The next morning.

Sea let out a long yawn as he stepped into the lobby. He clutched the takeaway coffee he'd just bought from a roadside stall like it was the last thing holding him up after an all-nighter. He didn't even like coffee—but without it, he was sure he'd collapse.

He hadn't gone to sleep until nearly 4 a.m. Right now, all he could think about was his bed.

The clock read 8:10.

He stepped into the elevator. The cold fluorescent light reflected off his pale, sleep-deprived face. Sea tried to suppress another yawn, but his eyelids felt like they were made of bricks. Just as the doors began to close, a hand slipped in to stop them—

Jimmy stepped in.

Same tall frame. Same crisp white dress shirt, dark slacks, neatly combed hair, a faint scent of woodsy cologne.

He stood near the doors, hands in his pockets, eyes seemingly distant. But Sea knew—he wasn't tired. Or at least, he never let himself show it.

Meanwhile, Sea pressed himself into the corner—not because the elevator was full, but because he didn't trust himself to keep his eyes in check.

He couldn't stop watching—the elegant bridge of Jimmy's nose, the soft shadows under his eyes that even now didn't dull their sharpness, the way his long fingers idly twisted the keychain in his pocket. A man who felt both far away and just within reach. So serious at work, but mischievous enough to tease his own authors into blushing. Jimmy had shown Sea every side of him.

The elevator stopped on the 7th floor. The doors opened, then closed again. Now just the two of them.

Then Jimmy suddenly turned around. His gaze swept over Sea—casual, like any other morning—but his voice carried a teasing undertone.

"Have you stared enough yet?"

Sea froze.

"I-I wasn't—"

Jimmy gestured to the brushed metal elevator door.
"Not very reflective, but I can still see your eyes haven't left me since the lobby."

Sea flushed all the way to his ears. When the doors opened on the 8th floor, he bowed quickly and practically fled toward his desk.

Behind him, Jimmy stood still, the corner of his mouth curved in a sly half-smile, as if stripping Sea of his stolen glances had somehow... brightened his morning.

Back at his desk, Sea was still recovering from that mortifying elevator ride. He fanned his cheeks with his hand, trying to cool the burning heat. But then he remembered Jimmy had been up working until nearly dawn.

Sea got up.

He made a warm drink—honey water with a bit of red ginseng extract—and quietly walked to Jimmy's office. He knocked gently.

Jimmy looked up, his eyes lazy but bright with amusement.
"Not hiding anymore?"

Sea paused for a beat, then stepped inside and placed the drink on his desk.
"I made this for you. It's good for your throat... and for energy after staying up late."

Jimmy didn't respond right away. He simply picked up the cup and took a slow sip, savoring it like something familiar. Then he set it down and asked, almost casually:

"You used honey last time too. Do you always keep it in your desk?"

Sea nodded, a little flustered.
"Since freshman year. I once passed out from low blood sugar, so I always carry it with me."

He looked down, fingers nervously tugging at the hem of his shirt. He had the sudden urge to confess—that it was Jimmy who had helped him that day, who had carried him to the campus infirmary, who had given him a warm drink and a line he never forgot.

But he stopped himself.

What if Jimmy thought he was a stalker?

Jimmy watched him quietly. Then his lips curved into a half-smile, voice soft as morning mist:
"No wonder you always smell a little like sugar."

Sea froze.

His ears turned red again. His face flushed so fast it felt like steam might rise from his skin.

This man... completely ignoring emotional regulation!

Sea had no idea if Jimmy was joking or unintentionally speaking the very truth he'd been hiding in his heart.

He couldn't bear to stay in the room any longer.

"I—I'll head back to my desk now," he stammered, and before Jimmy could say another word, he turned and walked out—leaving behind only the soft sound of ceramic meeting wood, and the eyes of a man quietly tracking every little flustered motion, as if each one made his morning a little easier to bear.

From that day on, those small interactions quietly became part of their daily rhythm.

Sometimes Sea would find a cold peach yogurt on his desk. Other times, a bottle of banana milk. Always with a smiley-faced sticky note:

"Nice work today."
"Head home early."

There was no name, no signature. But Sea knew.

He carefully folded each note and tucked it into the same wallet pocket where he kept the very first one—the one that said "Thank you."

It was like carrying around a pocketful of sunlight, just in case the day felt a little too gray.

One time, Sea came to work with a cold. His throat was sore, his eyes heavy—but he still showed up because the deadline for editing chapter 7 of Day's manuscript was today.

His desk was a mess of tissues, lemon-honey water, cold meds, and a mini heat pack.

Jimmy stepped out of his office just in time to hear Sea coughing.

He frowned.

"Go home."

Sea jolted, shaking his head. "I'm okay! I still need to go through chapter 7—"

Jimmy didn't argue. He just sighed and pulled out his phone.

Five minutes later, Tek emerged from the editing room, calling out:
"Sea, go. Boss already booked a Grab. If you don't leave now, he'll drive you home himself."

Sea had no choice but to pack up.

He bowed to thank Tek, but deep down... his heart warmed.

It was such a small gesture—but enough to make him rest his head against the car window, smiling the whole ride home.

That night, a single message came through on LINE:

"Come in tomorrow if you're better. If not, rest."

No emojis. No unnecessary punctuation.

But Sea read it over and over, clutching his pillow, whispering to himself with a grin:

"He really does care."

That same night, Day sent him a photo.

It was one he'd secretly snapped during a manuscript meeting at his house. In the picture, Jimmy sat with his head bowed, reading, his hair falling across his forehead in a rare, soft moment of stillness.

Next to him sat Sea—chin resting on his hand, eyes quietly watching Jimmy, like he was gazing into an entire world no one else could see.

Day's message read:

"What kind of mentor-student pair looks at each other like that?"

Sea's face went red instantly.

He knew Day was teasing. But he couldn't laugh.

Because lately... he really couldn't tell anymore. The line between a caring mentor and something more felt paper-thin—so fragile, a single breeze could shift it out of balance.

He reminded himself:

Jimmy saw him as an intern.

Someone promising.

Someone a little close.

But not someone special.

Every time Sea made a mistake, Jimmy would correct him—kindly but precisely. Like the time Sea had written an overly apologetic email to an author, Jimmy didn't hesitate to step in.

"You can be polite, but don't be timid. And don't apologize for being inexperienced."

"As long as you learn from it, it's not a mistake."

Sea had looked down, voice soft.
"But what if I make you disappointed?"

Jimmy looked up, tilted his head, gaze direct.
"If I was truly disappointed, I wouldn't be sitting here explaining it to you."

He had said so many things like that. Each one felt like a quiet knock against the door Sea kept locked inside—making it shake, making it echo with hope.

Sea knew Jimmy was someone who clearly separated work from emotion. But every glance he gave, every note he left, every silent act of care—

They only made it harder to put out the slow-burning fire in Sea's chest.

He was falling—deeper and deeper into this hollow pit called Jimmy.

"He's just being a good mentor," Sea muttered.

Then let out a long, tortured sigh.

"Dear heart, please stop thumping so hard for Jimmy Jitaraphol Potiwihok... He probably sees you like a little brother—meanwhile you want to go on dates with him..."