Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Friday in the marketing department of a major corporation in central Seoul always had its own distinct smell. It was a blend of cold, burnt coffee from the machine in the hallway, the heated plastic of printers running on overdrive, and a barely perceptible electric tension hanging in the air. It was the tension of anticipation. People, like hounds at the starting gate, froze in their ergonomic chairs, ready to bolt the moment the clock struck six.

Hirai Momo rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling an unpleasant throb in her temple from staring at the monitor for too long. The Excel spreadsheet she had been torturing for the last two hours seemed to start swimming before her eyes, the numbers swapping places, mocking her exhausted consciousness. She sighed heavily, leaned back in her chair, and tried to subtly stretch her stiff neck. Her vertebrae cracked so loudly that, in the settling evening silence, it sounded like a gunshot.

The intern sitting at the next desk, a young guy with perpetually frightened eyes, flinched and dropped his pen.

"Sorry," Momo muttered quietly, giving him an awkward smile.

She reached for her stapler to fasten the reports, but her fingers, as they often did, betrayed her. The heavy metal object slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a crash, miraculously missing her toe.

"Shit," she mouthed, diving under the desk.

At that very moment, the department’s glass doors swung open, admitting not just a person, but a natural disaster wrapped in designer clothing.

"And then he tells me: 'Im Nayeon, you simply have to try this wine!'" A clear, musical laugh sliced through the thick atmosphere of office routine like a knife through butter.

Momo, squatting under the desk and groping for the stapler, froze. She didn't need to look out to know who had walked in. She would recognize that voice out of a thousand, even if artillery was shelling around her. Nayeon.

She straightened up, hitting the back of her head against the underside of the desk, hissed quietly in pain, but still crawled out of her hiding place, putting the ill-fated stapler back in its spot.

Im Nayeon stood in the center of the aisle. She was wearing a beige silk blouse that perfectly accentuated her shoulder line, and a dark blue pencil skirt hugging her hips in a way that should have been prohibited by the Labor Code. But Nayeon knew how to balance on that thin line, she looked professional, yet every man within a ten-meter radius instinctively straightened his back and sucked in his gut.

Standing next to her was Manager Park - a man of about thirty-five who usually walked around with a sour expression, but right now he was beaming like a polished kettle.

"Oh, come now, Manager Park, you flatter me," Nayeon covered her mouth coquettishly with her palm, lightly touching the man's forearm with her other hand. The gesture was light, fleeting, but practiced to perfection. "I simply suggested a new strategy for the cosmetic line promotion. It was a team effort."

"Oh no, Nayeon-ssi, without your creativity we would have been stuck at the briefing stage," Manager Park broke into a wide smile, looking at her with undisguised adoration. "By the way, are you free this weekend? The guys from sales and I were thinking of going to that new bar in Itaewon..."

Momo buried herself in her monitor, feeling a familiar wave of irritation rising inside, mixed with something else - something dark, viscous, and exhausting. She started clicking her mouse furiously, opening and closing tabs just to create the appearance of busy activity.

Again, she thought, listening to their conversation. That voice again. That smile again, the one that melts the brains of every guy in the office.

"Oh, that sounds so tempting!" Nayeon drawled, her voice dripping with so much sweetness that it made Momo’s teeth ache. "I’d love to, really! But I already have plans for this weekend. A family dinner, you know? Mom will never forgive me if I miss it."

"Ah, family is sacred, of course," Park drawled in disappointment, but quickly pulled himself together. "Well, maybe next time?"

"Definitely!" Nayeon flashed a dazzling smile, tossing her perfectly styled dark hair. "I’ll be waiting for the invitation."

She spun on her heels, the clack of her stilettos echoing through the room. Nayeon walked past Momo’s desk without breaking stride, she didn’t even look in her direction. No glance, no nod, not the slightest sign that they knew each other at all, other than superficially for work matters. To Nayeon, in that moment, Momo was just part of the office decor, like the photocopier or the water cooler.

Momo kept staring at her screen, but she tracked Nayeon’s every movement with her peripheral vision. Nayeon walked over to her desk by the window (which was, frankly, the best spot in the entire office, one she’d secured by batting her eyelashes at their supervisor a couple of times) and lowered herself gracefully into her chair. She immediately pulled out a compact mirror, checked her lipstick, fixed her bangs, and, satisfied with her irresistibility, finally turned on her monitor.

Family dinner, huh, Momo scoffed mentally.

She knew the truth. There was no family dinner, Nayeon’s mother lived in Daegu and only visited once every six months. "Family dinner" was code for a completely different kind of activity. The irony was that this "dinner" would be taking place in Momo’s apartment, on her sofa, or perhaps even on the kitchen table if Nayeon was in a particularly playful mood.

But right now, at 4:45 PM, a wall of ice and corporate etiquette stood between them.

The internal phone on Momo’s desk beeped shortly, yanking her from her thoughts. She picked up the receiver.

"Marketing Department, Hirai Momo speaking."

"Hirai-ssi," the voice was stern but familiar. It was Sana from HR, working on the floor above. "Did you forget about the attendance report for last month? I need to close the timesheet by five."

"Ah, Satang...I mean, Minatozaki-ssi," Momo corrected herself, lowering her voice. She and Sana were close friends, but they tried to maintain hierarchy at work, albeit with varying degrees of success. "Yes, I’m almost done. I just hit a...slight snag with the formatting."

"A snag with the formatting?" she could hear the smile in Sana’s voice. "Did you press the wrong button and delete everything again?"

"No!" Momo protested, but immediately cut herself off, noticing the intern side-eyeing her again. "No, just...the data isn't adding up. I'll send it in ten minutes."

"Come on, Momoring, I'm waiting. And by the way..." Sana's voice dropped, almost to a whisper. "Are you going straight home today? Mina and I wanted to order chicken and watch a K-drama."

Momo bit her lip. Chicken, a drama, the company of her best friends - it sounded like the perfect Friday evening, calm and cozy. Exactly what her exhausted body and nervous system needed.

"I..." she began, her gaze involuntarily darting across the aisle.

At that moment, Nayeon was explaining something to a young designer, leaning in toward his monitor. She rested her hand on the back of his chair, and the guy seemed to stop breathing. Nayeon laughed, tilting her head back, the light from the window playing in her hair. It was a performance, bright and loud - a one-woman show for an audience.

Momo shifted her gaze to her hands. On her wrist, hidden under the long sleeve of her white shirt, the faint trace of a bite mark left a week ago was still visible.

"Sorry, Satang," Momo said quietly into the receiver. "I can't make it today. I have...household chores piling up, cleaning, laundry, you know how it is."

A pause hung on the other end of the line. Sana wasn't stupid, she knew Momo too well and surely suspected that "cleaning" on a Friday night was the lamest excuse in history. But Sana was also tactful.

"Alright," she said more softly. "But if you change your mind, call me. We won't start until eight anyway."

"Okay. Thanks."

Momo hung up and stared into the void. She felt strange, as if she were living the double life of a spy, only instead of state secrets, she was hiding the fact that the office's most popular girl, who flirted with half the male staff every day, would be moaning her name in a few hours, digging her nails into her back.

It was absurd and wrong, but a hot impulse shot through Momo's lower belly just thinking about it.

"Momo-ssi?"

Momo flinched, nearly knocking over her pencil cup. She turned her head sharply.

Nayeon stood before her desk, up close, she looked even more flawless. Her skin was glowing - not a single pore, not a single blemish. The scent of her perfume, something sweet, floral, with notes of vanilla, hit Momo in the nose, triggering instant flashbacks to last week.

Nayeon held a folder of documents. Her face was serious, business-like, her eyes held cold professional politeness.

"Yes, Manager Im?" Momo's voice came out a bit raspy, and she mentally cursed herself for it, clearing her throat.

"Team Leader Kang asked me to pass these estimates to you for verification," Nayeon said, extending the folder. "He said you understand the budget breakdown for outdoor advertising better."

Momo reached out to take the folder, and their fingers brushed for a split second. Nayeon’s skin was warm and soft. Momo felt an electric shock run up her arm, but Nayeon didn't even bat an eye. She simply released the folder and took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Please check it by Monday," Nayeon added in a tone that brooked no argument. "We need to approve the budget in the morning."

"Of course," Momo nodded, sliding the folder to the edge of her desk. "I'll handle it."

They looked at each other. The office was filled with the hum of voices, ringing phones, and whirring computers, but for Momo, the world narrowed down to those brown eyes across from her. She tried to find even a hint of warmth in them, a spark of what happened between them behind closed doors. But there was only a glossy surface.

"Anything else?" Nayeon asked, arching an eyebrow slightly when she noticed Momo staring for too long. Her tone held a hint of impatience, as if Momo were wasting her precious time.

"No," Momo answered quickly, lowering her gaze. "Nothing. I'll get it done."

"Excellent. Get back to work, Momo-ssi."

Nayeon turned and walked away, her hips swaying hypnotically in time with her steps.

"Hey, Nayeon-ssi!" someone from the sales department called out to her. "Did you see the competitors' new commercial?"

"Oh, Jungkook-ssi!" Nayeon's voice instantly changed, pitching up an octave and brimming with enthusiasm. "Yes, I saw it! It’s a total disaster, isn't it? We could have done so much better..."

Momo clenched her fists under the desk, feeling her nails digging into her palms.

Calm down, she commanded herself. It's just a game, it's her survival mechanism. She loves the attention, she needs this adoration like she needs air.

But sometimes, especially in moments like this, Momo wanted to stand up in the middle of the office and scream. Just to wipe that smug smile off Nayeon's face, so that all these men drooling over her skirt would know that this "unattainable princess" actually preferred to spend her evenings with her face buried in the neck of her clumsy colleague.

'I’m straight, Momo' Nayeon's voice surfaced in her memory, crisp and clear as if she were standing right there. 'I like guys. Tall, strong, confident guys. And this...this is just stress relief. You have a nice body, and you know how to listen. Don't read too much into it.'

Momo gave a bitter smirk, opening the folder Nayeon had brought.

"Keep telling yourself that," she whispered, mouthing her usual retort.

She shifted her gaze to the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. 5:15 PM. Forty-five minutes left until the end of the workday, forty-five minutes until freedom. And, perhaps, a couple of hours until the insistent, impatient ringing at her apartment door.

Momo tried to focus on the figures in the estimate, but her thoughts treacherously drifted back to Nayeon. To how she changed when they were alone, how that mask of the confident bitch slipped, revealing something more vulnerable, hungry, and real.

I wonder what excuse she’ll come up with for her "admirers" next week, Momo thought. A migraine? A sudden meetup with a childhood friend? Or helping her mom?

She sighed and reached for her coffee cup, but, of course, she knocked her elbow against a stack of papers. The sheets scattered across the floor in a fan.

"Damn it!" Momo cursed aloud, catching the intern's attention.

"Need some help, sunbaenim?" the guy asked timidly, starting to stand up.

"No, stay seated," Momo grumbled, sliding out of her chair to gather the chaos. "I've got it."

She was crawling under the desk, gathering the papers, when she suddenly noticed something lying near the leg of Nayeon's desk, which was diagonally across the aisle. It was a pen. The expensive, silver pen Nayeon liked to use for signing important documents.

