And now, I was left alone.
With him.
I cleared my throat. “B-Brad, so you live—”
“Wasn’t my name Bra earlier?” he cut in coldly, eyes narrowed as he poured himself another drink.
“I’m sorry… Not.” I crossed my arms. “Are you drunk?”
He took a slow sip, eyes still fixed on the cup. “No.”
There was no slur in his voice, no wobble in his posture—just a calm, cool indifference that somehow annoyed me more than any outburst could.
“Hey,” I said, frowning, “don’t just drink without eating. Should we order—”
“I don’t need any,” he replied before I could even finish.
I leaned in slightly. “...Are you sure you’re not drunk?”
Brad’s lips curved ever so slightly, as if amused by something only he understood. “I’m not sure about Bra, but Brad here isn’t drunk.”
What kind of cryptic, moody nonsense is that?
I let out an exasperated sigh. “...Gosh, why are you so edged?”
His expression didn’t change, but I swore his shoulders stiffened for a split second.
Sure, I might’ve acted like a total idiot in the elevator this morning. But that doesn’t mean I’m always an idiot. And I definitely wasn't going to let myself be rattled by some brooding part-timer with a pretty face and a personality like a storm cloud.
Brad scoffed, voice low and dry. “Huh. If you're pissed, just act the same way.”
I raised a brow, unsure if that was a challenge or a suggestion. “But why are you so edgy tonight?”
He didn’t even look up as he responded, “Because I keep my dislikes once I dislike someone.”
My lips parted slightly. That was… blunt. “...Because I called you Bra?”
“That also counts.”
I stared at him, part annoyed, part amused. “But still, we’re not in school. We’re at a workplace—”
“Who’d care about that right now?” he muttered, then added with a lazy nod, “...Good point well made.”
I glanced around.
Gray was loudly describing his secret to the perfect soju-to-beer ratio, Yoonha was shaking a cocktail shaker she had somehow conjured out of thin air, and Mr. CEO was halfway into karaoke mode with Thomas as his backup dancer. No one was paying attention to our table.
Brad gave a small, unimpressed “Hmpf” and returned to his glass like it was the only thing worth speaking to tonight.
Fine.
If this cranky Brad wanted to drink himself into a moody puddle, then I was going to join him—out of pure spite, obviously.
I grabbed the bottle and poured myself a glass, making sure he saw it.
Brad’s brows lifted slightly. “Hey, what’re you doing? You didn’t even eat much.”
“Why?” I shot back with a tilt of my chin. “I see a little boy pretending to drink well. Thought I’d keep him company.”
His jaw clenched slightly. The air between us crackled with something—tension, challenge, maybe something else neither of us wanted to name.
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you drink alcohol well?”
I smirked. “Better than you, I bet.”
Almost like a synchronized dance, our hands reached for the bottle again. Our glasses were refilled—this time with nothing but pure, strong alcohol.
We clinked them together without a word. The clink wasn’t friendly—it was a duel bell. A while later...At the Street
“...Why did you two keep drinking alcohol without eating anything?”
Thomas’s voice rang out with a sigh of disbelief, hands on his hips as he stood before us like an exasperated teacher catching two students cheating off each other’s tests.
Brad and I blinked up at him, our glasses empty again. We hadn’t said much to each other after that quiet toast, but somehow, we’d kept drinking in sync. One glass, then another. And then another. The dinner had blurred, people faded into background noise, and all that remained was the rhythm of pouring and sipping.
Just when I felt like the alcohol was going to lift me into another dimension, Thomas appeared like some sort of guardian angel—or perhaps a disappointed older brother.
The next thing I knew, I was outside the restaurant, cold air brushing against my skin, a half-melted cone of chocolate ice cream in my hand.
Thomas had bought it for me.
“Ice cream makes everything better,” I murmured gratefully, taking a small bite. “Thanks to the ice cream, I’m not completely drunk. Just a little... tipsy.”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me right now,” Thomas said, voice oddly serious.
“Huh? Why? Is something wrong?” I looked up at him, confused.
He didn’t answer—just pointed.
“Look over there.”
I followed the direction of his finger.
And then I saw it.
A few steps away, wobbling out from the restaurant entrance, was our CEO—Mr. Joshua Weiss himself—arms slung around two equally unsteady staff members.
“Ai, wanna, have, more, wah-in,” he mumbled, eyes glassy.
“You’re already drunk, sir...” one poor soul muttered, trying to keep him upright.
“Drunk, sunk, dunk!!” the CEO cried, raising his arms to the heavens like he was summoning thunder.
