idea! Martin’s place has insanely comfortable leather sofas. Let's go, James!"
James was about to decline, but Keonho pulled him along: "Come on, James! After carrying the team, the lead architect has to celebrate with us!"
James let out a soft sigh and nodded.
Martin’s coffee shop and bookstore was tucked beneath an ancient tree two blocks from the campus gates. The interior carried the faint scent of old paper and warm roasted coffee.
CHIME.
The wind chime rang. Martin—the shop owner in his mid-thirties with a warm smile and sharp eyes capable of reading people—looked up from the bar:
"Well, well. Have the four pandas survived another round?"
"Uncle Martin, save us with four of your strongest drinks please!" Keonho rushed straight for the long leather sofa, collapsing like a sack of rice.
Seonghyeon walked to the counter to pay, while James and Juhoon headed toward the quiet reading section in the back.
Martin quietly observed all four of them. His eyes paused on James’s bandaged arm, then drifted to Juhoon watching him. Taking a sip of warm water, Martin smiled gently, asking no unnecessary questions.
He brought out two cold brews for Keonho and Seonghyeon, a steaming chamomile tea, and an iced Americano with light sugar.
Martin placed the chamomile tea in front of James:
"Chamomile tea helps relieve stress and soothe injuries. Drink this today, James."
James looked up: "Thank you, Martin."
With Keonho snoring softly on the sofa and Seonghyeon quietly working on his laptop outside, the inner corner desk turned quiet.
Juhoon sat opposite James, fingers intertwined on the table. He looked at the steaming tea:
"How's your arm?"
James took a sip of warm tea, setting the cup down:
"It's fine. The bandage you applied last night was done well."
Juhoon smirked: "Anything I do is top tier. But Senior..."
Juhoon leaned forward slightly, looking into James’s quiet eyes:
"That 'team-carrying lead architect' shield in front of Keonho and Seonghyeon... don't you get tired? Always having to step out and shield everyone else."
James didn't pull back. He looked into Juhoon’s face—a genius child bearing heavy family pressure, yet stripping away James's own defensive layers.
"It's not pushing myself," James said warmly. "It's my choice. When you're in a position of leadership, you understand there are things you simply carry yourself."
Juhoon countered, his voice dropping so low only the two of them could hear:
"Even throwing yourself out to shield me from scaffolding? You carry the lives of your team members too?"
James didn't answer right away.
He lowered his gaze, watching the faint steam from the chamomile tea dissolve into the air.
One second. Two seconds.
A stretch of heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the soft jazz music playing near the bar and Keonho’s faint snoring in the distance. James slowly rotated the teacup on its porcelain saucer, his eyes drifting down to the stark white bandage wrapped around his right forearm—the injury still throbbing faintly with every slight movement.
Juhoon didn't rush him. He simply watched every lowered eyelash, every hesitant breath from his senior.
Only then did James slowly raise his eyes. His gaze was steady, holding a depth that was hard to fathom:
"If the person standing there had been Keonho or Seonghyeon, I still would have lunged forward. But..."
He paused for a brief beat, looking straight into Juhoon’s eyes:
"...if the person standing there was you, I didn't even have a single second of hesitation."
Juhoon was stunned.
The younger man's heart felt a tight grip. James's indirect admission completely shattered the urge to win within him. James didn't view him as a mere team member—that priority was an absolute instinct within him.
At the bar, Martin wiped a glass cup, smiling at the two younger guys. Morning sunlight painted a warm golden streak across the wooden desk. Amid the gentle jazz music, James and Juhoon sat opposite each other, quiet and understanding.
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