The pen lay on the dusty gray carpet, hidden by the shadow of the computer tower. A silver barrel with an engraving Momo knew by heart: "NY" It was a gift from yet another suitor in the logistics department last Valentine's Day. At the time, Nayeon had accepted the expensive accessory with feigned embarrassment, loudly thanking him in front of everyone. But later, once she was at Momo’s place, she had tossed the case onto the nightstand with disdain, complaining that the ink color was too pale. Yet she still used it. Apparently, she liked how the metal felt cool against her fingers.

Momo shuffled toward the desk in a crouch, not caring how it looked from the outside, and reached out, fishing the lost item from under the desk. The metal really was cold. She squeezed the pen in her palm, feeling the smooth surface, and closed her eyes for a second. It was a tiny object holding the warmth of someone else's hands, and holding it now, Momo felt as if she had stolen a piece of Nayeon from this entire office hive.

She straightened up, brushed invisible dust motes from her knees, and, taking a deep breath, took a few steps toward the chair.

Nayeon was furiously typing something on her phone, biting her lower lip. Her brows were slightly furrowed - an expression she rarely showed the "public," preferring the mask of a carefree fairy. But right now, apparently, someone in the chat had pushed her buttons.

Momo approached silently. She placed the silver pen on the edge of the desk, right next to Nayeon's elbow.

"You dropped this, Manager Im," she said in a flat, emotionless voice.

Nayeon flinched, nearly dropping her phone. She snapped her head up, and for a split second, a look of fright flickered in her eyes, instantly replaced by her habitual haughty composure. She shifted her gaze to the pen, then to Momo's face.

"Oh," was all she said as her fingers covered the pen. "Thank you, Momo-ssi. I’ve been looking everywhere. I thought the cleaners had swiped it again."

"Be more careful," Momo said, already turning to leave. "Things have a tendency to get lost if you don't look after them."

It was a loaded phrase, and they both knew it. Nayeon narrowed her eyes slightly, the corner of her lips twitching in the hint of a smirk. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest - a gesture that accentuated the swell of her breasts under the thin fabric of her blouse.

"I always find what I need, Momo-ssi," Nayeon said slowly, looking her straight in the eyes. That dark, promising look appeared in her gaze, making Momo's breath hitch. "Or it comes to me all by itself."

Office life continued around them. A shredder whirred somewhere, someone was loudly discussing weekend plans, phones rang incessantly. But in that small bubble of space between their desks, the air became thick and viscous.

"Good for you," Momo replied dryly. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too." Nayeon had already lost interest in her, at least outwardly. She buried herself in her monitor again, but as Momo turned away, she heard a quiet, barely audible whisper: "Don't forget to buy ice."

Momo froze in mid-step but didn't turn around. She gave a barely perceptible nod, more to herself than anyone else, and returned to her workspace. Her heart was hammering somewhere in her throat. Ice. That means whiskey. That means tonight will be long.

The rest of the workday passed in a blur. The numbers in the report finally matched up, but Momo hardly cared anymore. She mechanically saved the files, shut down her computer at exactly 5:58 PM, and began slowly packing her bag.

At 6:00 PM, the office exploded with movement. It resembled a mass evacuation, people jumped up, threw on their jackets, and laughed, anticipating freedom.

"Nayeon-ah!" Suho from accounting, a tall guy she often had lunch with, flew up to Im Nayeon's desk. "We're going to karaoke! Are you sure you won't join us?"

"Sorry, oppa!" Nayeon's voice rang out clearly even over the noise. She was already standing by her desk, holding a dainty handbag. "Mom has called three times already. If I'm late, it'll cost me!"

"Cost you how much? More than your lipstick collection?" Suho chuckled.

"Hey! Those are investments!" Nayeon playfully hit him on the shoulder. "Alright, bye everyone! Have fun for me!"

She was the first to flutter out of the office, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and the broken hopes of the male half of the staff. Momo watched her go, she knew the route. Nayeon would go down to the parking lot, get into her white Mercedes, drive out, and circle the neighborhood to make sure no colleagues were following. Then she’d head toward Mapo District, where Momo rented an apartment in an old but cozy residential complex.

Momo waited five minutes, she didn't want to run into Nayeon in the elevator. It would be too awkward - standing side by side in a confined space, pretending to be strangers when their bodies remembered each other’s touch.

She left the building once the main flow of employees had subsided. Evening Seoul greeted her with a cool wind and a cacophony of sounds. Neon signs had already lit up, dyeing the gray asphalt in acid colors. Momo adjusted her backpack strap and headed for the subway.

A subway ride during Friday rush hour is a special circle of hell you get used to but never learn to love. Momo squeezed into the car, sandwiched between a sweating man in a suit and a student with a huge art tube. The train jerked and rushed into the darkness of the tunnel.

Momo stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the door. Tired eyes, stray strands of dark hair, a simple white shirt slightly wrinkled from the day. She wasn't a style icon like Nayeon, she was a perfectly ordinary, average corporate world employee. And most of the time, she was fine with that. But for some reason, right now, looking at a happy couple in the corner of the car holding hands with fingers intertwined, she felt a pang somewhere under her ribs.

We’ll never stand like that, she thought detachedly. Nayeon would never hold my hand in public. Even if we were dating for real. She treasures her image too much. And I...I'm just convenient.

She shook her head, chasing those thoughts away. Self-pity was an unproductive and sticky emotion. They had a deal - no feelings, just sex, a sort of mutually beneficial exchange. Nayeon got release and the chance to be herself without having to keep up appearances, and Momo...Momo got Nayeon. The version of her no one else saw. And that, damn it, was flattering.

Getting off at her station, Momo first stopped at the convenience store near her building.

"Good evening," the clerk, a young guy with an eyebrow piercing, greeted her wearily.

"Evening," Momo nodded, heading for the fridges.

She grabbed a bag of ice - large cubes, just the way Nayeon liked. Then she went to the alcohol shelf and tossed two cans of cheap beer into the basket for herself. Nayeon wouldn't drink that, she would bring her own wine or whiskey, but Momo needed something simple to wash away the taste of bitter office coffee.

Hesitating by the candy rack, she reached out and grabbed a pack of peach-shaped gummy candies. Nayeon adored these chemical sweets, even though she constantly complained that the sugar ruined her skin.

"Need a bag?" the clerk asked.

"Yes, please."

With the heavy bag clinking with ice, Momo climbed to her third floor. The building was old, with no elevator, and the concrete steps echoed dully under her footsteps.

Her apartment was small: a studio divided by a shelving unit into a bedroom area and a living room combined with a kitchen. A creative chaos reigned here, typical of people who live inside their heads. A stack of manga on the floor by the sofa, scattered game controllers, a few mugs on the coffee table. But it was clean. Momo didn't like dirt, she was just disorganized with the little things.

The first thing she did was toss the bag of ice into the freezer. Then she peeled off her office clothes, leaving them in a pile on a chair (something Nayeon would definitely lecture her for later), and headed to the shower. The hot water washed away the fatigue, the tension, and the fake smiles she had to plaster on at the office. Momo stood under the spray, resting her forehead against the tiles, listening to the rush of the water. She tried not to think about anything, to just be in the here and now.

When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the wall clock read 7:30 PM. Nayeon could arrive in ten minutes or an hour. She never gave a heads-up. That was part of the game, too - keeping Momo on her toes.

Momo put on a baggy t-shirt that was two sizes too big and a pair of short athletic shorts. She towel-dried her hair, leaving it slightly damp and curling at the ends. She cracked open a beer, took a large gulp, and sat on the sofa, turning on the TV but muting the sound. News flashed on the screen, but she wasn't watching.

She waited.

The silence in the apartment was deafening. Every rustle outside the door, every sound of a passing car on the street made her heart skip a beat. The anticipation was torturous and sweet at the same time. Momo hated herself for this addiction, but she couldn't help it. Her body craved the touch, and her mind...her mind simply surrendered.

At 8:15 PM, the doorbell rang.

The ring was short and demanding - just three quick presses. Im Nayeon's signature style.

Momo exhaled slowly, set the beer can on the coffee table, and stood up. She didn't run to answer, she walked slowly, deliberately shuffling in her slippers, making it clear she hadn't been waiting by the door like a faithful dog (even though, essentially, that was exactly what she was, just sitting on the sofa).

She clicked the lock and opened the door.

Nayeon stood on the threshold. Apparently, she had stopped home to change out of her office attire. Now she was wearing tight jeans, a black spaghetti-strap top, and a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. In her hands, she held a bag with the logo of an expensive wine boutique and her handbag. Momo smirked internally: If she didn't come straight to me, maybe tonight won't be as long as I thought.

"You took your time," Nayeon said instead of a greeting, brushing past and bumping Momo’s shoulder. "I nearly froze to death in the hallway. Do they even have heating in this place?"

"It's May, unnie," Momo replied calmly, locking the door. "It's eighteen degrees outside."

"I was cold," Nayeon snapped, kicking off her heels. She didn't place them neatly on the rack, she just left them in the middle of the entryway. "And it smells like..." she sniffed, wrinkling her nose. "Cheap beer? Seriously, Momo? That swill again?"

"My house, I drink what I want," Momo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her guest.

Nayeon walked into the room, acting like she owned the place. She set the bag on the kitchen table and started unloading the contents: a bottle of whiskey and a couple of takeout containers (apparently sushi).

She turned around and looked at Momo, who was still standing in the hallway.

"Well, why are you frozen standing there?" Nayeon’s voice softened, dropping a little lower and acquiring a slight rasp. She took off her jacket, tossing it onto the back of the sofa, leaving her in just the top. The thin fabric hugged her figure, highlighting the absence of a bra. "Come here. Did you buy the ice?"

Momo peeled herself off the wall and walked over to her. Now that they were so close, the distance vanished. The scent of vanilla and expensive car leather enveloped Momo.

"I did," she answered quietly.

Nayeon smirked. She stepped forward, closing the gap to a minimum but not touching. Her eyes slid over Momo’s face, her damp hair, her neck, and stopped on her lips.

"And the gummies?" she asked in a whisper, staring straight at her mouth.

"And the gummies."

"Good girl," Nayeon purred.

She raised her hand and ran her fingertips along Momo’s cheek. The touch was light, almost weightless, yet it felt like it scorched the skin. Momo involuntarily leaned into it, closing her eyes.

"Tired?" Nayeon asked, and for a moment, something resembling sincere care flashed in her voice, but it lasted only a heartbeat.

"A little," Momo exhaled. "You...made a lot of noise in the office today."

"I have to," Nayeon scoffed, pulling her hand away. "They are such idiots, Momo. If I don't smile and bat my eyelashes, they'll never approve the budget. Men are primitive, they need a show."

She turned and went to the fridge, opening the door.

"Where's the ice? Ah, I see it. Get a glass."

Momo obediently reached into the cabinet for a whiskey glass. These were the only decent glasses in her house - a gift from Nayeon for Momo’s last birthday. 'So I have something to drink out of when I come over to tolerate your company,' she had said back then.

Nayeon poured the amber liquid, generously adding ice cubes.