“Yeash! Let’s get sunk and drowned in alcohol!!” another slurred voice joined in.
“To the second round!!!” a chorus followed, led by none other than Meister Gray himself, holding a bottle of soju like a torch.
It was a total disaster. A drunken parade. A symphony of chaos.
I stared, wide-eyed. “All drunk... Wow, Gray is... an amazing person, in that way.”
Thomas didn’t share my awe. He looked straight at me, eyes deadly serious.
“It’s not the right time for you to relax. You should run away, Mia.”
“...Sorry?”
He leaned in slightly, voice low and urgent. “If you don’t run now, you’ll have to take care of all these drunkards!”
“Ugh…”
Accidents. Alcohol. Taking care of a bunch of drunk adults.
This had to be the worst first office dinner anyone’s ever had.
Just as I was about to slump against the nearest wall and accept my fate as the company babysitter, Thomas suddenly took a dramatic step forward, arms out like he was about to dive into battle.
“I… I will sacrifice myself for my precious mentee…!” he declared, voice shaking with valor—and possibly vodka. “So, Mia, run away while you still have a chance! I’ll draw their attention… I’ll tell everyone you left to catch the last metro!”
I blinked, stunned. “Thomas…!”
I was genuinely touched. My mentor, laying his dignity on the line for me… risking everything to shield me from drunken doom. I could almost cry—
Until I noticed his cheeks.
Bright red.
And his eyes, slightly glazed.
His voice, suddenly more… theatrical than usual.
Red Ranger Thomas had emerged in full glory.
“I will sacrifice myself… for the safe return of my precious mentee!” he shouted, striking a pose. “Yayeee!!! Burning fire!!”
I stared at him.
“...Thomas.”
He snapped his head toward me with starry eyes. “Yes!!”
I sighed. “...You’re drunk as well.”
He saluted me with both hands and a wobble.
Great.
Even my mentor was gone. I was completely surrounded.
What do I do now?
Panic started bubbling up in my chest. Should I take care of everyone? Should I run? Should I pretend to be drunk and collapse on the pavement?
I didn’t have time to choose. Because that’s when he arrived.
“.M-Mr. Weiss,” I choked out, taking a step back.
The CEO. Joshua Weiss. The man who never failed to put me in awkward, high-stakes situations. The man now staggering toward me like a blueberry that had lost its way.
His tie was wrapped around his head like a victorious warrior from a drinking war, his steps uneven but oddly purposeful.
He stopped a few inches from me, eyes narrowing.
“No… dating inside the office…” he said sternly, like a broken record player stuck on a single rule.
My eyes widened. “I-I’m not dating anyone!”
“No office romance,” Joshua mumbled again. “NO… But…”
I took a tiny step back, smiling nervously. “A… hahaa… Gosh, I really need to leave!”
But as I turned slightly, ready to sprint away into the freedom of the night, guilt sank in like a weight on my shoulders.
It’d look bad to leave alone. Everyone was drunk. Someone had to be the responsible one, right? It didn’t have to be me, right?
...Right?
Unfortunately, my conscience said otherwise.
I spun around, scanning the chaos. I had to take care of someone—CEO, teammate, anyone—just to feel like I wasn’t abandoning ship.
That’s when I spotted Thomas.
From across the street, lit dimly under a flickering streetlamp, I could see him standing frozen in place, his red face even more flushed than earlier.
“Let’s grab more beerrr!!” someone yelled.
“Yeashh!! The night has jusht begun!!” another howled.
Thomas teetered slightly. “S-Second round...? I... I…”
He looked so lost. So unsure. Like a man realizing his training as Red Ranger Thomas hadn’t prepared him for the real battlefield.
I stared at him, conflicted. That pathetic look on his face—part hopeful, part doomed—it was almost sweet. In a tragic kind of way.
Then came a familiar voice.
“Okay,” Eddie said, cutting through the drunken noise like a miracle, “Thomas and Mia should head home now.”
Wait, what?
He placed a steady hand on Thomas’s shoulder, then looked toward me. “You two go ahead. And hand in the taxi receipt if you're taking one. I’ll take everyone else to the second round.”
And just like that, he was already wrangling the wild herd of coworkers toward the neon-lit sign of another pub down the street, his voice calm and firm—like a shepherd leading his sheep straight into chaos.
I was left standing on the sidewalk beside Thomas, blinking.
He sniffled once and looked at me, holding up his fist in a salute. “The Red Ranger… withdraws… for now…”
At the Street
“…Well, here we are,” Thomas said, settling back on the bench with a soft sigh, “just by ourselves.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, glancing at the empty street. “You’re right.”
