[CONTENTID1] Chapter 07 [/CONTENTID1] [CONTENTID2] Seventh Course Decision [/CONTENTID2] [CONTENTID3] “,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, followed by a loud thud which is the back of my head hitting the kitchen cabinet again. “Ow,” I groan, rubbing the sore spot.

What. The. . Just. Happened?

Jongin has leaped about a meter away from the kitchen counter, and his chest heaves up and down as he stares at me with wild eyes. “Are you…” he swallows, his voice breathless, “are you alright?”

“I think so,” I answer, still in a daze. I mean I am, but at the same time I’m not, because… “Jongin, did we just—”

Suddenly, the doorbell chimes again. Thrice this time. It’s the wake-up call Jongin needed and I badly resented.

“Your door,” he says, uncharacteristically jumpy. “There’s someone—I’ll get it.”

I hope whoever rang the doorbell has run and hide because if I see them, I am going to murder them.

Hopping off the counter, I hobble after Jongin. Again, what the just happened and who on earth is that at my door? I don’t think it would be my parents because my mom is probably still at her own event and it sounds like my dad will be occupied until tomorrow, so… who is this er?

The hinges creak as Jongin swings my door open, and from behind it, a male voice hollers, “Packages for Ms. Seo Iseul!”

I squeeze my eyes shut and ball my fists to stop myself from punching my own face.

.

Of course.

My packages—all the stuff I ordered for myself as a reward for not being able to function in front of my bodyguard!

“Thank you,” I mutter, appearing behind Jongin. I check the label of the topmost box on the stack the security guard is carrying. “Yeah, these are mine.”

Shinsegae Online—yup, I did this to me. I ed myself and ruined that almost-kiss. I hate myself and I hate my life and I hate everything I bought!

“I’ll take them inside,” Jongin offers, holding out his hands.

The security guard beams, transferring all the boxes into Jongin’s arms. Once his hands are free, he whips out a slip and pen. “I just need you to sign right here, ma’am.”

“How come the delivery came so late at night?” I hiss once Jongin is out of earshot. “Did FedEx only arrive now?”

“No ma’am, but you had requested afternoon deliveries—“

“This is three hours before midnight!”

“Yes ma’am, but in your delivery instructions, you requested for your packages to be delivered by the building security team at a later hour, between 7-10 PM, because you are often out late due to work.” The security guard points at the little note on the paper slip. “Especially for packages requiring your signature.”

ing hell. I seriously have no one else but myself to blame here!

“Alright, alright, fine,” I mutter. “Thank you, have a good night.”

I slam the door and hurry back in, eager to continue the interrupted conversation. Or rather, course of action. In my living room, I find my cursed packages all over my coffee table and Jongin sitting on my couch, examining them.

“I’ve placed everything here,” he informs as soon as he sees me, still sounding a little nervous. His eyes dart around the room. “Um… do you still want your noodles?”

“Nope,” I say firmly before he can escape to the kitchen. “I want to talk about what happened.”

There’s silence from his end—radio silence that would’ve continued on if I didn’t speak up again. “Jongin,” I call. Suddenly, it’s impossible to sound as firm as I had mere seconds ago because my heart feels like it’s lodged up my throat. “Don’t you think we should talk? Weren’t we… weren’t we about to kiss?”

“I’m sorry,” is his immediate reply. The two words are short and fast and painful like a paper cut. I don’t know what to think while I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he chooses his next words, and what comes out is equally disappointing. “I… I made a mistake.”

The heart in my throat plunges to my stomach. “Is that what that was then?” I blurt out, unthinking. “A mistake?”

“Yes.” His hard eyes meet mine. “A momentary lapse of judgment.”

The words make my hollow chest burn. “Momentary?” I repeat, my pitch climbing. “All those minutes holding my face, calling my name, and not pulling away?”

He drops his gaze to the floor. “I… I sincerely apologize for all that. I apologize for what I said about being unprofessional, as well as for all other unprofessional things I’ve said even before today—”

“No!” I cry. No, I’m not going to let him take ‘40 million dollars’ away from me. Over my dead body. “Jongin, why are you saying all this? It’s okay—I was okay with it, in fact, it was something I also initiated because I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. This time, there’s a desperate, pleading edge to his voice. It seems to tremble under the weight of the word and the rest of what follows. “You don’t have to tell me why. I’m just your bodyguard, Ms. Seo.”

“Stop saying that!” I yell, frustrated. What the hell is wrong with this guy? “Jongin, come on—clearly the fact that we nearly kissed shows that you’re not just my bodyguard the same way that I’m not just your client!”

“You are,” he says through gritted teeth. “You are, Ms. Seo. That’s all you can ever be to me.”

“Why?” I’m seething now, and tears of frustration are starting to form. “If it’s something that we both feel—”

“I don’t feel anything!” he yells, making me jump. His expression softens for a split second, but he recovers before I do. “Like I said, what I did was just a mistake. We shouldn’t be feeling anything because as bodyguard and client, you and I should never be getting emotionally involved!”

“But you said—” I splutter, words dying in disbelief, “—, is the fact that you’re my bodyguard so hard to get past?!”

“Yes!”

“Why? Why does it have to be so—“

“Because the last time I got attached to a client I’m only meant to protect, they died!”

His words bounce off my tall ceilings and marble floor. The revelation freezes in the air, unable to dissolve, and for a second, I can only stare at him in shock. He seems to realize what he just said and quickly turns away.

“I told you that night in the hospital room. There have been repercussions of my getting too attached to subjects I am only meant to protect.”

“I… I’m sorry,” I finally say, because what else could I say to that? What else could I possibly say right now? “I didn’t think—I really didn’t—“

“You didn’t know,” he finishes for me. “It’s alright.” He says that, but his stiff manner screams anything but.