"To the end of the week," she raised her glass, deciding not to clink, as Momo was drinking her cheap beer from a can - which was, in Nayeon's humble opinion, blasphemy and clearly didn't deserve to touch her expensive whiskey.

Nayeon took a sip, grimacing at the strength of the drink, and then, as if only just noticing Momo’s appearance, swept an appraising look over her.

"That t-shirt is terrible," she stated. "It hides all the interesting parts. Take it off."

It wasn't a request, it was an order delivered in a casual tone, as if she were asking to pass the salt.

Momo froze with the can at her mouth.

"We haven't even eaten," she tried to object, feeling a wire pull tight inside her.

"I'm not hungry," Nayeon set the glass on the table. She slowly walked around the kitchen island and stood right up against Momo. Her palms settled on Momo’s waist over the baggy t-shirt, fingers digging in to feel the firm muscles beneath the fabric. "Or, at least, I don't want sushi."

She looked up, and devils were dancing in her eyes. All the office coldness, all that feigned politeness, evaporated without a trace. Standing before Momo now was the real Nayeon - greedy, domineering, and damn sexy.

"Do you know what I was thinking about when you were crawling under the desk today?" Nayeon whispered, pressing her hip against Momo's.

"About the outdoor advertising budget?" Momo asked hoarsely, feeling her legs turning to jelly.

Nayeon laughed - a low, guttural laugh she never used in public.

"I was thinking about how good you look on your knees, Hirai Momo. And about how that pencil skirt I was wearing..." she took Momo's hand and placed it on her own thigh, onto the denim that was warm from her body. "...Was way too tight in that moment. But right now, these jeans are even tighter."

Momo swallowed, her resistance melting just like the ice in the glass. She knew it was wrong, she knew that in the morning Nayeon would grumble about a headache and complain about the hard mattress, she knew that on Monday, Nayeon would walk past her again without even a glance.

But right now...

Momo's hand slid upward of its own accord, to Nayeon's waist, pulling her closer.

"You are insufferable," Momo breathed out.

"I know," Nayeon smiled smugly. "Come on, take off the shirt. I want to see what I drove across town for."

Nayeon took a step back, waiting. She loved to watch, she loved feeling her power.

Momo set the beer can on the table. Her hands were trembling slightly as she grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up. The fabric slid over her skin, revealing a toned stomach, ribs, and full, beautiful breasts. She tossed the shirt aside.

Nayeon watched greedily, her gaze feeling almost like a physical touch. She bit her lip, and in that moment, Momo realized: screw Monday, screw the office, screw the fact that Nayeon was straight. Because the way Nayeon was looking at her right now had nothing to do with heterosexuality. It was pure, unveiled hunger.

"Come to me," Nayeon commanded, extending her hand.

And Momo went.

The air in the room thickened, becoming heavy and viscous, saturated with the scent of Nayeon's expensive perfume mixed with sharp notes of whiskey and the faint smell of rain that had finally started falling outside.

Momo stopped a few inches away, remaining motionless and allowing Nayeon to examine her. It was a ritual, as unchanging as their Friday meetings. Nayeon didn't just look - she inspected, her gaze, dark and humid, slid over Momo's collarbones, dipped into the valley between her breasts, and traced the definition of her abs, which showed even when relaxed. At the office, Momo hid her body under baggy shirts and shapeless trousers, as if intentionally erasing her sexuality, turning into a gray fixture behind a computer. But here, in the semi-darkness of the apartment, lit by streetlamps and the flickering TV screen, she was someone else. And Nayeon knew it, she reveled in this knowledge like an exclusive right of ownership.

"You haven't skipped your workouts this week," Nayeon stated. It wasn't a compliment in the usual sense, but rather a statement of fact delivered with a note of possessive satisfaction.

She took another step forward, finally breaching the personal space. She held the whiskey glass in her left hand, while her right hand rose to touch Momo's shoulder. Her fingers were cold from the ice, and Momo involuntarily shuddered when the icy metal of the ring on Nayeon's index finger touched her heated skin.

"I go to the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays, you know that," Momo’s voice sounded hollow. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like her ribs were about to crack.

"I know," Nayeon nodded, slowly sliding her palm down Momo’s arm, tracing the bicep. "I like that you keep yourself in shape. Men...they often let themselves go. They grow bellies by thirty, they sweat, they breathe heavily. It’s repulsive."

She grimaced, as if recalling something unpleasant - perhaps Manager Park himself.

"But you..." Nayeon pressed her finger into the hard muscle of Momo’s forearm. "Everything here is hard, but the skin is soft."

She looked up, meeting Momo’s gaze. In the depths of her pupils swirled a dark, murky mix of desire and that very arrogance she wore like armor.

"That’s the only reason I do this, Hirai," Nayeon whispered, leaning closer so her alcohol-scented breath brushed Momo’s lips. "A woman’s body is more aesthetic. It’s simply...aesthetic pleasure."

"Of course," Momo gave a barely perceptible smirk, though everything inside her clenched at the familiar lie. "Pure aesthetics. Keep telling yourself that, Nayeon."

Nayeon narrowed her eyes. She didn't like it when Momo snapped back, yet at the same time, it turned her on. Constant submission was boring, she needed resistance that she could break.

"Shut up," Nayeon breathed out, and, surging forward, she captured Momo’s lips with her own.

There was no romance in the kiss, not the kind shown in K-dramas, it was a collision. Nayeon kissed greedily, demandingly, biting Momo’s lower lip as if trying to cause pain, to leave a mark. She invaded Momo’s mouth with her tongue, tangling, exploring, tasting the remnants of cheap beer and her own power.

Momo made a strangled sound in her throat and kissed back. Her hands, which had been hanging limply by her sides, flew up, burying themselves in the thick hair at the nape of Nayeon’s neck, pulling her even closer, if that was even possible. She hated how easily Nayeon managed to throw her off balance. She hated how her body betrayed her mind, melting at the slightest touch of this selfish, narcissistic woman.

Nayeon pulled away just as abruptly as she had started, breathing heavily. Her lips were swollen and glistening.

"Let's go," she commanded hoarsely.

She grabbed Momo by the wrist and dragged her toward the living area, to the sofa. Momo followed, stumbling over scattered items but never taking her eyes off Nayeon’s back, watching the play of her shoulder blades beneath the thin fabric of her top.

Nayeon shoved her onto the sofa. Momo fell back against the soft cushions, and the old springs squeaked pitifully. Nayeon didn't give her time to recover, she immediately loomed over her, driving her knee into the sofa between Momo’s spread legs. The rough denim of her jeans rubbed against the tender skin of Momo’s inner thighs, sending a wave of goosebumps over her.

"Take them off," Nayeon nodded at her jeans, biting her lip impatiently. "They’re pissing me off."

Momo propped herself up on her elbows. In the light of the streetlamp slicing through the blinds, Nayeon’s face looked like the mask of an ancient goddess - beautiful and cruel.

"You could ask politely," Momo said quietly, but her hands were already reaching for the button on the waistband of Nayeon’s jeans.

"Politeness isn't really my style, Momo," Nayeon smirked, tossing her hair back.

Momo’s fingers worked the button, then slowly, with a distinctive rasp, pulled the zipper down. Nayeon hissed through her teeth as the back of Momo’s hand intentionally grazed her belly, sliding just below the waistband of her panties.

"Faster," Nayeon urged, digging her hands into Momo’s shoulders as if trying to pin her into the sofa cushions.

Momo yanked the jeans down, the fabric rustled, catching on her ankles, and Nayeon kicked her legs impatiently to shake off the denim. Clad now in nothing but the black top and lace panties, she drew herself up to her full height before Momo, who was still sitting on the sofa.

She was magnificent, and she knew it. Nayeon positioned herself so the light hit her just right, accentuating her long legs.

"Like what you see?" she asked, noticing Momo’s pupils dilating.

"You know the answer," Momo rasped.

"Say it," Nayeon demanded. "Say that I’m better than all those dull nobodies in your department. Say that this is the only thing you’ve thought about all day."

"You are an insufferable bitch, Im Nayeon," Momo said, but there was so much adoration in her voice that the insult sounded like a prayer. "Yes, you’re better. You’re the most beautiful."

Nayeon gave a satisfied smile.

"Correct answer."

She climbed onto the sofa on her knees, straddling Momo’s lap. The weight of her body was a welcome burden. Nayeon leaned in, her hair falling like a curtain, shielding them from the rest of the world. She began covering Momo’s neck with kisses - wet, hot, biting, she knew exactly where the sensitive spots were. Just below the ear, the hollow at the base of the throat...

"Mmm," Momo moaned, throwing her head back and baring her throat.

Nayeon’s hands slipped under the waistband of Momo’s athletic shorts. Her fingers were demanding, impatient.

"You’re so sexy," Nayeon whispered right against Momo’s skin, the vibration of her voice sending a sweet shiver through Momo’s body.

Nayeon nipped the tender skin by the collarbone, leaving a wet mark that immediately began to cool in the room’s chilly air. She moved with confidence and expertise, as if Momo’s body were a complex instrument whose manual she had memorized, even if she refused to acknowledge its value in public.

Nayeon’s hands, having slipped under the shorts, grew bolder. Her palms squeezed Momo’s ass, pulling her hips flush against her own, creating a friction that tore a ragged, synchronized gasp from both of them.

"Nayeon..." Momo breathed, tilting her head back. Her hands, previously resting on Nayeon’s waist, slid up under the thin straps of the top, caressing her shoulder blades. Nayeon’s skin was smooth and hot, molten from the inside.

"Hush," Nayeon hissed, pulling away from Momo’s neck. She looked into her eyes, in the semi-darkness her pupils seemed immense, swallowing the irises.

She straightened up abruptly, straddling Momo’s thighs, and with one fluid motion pulled the top over her head. The fabric fell to the floor, joining the rest of the clothes. Nayeon was left in nothing but her lace panties, and the streetlamp’s glow filtering through the blinds painted stripes of light and shadow across her body, highlighting her breasts, her slender waist, and the curve of her hips.

She looked like a pagan deity demanding a sacrifice. And Momo was ready to lay herself upon that altar willingly.

"Take these off," Nayeon repeated, nodding at Momo’s shorts, her voice dropping lower and taking on a commanding edge.

Momo, her movements grown slightly sluggish from the surge of arousal, lifted her hips to shimmy out of her shorts and underwear in one go. Now she lay completely naked beneath this incredibly dominant and demanding woman.

Nayeon immediately surged forward, capturing Momo’s lips again in a kiss - deep, greedy, slick with saliva and heavy with tongue. She pulled away briefly to practically rip her own panties off, then grabbed Momo’s legs to shift her fully onto the sofa. She quickly hoisted Momo’s right leg by the ankle and draped it over her shoulder. Momo trembled with pleasure, she loved being underneath. Nayeon began to move her hips, grinding against Momo, and every thrust sent electric shocks racing along her nerve endings. Momo felt her world narrowing down to a single point - the point where their bodies connected. All thoughts of reports, marketing strategies, of Nayeon being a bitch and herself a fool, dissolved in this rhythmic, primal motion.