Everyone else had disappeared into the glow of neon and the echo of laughter, leaving just me and Mentor Thomas—the only survivors of the great BBQ office dinner of doom.
Thomas tilted his head back, staring up at the faint glimmer of stars. “What day is it today?”
“Uh…” I blinked. “I think it’s Thursday?”
“No, I mean…” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Is today some special day?”
Just then, a couple passed by, arm in arm.
“No, honey. Today I—”
“Haha, did you, babe?”
We both turned our heads slightly, watching them disappear into the night with soft giggles and shared warmth.
Thomas narrowed his eyes. “There are more couples on dates than usual…”
“…Oh. Yeah.” I looked around.
He was right. Every few steps down the sidewalk, there was another couple. Holding hands. Sharing ice cream. Whispering over bubble tea. Even the street had a different feel—softer, warmer. Like love was in the air… and we were awkwardly holding our breath in it.
And suddenly, as if cued by fate, an awkward silence bloomed between us.
That silence.
The one you only hear when two very single people are suddenly surrounded by romance.
Thomas cleared his throat. “You seem to be the popular type, Mia. Don’t you have a date?”
I let out a dry laugh. “I’m not the popular type. Honestly, I thought you’d definitely have a girlfriend by now. Don’t you?”
He gave a half-smile, eyes distant. “My last relationship ended five years ago.”
“…Huff.” I exhaled quietly, unsure what to say.
Five years?
He looked so composed, like the kind of person who would’ve had it all figured out. But maybe that was the thing about people like Thomas. Calm on the outside, quietly bruised on the inside.
He turned his head slightly. “And you, Mia? Was it recent?”
I looked down at my hands for a second, thinking.
“I had one back in college,” I said after a pause, my voice quieter now. “So we were... campus couples.”
Thomas turned toward me, eyes lighting up with curiosity. “CC?”
“Yeah. CC.”
He let out a small breath of awe, like I’d just mentioned something legendary. “Wow... I wanted to try that, too. But I graduated before I ever had the chance.”
I smiled faintly. “It’s not as romantic as you think. It gets really awkward after you break up…”
Thomas tilted his head, puzzled. “But still, you must’ve had so much time together.”
“Yeah…” I nodded, the memories flickering in my mind like warm and cold flashes. “We met almost every day.”
He leaned back, gazing up at the dark sky. “That’s why I wanted to try. Sure, it can be awkward if you break up, but... refraining from it just because of that? That’s such a small reason not to love, compared to the reasons to love.”
I stared at him, lips parting slightly.
“You—are a romanticist, aren’t you?”
He gave a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah... I just wanted to date as a CC.”
Then he smiled.
Not his usual smile—the polite, composed one I’d seen in the office. This was different. Unfiltered. Honest. Slightly bashful.
And for a second, I saw him—not just as my mentor or a senior at work—but as a person. Someone real, who didn’t care much about what others thought. In a good way, it made him charming. Authentic.
But in a bad way… I had a feeling he’d be the type to fall hard. Maybe even lose sight of himself in love.
Still… there was something so refreshing about that.
I must’ve stared too long, because he suddenly blinked and leaned closer.
“Do I have something on my face…?”
“N-no!” I blurted, quickly averting my eyes. “It’s nothing.”
I quickly turned my face away, pretending to look at something far off in the distance—anything to hide the fact that I’d just been analyzing his personality like a psychology student cramming for finals.
“Mia,” Thomas said softly.
I glanced back. “Yes?”
“If it’s okay with you…” He hesitated, suddenly looking sheepish. “Shall we try… that?”
“…That?” I echoed, slightly alarmed.
His cheeks flushed red—again—and he lifted his hand to point at something across the street, eyes twinkling with the excitement of a little kid asking to buy candy.
I followed his finger.
And there it was.
“…A punching machine?” I said, blinking.
“Yes!” he grinned. “The punching machine!”
Right in front of a small, slightly dingy arcade stood one of those heavy-duty punching machines—the kind drunk men could not resist, no matter how composed they were sober. The LED screen was flickering, the fake leather bag swaying gently in the summer breeze, as if calling to him.
Why couldn’t men just walk past an arcade when they’re tipsy?
Before I could protest, Thomas broke into a giddy jog, shouting, “I’m gonna beat the record!!”
“Thomas—!” I called out. “You’ll fall—!”
But it was already too late.
His foot caught on the curb and his body lurched forward like a crash course in gravity. He tumbled right onto the pavement with a dramatic thud before he even made it to the machine.
I ran toward him, heart jumping. “A-Are you okay?!”
