The warm, buzzy chatter of the annual Year-End Gala was in full swing, but at Table 4, things were rapidly unraveling. Sung Hanbin—usually the picture of polished corporate perfection, senior analyst extraordinaire, and the guy who always remembered everyone’s birthday in the Slack channel—was currently holding an empty champagne flute like a microphone. His cheeks were dusted with a bright rose pink, his tie was slightly loosened, and his eyes were fixed entirely on Zhang Hao. Hao, leaning back in his chair with a loosened collar and a half-empty glass of red wine, blinked up at him through a warm, slightly hazy glaze. He was just tipsy enough to find the sudden shift in Hanbin’s posture deeply fascinating rather than alarming. "You know what?" Hanbin announced, his voice carrying clearly over the soft jazz playing in the background. A few people from Accounting and Marketing turned around, smirking. "Hanbin, sit down before you spill something," Jiwoong warned lazily from the end of the table, not looking up from his dessert. Hanbin ignored him entirely, pointing a dramatic finger at Hao. "No, listen. Zhang Hao." "Present," Hao hummed, a lazy, amused grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You are..." Hanbin paused, searching the ceiling as if looking for the exact corporate jargon to describe the absolute wrecking ball Hao was to his focus. "...infuriatingly perfect. You sit across from me every single day. You drink your iced Americano, you wear those ridiculous glasses that make you look like a soft prince, and you pretend you don't know that I literally lose my train of thought every time you laugh." The entire table went silent for a beat. Then, a roar of laughter erupted from the Marketing team. "Damn, Hanbin! Tell him how you really feel!" someone yelled from two tables over. "Classic drunk Hanbin, always so dramatic," Gyuvin snorted, waving a waiter over for more water. "Remember when he gave a ten-minute toast to the coffee machine last year?" Everyone rolled with the joke, turning back to their conversations and chalking it up to two glasses of champagne hitting an empty stomach. Everyone, that is, except Zhang Hao. Hao sat frozen, the lazy grin softening into something entirely different. His heart gave a sudden, heavy thumping against his ribs that had absolutely nothing to do with the wine. Through the faint buzz in his head, he stared at Hanbin—who was now blinking slowly, looking slightly confused by his own outburst, but still staring back at Hao with absolute, unfiltered earnestness.