"Mmm," Nayeon moaned against Momo’s lips, breaking the kiss to gasp for air. She dropped her head onto Momo’s shoulder, breathing heavily into her ear. "You’re so...responsive. It’s so easy with you."

She ran her hand over Momo’s breast, tracing the nipple which instantly hardened beneath her fingers. Momo arched her back into the touch, unable to stifle a moan.

"You see," Nayeon whispered, her voice dripping with smugness. "Men can't do this, they’re too rough. Sometimes I think they’re the ones faking orgasms, not women."

She kept justifying herself. Even at the peak of passion, when her body was melting and her mind should have shut down, Nayeon was still constructing walls out of words. She needed to verbalize why she was here, she needed to convince herself that this was merely a "better alternative," and not the very thing she had craved all week.

"Shut up, unnie," Momo begged hoarsely. She caught Nayeon’s hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing them so tight her knuckles turned white. "Just...fuck me already."

"I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready," Nayeon snapped, but she softened instantly when Momo’s other hand slid down her back to her waist, pulling her closer.

Nayeon began to move faster. The sofa squeaked, matching their rhythm. The sound of the rain outside intensified, turning into a monotonous drone that cut them off from the rest of the world. In this small apartment, in this cocoon of shadows and scents, only the two of them existed.

Momo gazed up at Nayeon’s face. Her eyes were closed, lips parted, brows slightly furrowed in an expression of concentrated pleasure. Now, in this very second, the mask had slipped. The haughty Im Nayeon from the marketing department was gone. There was just a woman seeking release, seeking warmth, seeking something she couldn't find in her endless flirtations with men.

Momo reached up and ran her thumb along Nayeon’s cheekbone, brushing back a stray strand of hair. Nayeon didn't pull away. Instead, she turned her head, pressing her cheek into Momo’s palm, and the gesture was so intimate, so painfully tender, that Momo’s breath caught in her throat.

"Momo..." Nayeon breathed out, her voice cracking.

She lost control of the situation, her movements became chaotic, sharp. She dug her nails into Momo’s shoulders, scratching the skin, leaving marks that would have to be hidden under a shirt tomorrow.

"Come on," Momo whispered, matching that rhythm, guiding her. "Come for me."

Nayeon let out a sound like a sob, her body tensing like a taut bowstring. She threw her head back, exposing the elegant line of her neck, and a loud, unrestrained moan tore from her lips, filling the room. It was the sound of victory and defeat all at once.

Momo felt the tremors racking Nayeon’s body, transferring to her own. She pulled Nayeon close, wrapping both arms around her, feeling the other woman’s heart pounding wildly against her chest. They stayed frozen like that for several long minutes. Only their heavy breathing and the drumming of rain against the glass broke the silence. Their bodies were slick with sweat, the air felt scorching.

Nayeon slowly, ever so slowly, began to come back to reality. She went limp in Momo’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder. Her breathing leveled out, becoming less ragged.

Momo didn't move, afraid to shatter the moment. She stroked Nayeon’s back - long, soothing strokes from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. She liked feeling the weight of Nayeon’s body on her. It offered the illusion that she was needed, that she mattered.

But Momo knew it wouldn't last.

Nayeon stirred first, she lifted her head, peeling herself off Momo’s shoulder. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen, and a red indentation from Momo’s pendant remained on her cheek. She looked sleepy and vulnerable, but then she blinked, and that familiar spark of awareness and slight irritation at her own weakness reignited in her eyes.

"It's hot," Nayeon mumbled, pulling away and sliding off Momo’s lap onto the sofa next to her.

Momo felt the chill of the void where Nayeon’s hot body had just been. She sat up too, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

"Open the window if you want," Momo said quietly, watching Nayeon’s profile.

"No, it’s damp out. I hate the rain." She turned to Momo. Her gaze became appraising again, though the remnants of the pleasure she’d just experienced still lingered in it. "You were...persistent today."

"Me?" Momo asked in surprise. "You came here yourself and climbed on top of me."

"Don't exaggerate," Nayeon scoffed, tucking her legs underneath her. She brushed her palm over her thigh, as if wiping away the invisible traces of Momo’s hands. "I'm just tired. The week was hell, I needed to...relieve the tension."

"I'm glad I could help you...relieve the tension." A hint of irony sounded in Momo's voice, but Nayeon chose to ignore it.

She reached for her handbag on the floor and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Can I smoke here?" Nayeon asked, already pulling out a slim cigarette.

"Actually, no," Momo replied. "But I gather you don't care."

"Exactly," Nayeon flicked her lighter. The flame flared, illuminating her face for a second. She took a deep drag, exhaling a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "Do you have an ashtray?"

"Grab a mug from the kitchen. The chipped one."

Nayeon rolled her eyes but got up. Naked, unashamed of her nudity, she walked into the kitchen. Momo couldn't help admiring her, Nayeon’s grace was innate. Even the way she walked through the cluttered apartment resembled a runway show. She returned with the mug, grabbing her whiskey on the way, and flopped back onto the sofa - but this time a bit further from Momo, maintaining distance.

Momo stared thoughtfully at Nayeon’s lips releasing smoke (even that looked damn sexy). This was something new, Nayeon had quit smoking about six months ago, and even then, she tried not to do it during their "sessions."

"By the way," Nayeon said, flicking the ash. "That intern, the new one...Jisung? He stares at you all the time." She swept her hair off her face and reached for her glass of whiskey, the ice in it had almost melted. She took a large gulp and grimaced.

Momo blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject.

"What? Jisung? He’s just...I think he’s just scared of me. I was crawling on my knees twice today, he probably thinks I’m weird."

"No," Nayeon shook her head, exhaling smoke through her nose. "He looks at you like a kicked puppy, it’s pathetic. But I think that type would suit you. Quiet, obedient. You like those, don't you?"

There was a venomous note underlying Nayeon’s words. It was a test, or jealousy masked as casual advice.

"I don't like Jisung," Momo said wearily. "And I don't need advice on my personal life, unnie. Especially from you."

"Oh, come on," Nayeon scoffed. "I'm just trying to help. You’re always sitting here alone with your video games and cheap beer. You need someone normal to take you to the movies, buy you flowers. You know, a normal relationship."

Momo gave her a long look.

"And what are we doing, Nayeon?"

Nayeon froze with the cigarette at her mouth. She turned her head and looked at Momo as if she had said something of stupidity on a universal scale.

"We?" she asked, her voice turning icy. "We fuck, Momo. And drink alcohol. This isn't a relationship, don't get confused. I told you, I’m not into girls. It’s just..." She made a vague gesture with the hand holding the smoking cigarette. "...You’re convenient. You keep your mouth shut, you have clean sheets, and you don’t ask unnecessary questions. Usually."

The words hit hard, even though Momo had heard them a hundred times. 'Convenient.' The scariest word to describe a human being.

"I know," Momo said quietly, averting her gaze to the dark TV screen. "I was just asking."

Nayeon finished her cigarette in silence, sensing she might have crossed a line. But she didn't know how to apologize. Apologies were for the weak, instead, she stubbed out the cigarette in the mug and stretched, cracking her back.

"I'm hitting the shower," she announced, standing up. "And I hope you have a clean towel. Not the one you used to dry the dog."

"My dog was put to sleep two months ago, unnie."

"Oh, I forgot," Nayeon muttered, heading for the bathroom. "And order more food, that sushi has probably gone bad by now. I want a ham pizza, no mushrooms. For God’s sake, Momo, don’t you dare order it with mushrooms."

The bathroom door slammed shut, and a second later, the sound of running water filled the air.

Momo remained sitting on the sofa in the dark. She ran a hand over her face, catching the scent of Nayeon’s perfume on her skin. That scent soaked into her pores, into her thoughts, into her very existence. Of course Nayeon didn't remember that her dog had died. She had always been annoyed by the barking, the fur left on her clothes, and the drool left after the licks. She couldn't blame her, they could barely even be called friends. What does a stranger care about someone else's dog?

She reached for her phone to order the pizza. With ham and no mushrooms, just the way Nayeon liked it. Although Momo was more than certain that the sushi she brought was fresher than anything Momo had eaten in the last week. She was just capricious and that was the whole problem. Momo knew Nayeon too well, she remembered everything Nayeon liked. Yet Nayeon didn't even remember what happened to Momo’s dog, even though she had been here dozens of times since then.

Momo sighed, dialed the delivery number, and while waiting for the operator to answer, looked at the closed bathroom door. Soft singing could be heard through the sound of the water. Nayeon was humming some popular pop song, off-key on the high notes but with absolute confidence in her talent.

Momo smiled involuntarily. A faint, sad smile touched her lips.

Keep telling yourself that, unnie, she thought. Comfort yourself with the fact that you’re straight. But no guy will put up with your whims the way I do.

She knew that in twenty minutes, Nayeon would step out of the shower, wrapped in her, Momo’s, robe, smelling of her shower gel. She would complain about the water pressure, then eat three slices of pizza, leaving the crusts, drink more whiskey, and finally drag Momo to bed because sleeping on the sofa was uncomfortable.

And at night, in her sleep, when her control finally slipped completely, Nayeon would curl up against her, seeking warmth. And that was what Momo endured everything else for.

"Hello?" Momo said into the receiver. "Yes, one ham pizza. No, take off the mushrooms. Yes, same address."

She put down the phone and leaned back against the sofa, listening to the singing coming from the bathroom. Friday was ending, the weekend lay ahead. Two days in a bubble of illusions before Monday put everything back in its place.

Chapter Text

Monday mornings always began with pain. Not physical pain, though her back sometimes ached from the awkward positions she fell asleep in, afraid to disturb someone else's slumber, but existential. The alarm rang at exactly seven, tearing Momo from a viscous, sticky dream where she dreamt something vague about endless corridors and closed doors. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The apartment was filled with silence - that specific, ringing silence that lingers after a noisy guest has left. Nayeon had left yesterday, Sunday afternoon, leaving behind only the scent of expensive perfume on the pillow and a barely visible smudge of lipstick on the rim of a coffee cup, which Momo purposely hadn't washed until evening, as if it were some sacred artifact.

Momo stretched, feeling her joints crack, and forced herself to get up. The ritual had been honed over years: shower, coffee, choosing clothes that would hide her presence in this world as much as possible, and the commute to the subway. Today she chose a dark gray shirt and black trousers - an invisible woman’s uniform.

The subway greeted her with the usual crush and the smell of strangers' bodies. Momo turned the music up in her headphones, walling herself off from the world with a barrier of bass, and closed her eyes, allowing the train to carry her to central Seoul, to the corporate glass tower where she would have to don the mask of an indifferent colleague once again.

In the office, the air conditioners were blasting at full power, creating an illusion of eternal winter in the middle of a hot May which was in full swing. Momo walked to her desk, trying not to look up. She didn't want to see Nayeon, radiant and flawless, discussing the weekend with colleagues, laughing cheerfully and tucking her hair back with the same gesture she used to sweep it from her face when kissing Momo. This dual reality was exhausting. Momo sat down, turned on her computer, and tried to focus on the spreadsheet with last month's sales data, but the numbers swam before her eyes.

"Sunbaenim," the voice of intern Jisung sounded right by her ear.