“Oh, uhh… I don’t trip over so easily…” Thomas muttered as he slowly sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “I—haven’t fallen down in a million years…”
I gave him the most unimpressed stare I could muster. “Yeah, right…”
He scratched the back of his head, face redder than ever—whether from embarrassment or the residual alcohol, I couldn’t tell. Either way, I sighed and stretched out my hand toward him.
“Come on,” I said.
He blinked, then smiled, taking my hand as I pulled him up. He was my mentor… and yet, in moments like this, it felt like I was dealing with an overgrown little brother who just needed supervision.
“Anyhow,” he said brightly, as if nothing happened, “let’s go try that punching machine!”
He practically skipped over to the arcade’s front corner and gleefully inserted a few coins into the aging machine. The lights flickered to life, and the leather punching bag swung forward with a mechanical hum.
“You hit it well?” I asked, curious.
“Just about average, I think.” He rolled his shoulders like a boxer warming up. “What about you, Mia?”
“I’ve never tried it before,” I admitted.
“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, “you just have to punch it. Like this—”
He stepped back, measured his stance with surprising focus, and—whack!—delivered a clean, powerful hit straight to the center of the bag.
The machine beeped, numbers flying across the screen until it landed on 900.
“Whoa,” I said, blinking. “That’s a high score, right?”
Thomas shrugged casually, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “Well, I don’t think it’s a low one, at least.”
He looked at me, eyes full of challenge and mischief. “Why don’t you try it, Mia? It really gets rid of your stress.”
I eyed the machine, unsure. “Hmm… Don’t laugh at me if I don’t hit it well, okay?”
“Oh, I’m not such a mean guy,” Thomas said, holding his hands up like a gentleman. “How could I laugh at you for that?”
I squinted at him. “Th-th-then... h-here I go…?”
He nodded, full of fake seriousness. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“I’m really, truly, actually gonna hit it.”
“Yes, really, truly, actually hit it!”
I took a shaky breath, stepped up to the punching machine, pulled back my fist—and swung.
WHACK.
The machine rattled. The bag swung violently backward. The screen beeped and buzzed. Lights flashed. Then came the words:
Woohoo! You scored 943! Best score! You are some puncher!
We both stared at it.
Thomas was the first to speak. "...Have you ever learned boxing before...?"
“No?” I said, equally stunned. “I’ve never even seen a boxing ring.”
He tilted his head, looking at me as if I’d just revealed I had secret superpowers.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Do you… play other games too? Like Street Smashers or Blocks?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Never.”
He chuckled. “Haha, aren’t you going to score the best again, Mia?”
I gave him a glare. “No! I seriously don’t know how to play them.”
“Hmm.” He looked toward the arcade entrance, lights pulsing from inside, calling like sirens to every half-sober person on the street. “How about we try?”
He pointed dramatically inside, like a game show host unveiling the grand prize.
I hesitated.
The street outside was still buzzing—people, laughter, warm summer air. The lights overhead painted the night in soft glows of red, blue, and gold. It was already late, and I should’ve been heading home. But…
Something about this moment, this mood, told me to stay.
“…Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But just a little.”
“Okay,” he smiled, walking beside me. “Just a little.”
At the Coin Karaoke Box
L is for the way you look! At me! O is for the only one I see!
V is very, very... extraordinary~
Okay. This isn’t just a little anymore…
I blink hard, trying to collect my thoughts. Somehow—some very strange how—I’m now sitting inside a coin karaoke box. The screen in front of us flashes “Wow! You are an excellent singer!” like it’s trying to validate Thomas’s off-key enthusiasm.
Thomas, grinning like a child who just won at a claw machine, turns to me.
“Aren’t you gonna sing, mia?”
I wave my hands quickly. “No, no, I can’t really sing.”
“But I sang even though I'm a terrible singer.”
He’s got a point. But no. Still no.
“No, I really don’t want to sing…” I mumble, curling up a little.
I mean, even if I were a great singer—which I’m not—there’s no way I’m about to belt out a love song inside this tiny karaoke booth... with my mentor... who’s practically leaning on the mic stand like some drunk pop idol.
Thomas tilts his head, the mic still in his hand. “Hmm, that’s sad. I really wanted to hear you sing.”
I feel a small pang of guilt. I offer the only possible escape:
“Maybe next time.”
He pauses, and then smiles softly. “Okay. Next time, then.”
He slides open the karaoke box door with a little sigh, stepping out into the hallway of the arcade. I follow behind him, expecting him to say something goofy or lighthearted.
Instead, he turns to me with an expression that’s surprisingly... sincere.