Momo started and turned around. The guy stood there looking guilty, clutching a folder to his chest.

"Sorry to bother you," he said quickly. "But Team Leader Kang asked me to pass on that there's a general meeting at eleven. Rumor has it there's some important news. Are you going?"

"Do I have a choice?" Momo asked wearily.

"Well...probably not," Jisung smiled bashfully. "Just wanted to give you a heads-up. You look...pensive today."

Pensive. More like crushed by a steamroller named Im Nayeon, Momo thought, but out loud she just nodded:

"Thanks, Jisung. I'll be there."

A meeting at eleven in the morning was a sophisticated form of torture. The conference room was packed. People stood along the walls, sat on window sills, the hum of voices resembled a beehive. Momo found a spot in the corner, behind the broad back of someone from logistics, hoping to merge with the wall. From here, she had a perfect view of the front row where, of course, the elite sat. Director Kim, Team Leader Kang, several upper-level managers, and her.

Nayeon was wearing a pale blue suit that made her look like the summer sky - unreachable and cold. She sat with her legs crossed, whispering something into Manager Park’s ear. He was beaming, nodding like a bobblehead, looking as if he were about to start wagging his tail. Momo felt a wave of dull irritation rising inside. It wasn't even pure jealousy, but resentment at the injustice of the world order. Why could Park just lean in like that, inhale the scent of her hair, make a joke, while Momo had to stand in the corner and pretend they were barely acquaintances?

Director Kim tapped on the microphone, calling for attention. The room went quiet.

"Colleagues!" he began cheerfully. "I have some amazing news for you. In honor of successfully closing the quarter, we’ve decided to throw a little party for you. An off-site team building! This weekend, we are all going to a mountain lodge!"

The room erupted. Some whooped joyfully (mostly the younger ones, anticipating free alcohol), while others sighed in resignation (those with families and plans). Momo fell into the second category, but for a different reason. Two days. Two days in a confined space with Nayeon, but in plain sight and with no possibility of escape. Two days of non-stop pretense. It sounded like a death sentence.

She shifted her gaze to Nayeon, who was smiling broadly. Of course, for her, this was just another stage, a chance to debut new outfits and reap a harvest of compliments. Nayeon turned to Park and said something, laughing. In response, Park covered her hand with his, and Nayeon didn't pull away. She allowed him this touch - light, public, socially acceptable.

Momo turned away, feeling nauseous, she needed to get out. The air in the room had become catastrophically scarce.

When the meeting ended and the crowd poured toward the exits, Momo immediately headed for the elevators, intending to escape for an early lunch to avoid seeing anyone. But she was intercepted at the elevator.

"Momoring! Did you hear? We're going to the mountains!" Sana hung off her from behind, wrapping her arms around her neck. Her voice was full of enthusiasm, which Momo absolutely did not share at the moment.

"I heard, Sana," Momo grumbled, trying to break free, but Sana's hug was as tight as a boa constrictor’s. "I'm thrilled. Just dying of happiness."

"Why are you so grumpy?" Sana turned her around to face her. Mina was standing nearby with a faint half-smile on her lips. "It's going to be fun! BBQ, games, fresh air. We’ll be rooming together, I’ve already decided."

"I don't want to go," Momo admitted honestly. "I want to spend the weekend at home with my console and pizza. Without people."

"Not going to happen," Mina said softly. "Kang said attendance is mandatory, it's part of the corporate culture. If you don't go, questions will be asked."

They stepped into the elevator, which, fortunately, was almost empty. The doors closed, cutting them off from the office noise.

"Let's go get lunch," Sana suggested, linking arms with Momo. "You need to eat, your glucose levels have dropped, that's why you're so angry. I know a great tonkatsu place around the corner."

Momo didn't resist. Arguing with Sana was useless, and she really was hungry. Besides, the company of her friends was the only thing that could brighten this day even slightly.

The restaurant was noisy and smelled of frying oil. They took a table in the corner. Sana chattered incessantly, discussing the upcoming trip, planning her wardrobe and the list of snacks to bring along. Mina occasionally inserted her comments, balancing out Sana's chaos. Momo silently chewed her breaded pork, feeling the tension release a little. It was easy with them, she didn't have to act.

"By the way," Sana said suddenly, lowering her voice and leaning across the table. "Did you see how Park was all over Nayeon at the meeting? It was so...ew."

Momo froze with her chopsticks at her mouth.

"He's just being polite," she tried to say neutrally.

"Polite?" Sana scoffed. "Momo, he practically mauled her! And he looked at her like he wanted to eat her right there. And she...well, she's Nayeon, of course she likes it. But still, it looks like the start of an office romance. Can you imagine if they start dating? The whole office will go crazy."

"They won't," Momo said sharply.

Sana and Mina looked at her in surprise.

"Why are you so sure?" Mina asked, narrowing her attentive eyes.

"Because..." Momo hesitated, realizing she had almost given herself away. "Because Nayeon has too high an opinion of herself to date a middle-manager, even one with some connections in leadership. She needs a chaebol or an idol, Park is too simple for her."

"Well, maybe," Sana drawled, not entirely convinced. "But you know, sometimes the weirdest couples happen. Maybe she's tired of princes and wants a simple guy who'll bring her coffee?"

Sana's words hit hard. A simple guy. Yes, that was exactly what Nayeon had said - that she liked strong, confident men, and Park was a man. That was his main trump card, one Momo didn't have and never would.

"Let's change the subject," Momo asked, feeling her appetite vanishing again. "I don't want to discuss Nayeon's personal life. It makes me sick."

"Sick of Nayeon or her personal life?" Mina clarified with a slight smirk.

"Of everything," Momo snapped.

The rest of the week passed in a feverish haze. The office was preparing for the trip like a moon landing, everyone discussed lists, food, and alcohol. Momo tried to stay in the shadows, performing her work mechanically, like a robot. She didn't cross paths with Nayeon, save for accidental meetings in the hallway when the latter walked past, buried in her phone, not even looking up. That hurt more than if she had said something nasty. Total ignorance, as if Momo were just furniture.

And then Monday morning arrived - departure day. The parking lot in front of the office turned into a market square. Two huge buses stood with open luggage compartments, swallowing employees' suitcases. Momo, yawning and shivering slightly, her shoulders were exposed due to a new black top (Sana had insisted on updating her wardrobe before the trip), stood next to her backpack, waiting to board.

It was cool outside, the sun was just rising, painting the sky a soft pink. Momo pulled up her hood, trying to hide from the world. She wanted to sleep, wanted to go home, wanted to be anywhere but on this bus.

"Momoring!" Sana's ringing voice tore through the morning silence. Sana was running toward her, dragging a huge pink suitcase on wheels behind her. "Did you save us seats?"

"No, I just got here," Momo replied. "Sana, why do you need such a suitcase? We're going for two days."

"It has makeup, a hairdryer, a curling iron, three types of shoes, and kigurumi pajamas!" Sana listed off as if it were obvious. "We have to be ready for anything. What if there's a disco?"

Mina walked up with a neat little bag over her shoulder. She looked fresh and composed, unlike the crumpled Momo and the fussy Sana.

"Good morning," she said softly. "Let's sit while there are window seats."

They loaded their things and boarded. Inside smelled of old upholstery and vanilla car air freshener, which made Momo feel a bit nauseous. She went to the very back of the bus, choosing a strategic spot in the last row in the corner. From here, she could watch the whole cabin while remaining unnoticed. Sana sat next to her, immediately unpacking a bag of chips despite the early hour. Mina sat across the aisle, taking out a book.

The bus gradually filled up. People entered, laughed, called out to each other. Momo pulled her hood down lower and put on headphones, but didn't play any music yet. She listened.

"Oh, Manager Park!" a familiar voice rang out from the entrance.

Momo's heart skipped a beat. Nayeon.

She entered the bus like a queen stepping onto a red carpet. White jeans, a light blouse, huge sunglasses hiding half her face. She was smiling, but the smile was rehearsed, glossy. Poor intern Jisung scurried behind her, lugging her bag.

"Good morning, Nayeon-ssi!" Park, who was standing by the front seats, practically bloomed. "I saved you a seat. Right here, by the window, just how you like it."

"You’re so thoughtful, oppa," Nayeon cooed, taking off her glasses. "Thank you. Jisung-ah, put the bag up top, carefully, there are breakables in there."

She sat in the second row, right behind the driver. Next to Park.

Momo could only see the top of her head, the dark hair spilled over her shoulders. She saw Nayeon turn her head toward Park, saw her laughing at something he said. Saw Park take a bottle of water from his backpack and open it for Nayeon before handing it to her.

They were small things, ordinary politeness between two colleagues. But for Momo, sitting in the dark corner of the bus, every such detail felt like a knife wound.

Oppa. She called him oppa.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sana elbowed her. "Want some chips? Shrimp flavor."

"No, thanks," Momo muttered, turning toward the window.

The bus jerked and rolled smoothly out of the parking lot, picking up speed. The urban landscapes outside gave way to suburbs, then green hills and rice fields began to flash by. Momo watched the trees flying past, but the image from the front of the cabin remained stuck in her mind: the tilt of Nayeon's head, Park's hand adjusting the air conditioner vent above her.

Calm down, she told herself. It's just a game. She needs a promotion, she needs connections. She's using him.

But a worm of doubt gnawed at her from the inside. What if she isn't? What if she genuinely likes the attention? What if a normal, "proper" relationship with a man is what she actually wants, and Momo really is just a dark secret she’ll happily get rid of at the first opportunity?

Sana was saying something while chewing chips, but Momo heard only the hum of the engine and her own dark thoughts. The trip promised to be long.

After an hour on the road, the bus pulled over for a bathroom break at a roadside cafe. Everyone poured out onto the street - to stretch their legs, smoke, buy coffee. Momo didn't want to get out, but Sana dragged her by force.

"I need the restroom, and you're coming with me for company because there's a line!" she declared.

It was sunny and windy outside. Momo stood by the entrance to the small cafe while Sana waited in line for coffee (Momo decided to tactfully stay silent about the fact that they were only supposed to go to the restroom) and squinted against the bright light. She saw Nayeon.

She was standing by the railing, looking at the mountains visible in the distance, and surprisingly, she was alone. Park had evidently gone to pay for her coffee. The wind whipped her hair, she looked pensive, devoid of her usual smile.

Momo couldn't help herself, her legs carried her there on their own. She approached quietly, standing nearby but keeping a distance of a couple of meters.

"Nice view," she said neutrally.

Nayeon flinched and turned her head. Seeing Momo, she looked flustered for a second, but immediately slipped her habitual mask back on.

"Oh, Momo-ssi. Yes, not bad. Although the air is too humid, my hair is getting frizzy."

"It suits you," Momo blurted out before she could think.

Nayeon looked at her intently. Her eyes behind the dark lenses were impenetrable.

"Thank you," she replied dryly. "And that top suits you. I didn't know you owned anything other than oversized hoodies."

"Sana forced me to buy it," Momo admitted.

"Sana did well. Listen to her more often."

They fell silent, an awkward pause hung between them, filled with unspoken words. Momo wanted to ask: Why did you sit with him? She wanted to ask: Are you doing this on purpose? But instead, she asked:

"How was your week?"

"Fine," Nayeon shrugged. "Lots of work. And yours?"

"Same."

A meaningless dialogue between two strangers.

"Nayeon-ssi!" a joyful shout rang out. Manager Park was running toward them, holding two coffee cups. "I got you a caramel latte, just how you like it! Oh, Hirai-ssi, hello."

"Hello, Manager Park," Momo nodded, feeling like a third wheel.

Nayeon switched gears instantly. She smiled at Park - that very smile that made Momo’s teeth ache.

"Oh, thank you, you’re my savior! I was dying without caffeine."

She took the cup, and their fingers brushed. Park beamed even brighter.

"Shall we head to the bus?" he suggested. "We’re leaving soon."

"Of course," Nayeon turned to Momo. "See you there, Momo-ssi."

And she walked away next to Park, laughing at some joke of his. Momo remained standing by the railing, watching them go. The wind felt colder, the few chips in her stomach that Sana had persuaded her to eat turned into acid.

"There you are!" Sana ran up with a tray of hot dogs. "I bought us a snack. Why are you so pale? Motion sickness?"

"A little," Momo lied. "Let's go to the bus, Sana. I want to sleep."

Momo spent the rest of the journey with her eyes closed and a calm melody playing in her ears, pretending to sleep so she wouldn't have to look at the back of Nayeon's head or hear Park's voice. But sleep wouldn't come. The same scene played on a loop in her mind: Nayeon, Park, the caramel latte, and the smile that wasn't meant for her.

The lodge greeted them with the smell of pine needles and dampness. It was a complex of wooden cabins scattered across the hillside, with a large common barbecue area in the center. It looked cute, if you forgot that you’d have to spend two days here in the company of a hundred colleagues.

The room assignments began. Kang, folder in hand, started distributing the rooms.

"Alright, girls... Im Nayeon, Park Jihyo, Kim Dahyun...and Yoo Jeongyeon. You're in cabin number five."

Momo exhaled. At least not in the same room, that would have been too much.

"Minatozaki Sana, Myoui Mina, Hirai Momo...and Son Chaeyoung from design. Cabin number six."

"Yay! We're neighbors!" Sana squealed, grabbing the keys. "Chaeyoung-ah, you're with us!"

Momo rolled her eyes fondly. It was strange seeing Sana act so surprised when she was the one who had arranged it with Team Leader Kang's secretary (who handled the assignments) in exchange for a coupon to some restaurant. Although, Sana and joy were synonyms.

Their cabins turned out to be right next to each other. The verandas of cabins five and six were separated by only a couple of meters of lawn, and Momo looked at the neighboring porch with longing. Nayeon was already standing there, unpacking her suitcase right outside (why?), while Park hovered nearby, helping her with a zipper that had supposedly "gotten stuck."

"Let's go, Momo," Mina tugged gently on her sleeve. "We need to claim our beds."

Inside, the cabin was clean but spartan-simple. One large room with four futons on the floor, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom.

"I call dibs on the window!" Sana declared, tossing her pink suitcase down.

Momo chose a spot in the far corner, away from the door. She threw her backpack down and sat on the futon, feeling as exhausted as if she had been unloading freight cars.

"Okay, here's the plan," Sana commanded. "We change quickly, go to lunch, then those stupid games, and in the evening - BBQ and alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Momo, are you with me?"

"I'm with you," Momo nodded. "Especially regarding the alcohol."

She pulled a bottle of water from her backpack and took a sip. From behind the wall in the neighboring cabin, Nayeon's laugh rang out - loud and clear. Momo squeezed the bottle so hard the plastic crunched. The weekend was just beginning, and she was already at her limit.

She settled into the corner on the thin mattress, leaning her back against the cool log wall, and slowly began unlacing her sneakers, trying to focus on this simple mechanical action. The lace got tangled, the knot tightened, and Momo yanked on it with grim satisfaction, pouring all her accumulated irritation into the movement of her fingers.

"Momo, are you coming?" Mina's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Mina stood by the mirror, adjusting the collar of her impeccably ironed sports polo. She watched Momo's reflection with a look of slight concern.

"Where?" Momo asked dully.

"To lunch, and then to the assembly. Kang said the 'Field Day' begin at two. Or as he called it...'The Battle of Corporate Titans'."

Sana, who at that moment was trying to pull on bright neon knee-high socks while hopping on one leg, snorted:

"Battle of Titans? More like 'Battle of the Hungover Seals'. Half of the logistics department started drinking soju on the bus."

Momo finally conquered the sneaker and pulled it off, tossing it into the corner.

"I don't want to go to the starts," she said quietly. "My head hurts."

"Won't fly," Sana shook her head, flopping onto the bed next to Momo and dousing her in a wave of sweet floral scent. "Kang is walking around with a list, checking everyone off. If you don't come out, he'll come in here and lecture you on team spirit. Do you want a Kang-lecture?"

"No," Momo shuddered. Team Leader Kang was notorious for his ability to speak for hours without pausing for breath, and his moralizing was scarier than any physical exertion.

"Then get up, soldier!" Sana slapped her knee. "We'll be on the same team. Me, you, Mina, and Chaeyoung. The Dream Team! We're going to crush them all. Especially Nayeon's team."

The mention of Nayeon acted on Momo like the jolt of a defibrillator. She raised her head, and for the first time all day, a lively glint appeared in her eyes - a mean, cold gleam.

"And which team is Nayeon in?" she asked.

"Well, with Park, of course," Sana rolled her eyes. "And with Director Kim - the elite squad. I don't even know how she ended up with them since assignments were supposed to be by cabin... They probably won't even run, they'll just walk around smiling prettily."

Momo stood up slowly. Inside her, where viscous apathy had just resided, a dark fire began to kindle. Suddenly, she didn't want to hide, she wanted to go out onto that field. Go out and show everyone, and especially one specific person, what real physical fitness looked like. Nayeon could bat her eyelashes and play the office queen all she wanted, but out here on the sports ground, where you had to run, jump, and sweat, the rules changed.

"Fine," Momo said, tightening her high ponytail. "Let's go destroy them."

---

The sports ground was a trampled grass field at the foot of the hill, bordered by the river on one side and the forest on the other. The sun, having broken through the morning clouds, was now blazing with might and main, flooding the valley with ruthless heat. The humidity was high, making the air feel thick as syrup.

Company employees, dressed in a motley assortment of tracksuits, wandered sluggishly across the grass, waiting for the start. Some were warming up, some were smoking on the sidelines, and others were already trying to subtly sit down in the shade of the trees.

Momo and her friends approached the gathering point. She felt composed, her body, accustomed to gym workouts, automatically shifted into readiness mode. Her muscles vibrated slightly in anticipation of movement.

In the center of the field, naturally, stood Nayeon's group.

Nayeon had swapped her white jeans for short athletic shorts that revealed her long, slender legs, and a tight-fitting white tank top. A golf cap sat atop her head - the "wealthy girl" image she loved to exploit so much. She looked fresh, bright, and annoyingly beautiful. Next to her stood Manager Park, who had already managed to break a sweat. He was telling a story, gesturing actively, and Nayeon was laughing, tilting her head back and exposing her neck to the sunbeams.

Momo stopped ten meters away from them, arms crossed over her chest. She watched. Nayeon knew she was being looked at, she couldn't help but feel that heavy gaze. But she didn't turn around, she just continued her performance, playing to the crowd, playing to Park, playing to everyone except Momo.

"Attention, teams!" the sweating host (some hired animator in a squirrel suit with excessive enthusiasm) yelled into a megaphone. "We'll start with a warm-up! And then - tug of war and the pair relay!"

The first hour passed in chaos and absurdity. Momo performed the tasks mechanically, trying not to waste energy in vain. Their team ("Twice," as Sana dubbed them in a fit of creativity) hovered in the middle of the scoreboard. Sana spent more time squealing and running in circles than actually helping, Mina was efficient but cautious, and Chaeyoung was simply enjoying the process.

Momo kept her eyes on the rival team. Nayeon didn't strain herself much. In the tug-of-war, she stood last, simply holding the rope and flexing her bicep prettily for photos, while Park and Director Kim huffed and puffed, straining their tendons. When they won, Nayeon jumped up and down, hugging everyone in sight as if it were her personal Olympic victory.

The moment of truth arrived when they announced the "Pair Relay."

"The rules are simple!" the animator yelled. "Pair up! You need to sandwich a balloon between your bodies, specifically between your stomachs, backs, and foreheads, and run to the finish line without dropping it or popping it with your hands! It's a test of your coordination and intimacy!"

The crowd buzzed. Jokes below the belt started flying. Momo saw Park immediately turn to Nayeon.

"Nayeon-ssi, are we together?" he asked, and there was so much hope in his voice that it was almost pitiable.

Nayeon hesitated for a second. Her gaze darted through the crowd and met Momo’s for a split second. Momo stood motionless, her face an impenetrable mask. Go ahead, her eyes read. Do it. Humiliate me even more.

Nayeon looked away and smiled at Park.

"Of course, oppa. We'll show them how it's done-done-done!"

Something snapped inside Momo. The thin thread of hope she had invented for herself.

"Momo, come with me!" Sana grabbed her hand. "You and I are the most coordinated!"

"Okay," Momo replied hollowly, not bothering to correct Sana that she was as far from good coordination as Momo was from self-respect.

The relay began, pairs lined up at the start. First task: sandwich the balloon between stomachs and walk sideways. Momo and Sana stood facing each other.

"Ready?" Sana asked, pressing a red balloon against Momo's stomach with her own.

"Let's go."

The whistle blew.

Momo moved sharply, rhythmically. She felt Sana's body, but it was completely different. Sana was soft, warm, familiar, but there were no electric shocks coming from her. They moved fast, in sync, overtaking a pair of accountants who dropped their balloon on the second step.

But all of Momo’s attention was riveted to the neighboring lane.

Nayeon and Park were there. They were very close to each other, too close. The balloon between their bodies was compressed to the limit. Park placed his hands on Nayeon’s waist - ostensibly for balance, but his palms rested confidently, possessively. Nayeon held onto his shoulders too, laughing right in his face. Their legs tangled, they stumbled, Nayeon squealed, pressing even harder against him to keep the balloon in place.

It looked like a scene from a romantic comedy. The awkwardness, the laughter, accidental touches, locking eyes. The whole office watched them, whooping and cheering.

"Look at that chemistry!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Just get married already!"

Momo felt the blood rushing to her head, pounding in her temples like a war drum.

"Momo, careful!" Sana squeaked. "You're going to crush me!"

Momo hadn't noticed that she sped up and started pressing on the balloon with such force that Sana had to step back.

"Sorry," Momo breathed out, but didn't slow down.

They reached the finish line first in their heat. Nayeon and Park came in second, lagging a couple of seconds behind. When they crossed the line, the balloon between them popped with a loud bang.

Nayeon shrieked and instinctively threw her arms around Park’s neck, ostensibly out of fright. Park, not missing a beat, caught her, pulling her close.

"Oh god, I was so scared!" Nayeon laughed, in no hurry to break the embrace.