“I really wanted to play the punching machine,” he says. “And sing at a karaoke—”
He pauses, scratching his neck sheepishly. “And all my wishes were granted, thanks to you, mia.”
My heart softens at that. He’s genuinely happy.
“I liked it, too,” I reply, almost in a whisper.
“Really??” he lights up, eyes wide, like a kid hearing there's ice cream after dinner.
"Yes. Tonight was great," I said softly, my voice still carrying traces of laughter.
Thomas glanced at me, a bit sheepishly. “I was worried I forced you to stay and play with me.”
I turned to him, surprised. “No, I really had fun today.”
His face lit up, the kind of smile that softened the edges of his usual clumsy charm. “Would you come play again with me next time?”
I nodded without hesitation. “Sure, I’d love to.”
He grinned at my answer—wide, genuine, the kind of smile that made you forget the world could be cruel. Then he opened his mouth to speak again.
“Then, Mia, shall we leave—...!”
He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze snapping to something nearby. I followed his line of sight.
"What is it?" I asked.
His eyes sparkled like a child spotting treasure. “Oh wow, that toy gacha machine. Can I try it once?!”
Before I could reply, he was already standing in front of the machine, palms nearly pressed against the glass like an excited kid.
“Ah, can I?? Just once…! Please.” His voice was filled with unfiltered enthusiasm, like he genuinely couldn’t contain it.
I stared at him, amused. “Sure, why not?”
It was... cute. The way he looked at me with pleading eyes, like I held the world’s fate in my hands.
Wait. Cute? Pleading? What the heck am I thinking?!
“Mia?” he called out, tilting his head slightly.
“N-nothing,” I stammered, blinking quickly and looking away, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way my ears had suddenly gone warm.
I smiled—partly to hide my embarrassment, partly because I couldn’t help it—and walked over to stand beside him at the gacha machine. The fluorescent light from the toy capsules cast a soft glow on his eager face.
“Wow, that one’s cute,” I said, pointing through the glass.
“That?” Thomas leaned in, following my gaze.
“Yeap, that bunny.”
A tiny bunny doll, hugging a bright orange carrot, sat among the others like it was waiting to be rescued.
Thomas straightened up, puffing out his chest just a little. “Shall I get it for you?”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you good at this?”
“Yes!” he beamed. “I’m actually quite confident!”
He reached into his pocket—then froze. A beat of silence. Slowly, his smile melted away.
“Ah… I used all the cash,” he murmured.
His shoulders drooped, and he stared into the machine like a soldier who had just lost a noble battle. I bit back a laugh. He looked absolutely defeated, standing there with that wounded expression.
“That’s sad,” he said at last, forcing a grin. “But… maybe next time.”
He turned away and walked toward the street, a little slower than usual.
On the sidewalk
“I should’ve brought some cash,” I said, sighing as I caught up with him.
“No, it’s on me,” Thomas replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I really rock at claw machines. I wanted to win that bunny doll for you.”
“It’s fine,” I said, and meant it.
“But still—first I lost that punching game… then the other game too. I thought maybe I could win you something to make up for it.”
I glanced at him, his voice sounding more earnest than usual.
“Mr. Mentor,” I said gently, “you’re good at other things.”
“Me?” he asked, looking a bit surprised.
“Yes,” I nodded. “You work faster and better than me. Everyone says it.”
He chuckled softly. “That’s not really true. Oh—” he raised a finger, eyes suddenly lighting up, “but there is something I’m really good at.”
I tilted my head. “Like what?”
With a simple wave of his hand, Thomas called over a taxi like he was casting a spell. The car pulled over instantly, its headlights flickering to a stop in front of us.
I blinked. “Wow. First try?!”
He gave me a smug little grin. “I’m pretty good at grabbing a taxi, hmm?”
“Yup, yup!!!” I laughed, genuinely impressed.
Inside the taxi
The warm hum of the engine filled the silence as the city lights passed by outside the window. Thomas turned to me just before I closed the door.
“Be careful on your way back,” he said with a soft smile. “Tonight was fun.”
“Same here! We should do this more often!” I replied, still feeling the lingering buzz of the evening.
“Yes,” he said simply, almost shyly.
For a moment, he stood there, framed by the golden streetlamp glow, and in that light—his messy hair, kind eyes, and sheepish smile—he looked... well, like a cute puppy.
As the taxi drove off, I found myself gazing out the window, the night's breeze slipping past my thoughts.Hmm... he’s pretty cute, I thought.
Even as the city blurred past, his puppy-like face lingered in my mind—soft, sincere, and unexpectedly hard to forget.