Momo stood three meters away, breathing heavily. Sweat streamed down her back under her t-shirt, yet she felt cold. She looked at Park’s hands on Nayeon’s back. At the exact spot where her own hands had been two weeks ago. At the exact spot she had kissed.

She felt dirty, used. All of Nayeon's words about "I’m straight" now sounded not like an excuse, but like a mockery, like a verdict. Here she was - her straightness in the flesh. Happy, radiant, in the arms of a man who could give her status, money, and a normal life.

"Momoring, we won!" Sana jumped around her, trying to give her a high-five. "Did you see? We crushed them!"

Momo slowly shifted her gaze to Sana.

"Yes," she said in a lifeless voice. "We won."

She turned and walked away from the field, not waiting for the results to be announced.

"Hey, where are you going?" Sana shouted after her. "The next stage is starting now!"

"I pass," Momo threw over her shoulder without stopping. "I need water."

She retreated into the shade of the trees, far away from the noise, the laughter, and that unbearable spectacle. She needed to cool down. She needed to reassemble herself, piece by piece, because right now she was crumbling apart right in front of the whole office, and no one but her could see it.

---

Evening descended on the valley softly and unnoticed. The heat gave way to a chill, dampness and fog drifted in from the river. Lanterns lit up in the center of the complex, and smoke from a dozen grills rose into the sky, mingling with the aroma of roasted meat - samgyeopsal and beef.

Momo sat at one of the long wooden tables, cluttered with bottles of soju, beer, and endless plates of side dishes. A kind of merriment reigned around them that only happens at corporate parties after the third round of shots. Ties were loosened, hierarchy erased. Interns drank love shots with bosses, accounting sang songs, and the logistics department was already planning a night swim in the river.

Momo drank.

She drank methodically, silently, mixing soju with beer into somaek - a killer cocktail that shuts down the brain faster than you can say "stop." Beside her sat Sana, already quite tipsy and rosy-cheeked, trying to feed Momo meat wrapped in a lettuce leaf.

"Eat, Momoring, or you'll crash," she cooed skillfully. "Open wide, ahhh!"

Momo chewed obediently, tasting nothing. Her gaze was riveted to the other end of the table.

There, in the center of attention, sat Nayeon. She had changed for dinner, now she wore a cozy cream cardigan draped over her shoulders and jeans. She looked relaxed, domestic...and infinitely distant.

Next to her, shoulder to shoulder, sat Park. He was already drunk, his face was flushed, his gestures sweeping. He was telling a story, leaning right into Nayeon’s ear, and his hand kept touching her shoulder, her back, even her knee.

And Nayeon didn't pull away.

She smiled, nodded, and poured him more soju. She was playing the role of the ideal companion.

Momo felt not just jealousy rising inside her, but a cold, poisonous rage. Alcohol had removed the brakes, stripping away fear and embarrassment. Only resentment remained. Resentment that she was kept secret, like a dirty little mystery, while this...this ordinary, sweaty man got all the attention simply because he had a dick.

"Hey, Nayeon-ssi!" one of the designers suddenly shouted loudly. "Is it true that you and Manager Park agreed to go on a date? You two looked so good together at the relay today!"

Silence fell over the table, all eyes fixed on the couple. Park broke into a smug smile, clearly having no intention of denying it.

Nayeon laughed.

"Oh, come now, Jeongsu-ssi!" her voice chimed like a bell. "We are just good colleagues. Manager Park is a wonderful teammate."

"Yeah, right, teammates!" someone else chimed in. "As if we believe that! Kiss! Kiss!"

"Kiss! Kiss!" the drunken employees began to chant.

Emboldened, Park wrapped his arm around Nayeon’s shoulders and pulled her close. Nayeon didn't push him away, she merely covered her face coquettishly with her hands, laughing.

In that moment, Momo snapped. She stood up abruptly. The bench scraped back with a crash, drawing the attention of the nearest neighbors.

"Momo?" Sana asked fearfully.

Momo didn't answer. She grabbed a nearly full bottle of soju from the table and, staggering slightly, walked away from the table. She needed to leave, right now. Otherwise, she would do something she’d regret. Or maybe she wouldn't regret it anymore.

She walked past the table where Nayeon sat. Passing by, she stopped for a second. Nayeon looked up at her, the laughter was gone from her eyes, replaced by fright. She saw Momo's state - the clenched fists, the glazed look, the tensed jaw.

Momo looked down at her. For a second, their gazes locked.

Straight, huh? Momo screamed mentally. Keep proving that to yourself.

She turned away and walked off into the darkness, toward the river, away from the lantern lights and this fake celebration of life. She heard the chants of "Kiss!" die down behind her, replaced by awkward whispering, but she didn't care. Momo went down to the riverbank, it was dark and quiet here. Water lapped against the stones, frogs croaking somewhere nearby. The cool air chilled her burning face but couldn't cool the fire inside.

She sat on a large boulder right at the water's edge, opened the bottle, and took a huge gulp straight from the neck. The bitter liquid burned her throat, but it was the right kind of pain, healing in a way. She sat there staring at the black water reflecting the moon. A lonely, cold moon, just like herself, and she didn't care that the thought smacked of melodrama.

She didn't know how much time had passed. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. The bottle was half empty. Suddenly, the snap of a twig sounded from behind.

Momo didn't turn around. She knew who it was, she could smell that scent - a mix of expensive perfume and campfire smoke.

"You're drunk, Hirai," Nayeon's voice sounded quiet, without the usual mockery.

Momo smirked, staring at the water.

"And you aren't? You did like five love shots with him. Or was that water?"

Nayeon walked closer and stood beside her. She didn't sit, she just stood there, hugging herself, wrapping the cardigan tighter around her body.

"It's just a game, Momo. You know the rules."

"Rules?" Momo turned her head sharply. In the darkness, her eyes glinted feverishly. "Ah yes, the rules. 'I'm straight, I like guys, and you are just a convenient body for Friday nights.' Did I miss anything?"

Nayeon winced as if slapped.

"Don't say that."

"Then how should I say it?" Momo stood up. She swayed slightly but kept her balance. She stepped toward Nayeon, closing the distance. "How should I say it when you let that...that idiot paw at you in front of everyone? When you laugh with him? When you look at him in a way you never look at me in the light of day?"

"He's my colleague, Momo!" Nayeon hissed, glancing back toward the camp, afraid they might be heard. "I need to maintain relationships! It's politics!"

"It's not politics, Nayeon! It's flirting!" Momo raised her voice, she didn't give a damn who heard. "You enjoy it! You like that he chases after you. You like feeling like a desired woman. A 'normal' woman."

"Shut up," Nayeon took a step back, her back hitting the trunk of a tree.

"Why? Am I right?" Momo loomed over her. Alcohol had made her bold and cruel. "Are you ashamed of us? Ashamed that you sleep with a girl? Ashamed that you like it more than with him?"

Nayeon remained silent, her chest heaving. In the dark, Momo couldn't see her expression, but she could feel the tension radiating from her.

"Tell me," Momo whispered, leaning right into her face, feeling the alcohol pulsing in her veins, loosening her tongue. "Tell me you liked it when he held you today. Say it, and I'll back off, I'll leave."

Nayeon stayed silent, her chest rising and falling heavily beneath the thin fabric of the cardigan. She pressed her back into the rough bark of the tree, as if trying to merge with it, to disappear. In the darkness, her eyes looked like two black voids filled with fear and anger.

"You're talking nonsense, Momo," she finally choked out, trying to push Momo away, but her hands were weak, stripped of their usual confidence. "You're just jealous over nothing."

"Over nothing?" Momo laughed hoarsely, catching Nayeon's wrists and pinning them to the tree on either side of her head. "Don't lie to me. Don't lie at least now, when we're alone in this damn dark. You call him oppa, you let him grope you. You play the perfect girl for him. Why? To prove to yourself that you're normal?"

"I am normal!" Nayeon shouted, jerking in her grip. "I love men! I've told you that a thousand times!"

"Yeah?" Momo leaned in even closer, their noses almost touching. She felt Nayeon's hot breath on her lips. "Then answer me, Nayeon, honestly. When was the last time you slept with a man? Not flirted, not smiled for a free cocktail or a finished task, but actually fucked? When was the last time you felt a man's hands on your body and didn't want to run to the shower five minutes later?"

Nayeon froze. The question hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable, like a stone around her neck. She opened her mouth to answer, but the words stuck in her throat.

"Well?" Momo insisted, peering into her face. "A month ago? A year? Two?"

"I...I don't have time for a relationship!" Nayeon blurted out, looking away. "I'm building a career. I'm busy! You know my schedule!"

"You have time to come over every Friday," Momo parried ruthlessly. "You have time to lounge on my sofa, play video games, and fuck until morning. You have time for that. But for the men you supposedly love so much, you have no time?"

"That's different!" Nayeon's voice rose to a shriek. "With you...with you, it's just stress relief! It's like the gym, it means nothing."

"And dates?" Momo didn't back down. She felt the dam that had held her back for months crumbling. "When did you go on a real date, Nayeon? Not a business dinner masquerading as a meeting, but a date where you actually wanted it to go somewhere?"

Nayeon remained silent, biting her lip so hard it looked like it might bleed.

"You can't remember," Momo stated quietly, and suddenly, instead of rage, her voice held infinite weariness. "Because it never happened. You're inventing a life you don't have. You're inventing feelings you don't have. You're using Park as a smokescreen to hide from the fact that the only place you feel alive is my cheap apartment with bad heating."

"Shut up..." Nayeon whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek, glinting in the moonlight. "Please, shut up."

"Why? Does the truth hurt?" Momo let go of her hands but didn't step away. "You're not straight, Nayeon. You're just a coward. And I'm tired of chasing after you."

Nayeon looked up at her. There was no defense left in her eyes, only panic. The panic of someone cornered and stripped of their last layer of clothing.

"You're not going anywhere," she said quietly, her voice trembling, breaking on every syllable. "You're not going anywhere, Momo. Because you're just as messed up as I am. You know all of this, and yet you're still standing here."

And before Momo could answer, Nayeon grabbed the collar of her hoodie. The movement was sharp, desperate. She pulled Momo close, crushing her lips in a kiss - not tender, not asking, but demanding. It was the kiss of a drowning person clutching at a straw, even knowing it wouldn't save them.

This wasn't like their Friday games, this was war. Nayeon bit her lips as if punishing her for the truth, for the opened wounds, for the shattered illusions. She pressed against Momo with her entire body, trembling, hot, seeking that very "relief," that very oblivion she had spoken of.

Momo froze for a second, stunned by the onslaught, but her body reacted faster than her mind, betraying her principles. The bottle slipped from her hand and fell into the grass with a dull thud, splashing the remaining soju. Momo's arms wound around Nayeon's waist of their own accord, pinning her against the tree, pressing her into the rough bark. She kissed back with equal fury, pouring into it all the pain of the last few weeks, all the jealousy over Park, all the despair of being unable to reach this woman with words.

They stood in the darkness by the river, hidden by the shadows of the trees, while a hundred meters away music boomed and drunken colleagues shouted toasts to the health of the new "couple." Here, in this stolen minute of silence, they were tearing each other apart, mixing saliva, tears, and the taste of cheap alcohol.

Nayeon pulled away first. She was gasping for air, her lips wet and swollen, lipstick smeared. She pressed her palms against Momo's chest, pushing her away, creating that very distance she had just violated herself.

"Happy now?" she spat out, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as if wiping away evidence of a crime.

"No," Momo answered honestly, trying to focus her gaze on Nayeon's face. A fire was still raging inside her.

"Go to sleep, Hirai. You're drunk," Nayeon's voice turned ice-cold, she was rebuilding her walls brick by brick right before Momo's eyes, already retreating. "We'll talk when you're sober."

"We never talk, Nayeon," Momo threw bitterly at her back. "We only fuck and stay silent."

Nayeon froze in mid-step, her shoulders tensing, but she didn't answer. She adjusted her disheveled cardigan, ran a hand through her messy hair, regaining a semblance of control, and without looking back, walked quickly up the slope, back toward the lantern lights, the music, and the people. Back to her perfect mask, which had just cracked but which she was so desperately trying to glue back together.

Momo remained standing by the tree. She listened to the receding footsteps and the rush of the river. The emptiness inside grew larger, blacker, and colder, filling all the space where hope had once glimmered.

She leaned against the tree trunk she had just pinned Nayeon to and slid down it onto the damp earth, burying her face in her hands. Her fingers smelled of Nayeon's perfume.

---

Night in the mountains doesn't fall like it does in the city - it drops like a heavy, damp blanket, muffling sounds and blurring outlines. Momo sat by the river for about another hour, until the cold finally seeped under the thin fabric of her tracksuit, making her teeth chatter. She stared at the dark water reflecting the waning moon and tried to gather her thoughts, but they scattered like frightened fish. A dull ache pulsed in her head, an echo of the alcohol consumed and the stress endured, while the trace of Nayeon's kiss still burned on her lips - bitter, salty, and desperate.

When she returned to the cabin, trying to tread as softly as possible to avoid creaking floorboards, the party in the camp had already begun to die down. Sana, Mina, and Chaeyoung were asleep. Sana was sprawled out on her futon, one arm dangling on the floor, softly snoring and muttering something in her sleep. Mina lay neatly, and frankly, Momo had no idea how she managed to stay so beautiful even while sleeping, while Chaeyoung was curled up into a ball, covered head to toe.

Momo lay down on her mattress without undressing, only kicking off her sneakers. She stared at the dark ceiling, where shadows of cobwebs could be guessed in the cracks between the boards. Behind the wall, in cabin number five, it was quiet. No laughter, no voices, no creaking beds. This silence weighed heavier than any noise. Momo imagined Nayeon lying there, behind that thin partition. Was she sleeping? Or was she also staring into the darkness, replaying their conversation by the river in her memory? Was she thinking about what Momo had said, or had she already managed to convince herself it was just the drunken ravings of a jealous colleague?

Sleep was ragged, restless, full of fragments of strange images: Nayeon in a wedding dress that turned into a straitjacket, Manager Park juggling staplers, an endless river carrying a silver pen further and further away.

Morning greeted them with a headache and the smell of stale alcohol fumes that hung over the entire camp like morning mist. The sun beat ruthlessly through the windows, giving no chance to hide.

"Oh god, who turned the brightness up so high?" Sana groaned, pulling a pillow over her head. "I demand a lawyer. And aspirin. And a new liver."

Mina, who seemed to be the only one not suffering from a hangover (perhaps because she had drunk half a glass of beer at most), was already sitting on her bed, brushing her hair.

"Wake up, sleepyheads. Breakfast is in half an hour, and then departure. Kang said the buses leave at exactly eleven."

Momo sat up, feeling the room do a slight spin on its axis. Her mouth was as dry as the Gobi Desert. She rubbed her temples, trying to chase away memories of the previous evening, but they washed over her in a wave of shame and bitterness. The scene by the river played on a loop in her head, every frame sharp and painful.

"You left early last night," Sana remarked, peering out from under her pillow with one eye. "We lost you."

"I felt sick," Momo replied hoarsely. It wasn't even a lie. She really did feel sick.

"Well, you didn't miss anything," Sana waved a hand dismissively. "After Park tried to sing a ballad during karaoke and fell off the stage, the party kind of fizzled out on its own. Nayeon, by the way, left right after you. Said she had a migraine."

Momo's heart skipped a beat. A migraine. That meant she didn't stay with Park, that meant she left alone. This tiny piece of knowledge brought a strange, twisted relief.

Breakfast took place in an atmosphere of general mourning for the brain cells killed by alcohol. Silence hung over the cafeteria, broken only by the clinking of spoons against bowls and heavy sighs. People sat buried in their bowls of bean sprout hangover soup, trying not to make any sudden movements.

Momo sat with her friends in the corner, mechanically chewing kimchi. She scanned the room for Nayeon, but she was nowhere to be seen. Park was missing too.

"Probably sleeping it off," Sana whispered, following her gaze. "Or maybe Park actually broke something when he fell off the stage."

They appeared ten minutes before the end of breakfast. Nayeon entered the cafeteria wearing dark sunglasses that hid half her face and a huge gray hoodie. She looked pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. She walked quickly, not looking around, clutching a bottle of water like a lifeline. Park followed, limping on his left leg and sporting a band-aid on his forehead. He looked rumpled and guilty.

Nayeon walked past the buffet tables, took only an apple, and sat at the furthest table by the window, alone. Park tried to sit next to her, but Nayeon made a barely perceptible hand gesture, sharp, dismissive, and he obediently sat at the adjacent table, with the guys from accounting.

Momo watched the scene, holding her breath. Nayeon had rejected him. Publicly (albeit quietly) and harshly. A massive rift had opened between them, and Momo hoped the cause of that rift was exactly the size of herself.

"Whoa," commented Mina, who had also noticed the maneuver. "Looks like trouble in paradise."

"Maybe he snored?" Sana suggested. "Or maybe she saw him in ducky boxers and the romance died?"

"Stop it," Momo asked quietly. She suddenly felt sorry for Nayeon. She watched her sitting there, hunched over, gnawing on that miserable apple and staring out the window with an unseeing gaze. She knew this state of Nayeon’s - when she felt bad, when she was vulnerable and wanted to hide from the whole world. In such moments, Nayeon usually came over to her place, burrowed into a blanket, and asked to put on a stupid movie.

But right now, a chasm of unsaid words, grudges, and two dozen colleagues lay between them.

After breakfast, the packing hustle began. They had to return keys, check the cabins for forgotten items, and load luggage onto the buses. Momo, Sana, and Mina finished quickly. They stood in the parking lot, warming themselves in the sun and watching the other colleagues drag their duffel bags.

Nayeon came out of her cabin last. She was dragging her suitcase herself. Jisung wasn't around, and she wouldn't let Park near her. She struggled to get the heavy suitcase down the porch steps, cursing under her breath.

Momo took a step forward, instinctively wanting to help, but Sana held her back by the elbow.

"Don't, Momo," she said quietly. "Did you see her face? She'll bite anyone who gets closer than a meter right now."

Momo stopped. She watched Nayeon dragging her suitcase over the gravel, her heels (yes, she was wearing heels again, even in this state) sinking into the dirt. It was a pathetic yet simultaneously majestic sight. Im Nayeon's pride was heavier than that suitcase, but she carried it with her head held high.

When they started boarding the bus, there was a hitch. Manager Park, still limping, tried to take his seat next to Nayeon - that same spot in the second row. But Nayeon, who was already sitting by the window, placed her bag on the empty seat.

"Nayeon-ssi?" Park blinked in confusion. "Can I...sit?"

"The seat is taken, Manager Park," Nayeon’s voice was cold and ringing, audible to half the bus. "By my bag. It needs rest. And so do I."

"But..." Park turned red, resembling a tomato. "Yesterday we sat together..."

"Yesterday was yesterday," Nayeon cut him off without turning her head or removing her dark glasses. "And today I have a headache, and I want to ride alone. Sit in the back, there's plenty of room."

A whisper ran through the bus, it was a public humiliation. Park stood there for a second, opening and closing his mouth like a fish washed ashore, and then, shoulders slumping, trudged to the back of the cabin under the sympathetic and mocking gazes of his colleagues.

Momo, sitting in her spot in the last row, felt a strange mix of gloating and anxiety. Nayeon had burned bridges. She had done exactly what Momo had demanded of her yesterday by the river - stopped pretending with Park. But at what cost? And what did this mean for them?

The bus started moving, taking them away from the sunny valley back to dusty, noisy Seoul. The return journey always seems shorter, but this time it dragged on endlessly. Momo stared at the back of Nayeon's head visible above the seat, she didn't move. She had put on headphones and seemed to have dropped out of reality.

Sana fell asleep almost immediately, resting her head on Momo's shoulder. Mina seemed to be reading. And Momo was left alone with her thoughts, which revolved around the same question: what happens next? Tomorrow is Monday, they’ll meet in the office again. Nayeon will walk past. Will she look at Momo? Will she be angry? Or will she pretend the conversation by the river never happened, as she had done hundreds of times before?

Momo remembered Nayeon's words: You're not going anywhere, because you're just as messed up as I am.

It was the truth - a cruel, unpleasant truth. Momo knew she wouldn't leave. She was tethered to this woman by an invisible fishing line that cut into her skin but held tighter than steel chains. She would wait for Friday, she would buy ice, she would open the door.

The bus entered the city limits. Skyscrapers, bridges across the Han River, and an endless stream of cars flashed by the window. Reality was returning, claiming its rights, erasing memories of night bonfires and drunken revelations. When they pulled up to the office and began unloading, Momo lingered on purpose to be one of the last off. She didn't want to run into Nayeon in the doorway.

She stepped onto the sidewalk, squinting against the city sun. Sana and Mina were already hailing a taxi.

"Momo, are you coming with us? We can drop you at the subway!" Sana shouted.

"No, I...I'll walk," Momo replied. She needed to clear her head before returning to her empty apartment.

She adjusted her backpack on her shoulder and turned to leave.

And saw Nayeon.

Nayeon stood by her car - a white Mercedes parked slightly off to the side. She had already loaded her suitcase. She stood with the driver's door open, but didn't get in. She was looking straight at Momo. Fifty meters of asphalt and a stream of people disembarking from the bus separated them.

Nayeon took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were tired, shadows lay beneath them that even light makeup couldn't conceal. She looked at Momo for a long time, studying her. In her gaze, there was neither yesterday's anger nor the morning's coldness. There was emptiness and...a question?

Momo froze. She didn't know what to do. Approach? Nod? Smile?

Nayeon gave a slow, barely perceptible shake of her head, as if admitting defeat. She bit her lip, then turned away sharply, got into the car, and slammed the door. The engine roared to life. The white car shot forward, merging into the stream of traffic, leaving behind only a small cloud of exhaust fumes.

Momo exhaled the air she seemed to have been holding in her lungs for the last five minutes.

"I'll walk, then," she whispered to herself.

She turned and headed toward the subway, feeling the heaviness in her legs with every step. The team building was over. The team might have bonded, but something inside Momo had finally shattered. And she wasn't sure she could piece it back together before next Friday.