“No, I really didn’t even think of that,” I say. Another pause. I chew on my lower lip, processing, but the more I think about it, the more questions I get. “What… um, was it…” My mouth opens and closes, unable to decide whether it can ask the one thing I’m curious about.

Was it another girl? Is there a female client he lost and still can’t get over?

“It was a kid,” he suddenly says in a quiet voice, as if reading my mind. And for the second time that night, he’s got me completely speechless again. “Kim Jongguk. Son of a brilliant senior NIS agent I hugely respected who was on a mission in the Middle East. My last client with the NIS because I loved him like my own. He was six, and I failed to protect him because he was already so sad about his father never being home, I couldn’t bear to say no when he asked for five additional minutes at a hotel pool that got attacked four minutes later.”

His eyes meet mine again and when they do, the regret I see in them makes my gut ache. “I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “God, I’m an idiot. I’m really sorry, Jongin. I bet he was a wonderful child.”

“He was,” Jongin agrees. The sadness in those words is heartbreaking, and it takes everything in me to not reach out and hold his hand. Maybe I would’ve if we weren’t just fighting about unprofessionalism, but we were, so I settle for using just words.

“I know I don’t know the full story yet, but I hope you don’t blame yourself for it,” I say carefully. “At least not anymore, or not too harshly. Maybe part of it was your mistake, but knowing you, I know you would’ve done everything you could’ve to keep Jongguk alive.”

His eyes flicker to meet mine. “Whatever I did after the hotel was attacked was only an attempt to fix my initial mistake. It was already too late by then. So now, before anything happens, I can’t let anyone die on my watch—by my mistakes again.”

My mouth drops open in protest. “I get it, but that’s not fair. You weren’t the only layer of protection at the hotel, were you? So it wasn’t only your mistake, and as for the ultimate consequence, you don’t know if that’s what’s going to happen again!”

“I do, actually,” he retorts. “All clients are the same. They always underestimate the danger that they could be in and refuse to listen. In your case, this has already been proven twice.”

“But I’m not a six-year-old child!” I burst out. “I’ve learned my lesson from not listening to you and I fully intend to be more careful going forward!”

“That’s good if you are, but I still can’t—“

“Jongin, come on! Just because something happened in the past, it’s not fair to stop us from something we both want—”

“I don’t want to make mistakes on the job, Ms. Seo. Never again. And because getting emotionally attached to a client is clearly one…” I wait, the world caving in as he pauses, “please don’t say it’s something that we both want.”

My jaw drops.

.

What should I say?

What should I even feel?

I don’t know what’s harder to accept—the humiliation, rejection, or the fact that he’s just as good at making my heart swell as he is at smashing it to pieces.

So before I do anything stupid like stab him or let this conversation get any worse, I get up and limp away.

JONGIN

Lately, my nights have been going from plain to incredibly . And tonight in particular – tonight is breaking all records.

I can only stare at Iseul’s back as she walks away from me with that worrisome limp, guilt and self-hatred coursing through my body. See, Jongin? This is what you get for losing your self-control.

You could’ve just gone back inside, help her with her ramen without touching her face and saying all those ing things you said, and actually get to stay like you told her you wanted to.

You might’ve been able to stay for a couple hours—you might’ve been able to stay the night if you’re lucky. It won’t matter if you end up on the couch or even on the floor, because at least you’ll be with her—around her—till morning. She’s always the first thing you think about when you wake—maybe this time, she could’ve also been the first thing you see. 

At least she wouldn’t be pointing at the door, telling you to get out, like she is now. “I think you should leave,” is what she says, her beautiful eyes downcast. So of course you do exactly that—because after all the confusing, frustrating, misleading you put her through tonight, leaving is the least you could do.

If our conversation didn’t blow up that badly, maybe I’d have the guts to say ‘let me stay’. Not tonight, but in the morning. Please let me stay as your bodyguard. Don’t tell your father you want me replaced. Because even if it kills me, I’d rather turn blue holding my breath for you than have to lose you.  

If, by some miracle, I don’t lose my job in the morning, I have to get extremely serious with myself and figure out a reliable way to hold myself back. Because I’ve made too many mistakes already and I can’t make her hate me even more. In fact, my mistakes go all the way back to the first time I ever saw her.

Disheveled hair, stormy eye bags, and a small scrape near her jaw thanks to her drunken fall the last night—but I still let myself think crap, she’s kind of gorgeous.

That was my first ever mistake.

Because if I never thought that, that probably wouldn’t have turned into ‘holy no, she’s insanely gorgeous’ every time she delivers a brilliant keynote speech at her conferences, or puts on a different thousand-dollar party dress.

Particularly that goddamned red dress with the thigh-high slit from YSL.

They say the most part of the body is wherever the garment gapes, and that night, they couldn’t have been more right. It was torture—trying to keep my eyes off her milky white thigh that peeked between the crimson every time she took a step; trying to look her in the eye when we talked, and not at her bare shoulders, neck, and chest. Trying not to punch that idiot who approached her at the bar was so difficult that by the time we ended up in the hospital room, I was mentally exhausted.

I was so exhausted from holding back that for a second, I didn’t. I let myself believe that we could be more friendly with each other, and I was honest with her for once. I told her she looked like 40 million dollars.

If I never did that, I probably wouldn’t have gotten that elevated heart rate reaction. And if I never got that, I wouldn’t have known what getting such a reaction felt like, and I wouldn’t have started wanting more.

I wouldn’t have gotten addicted to all those little signs—the subtle glances, her shy eyes avoiding mine, the bated breath she doesn’t know I can hear. I wouldn’t have gotten greedy. I wouldn’t have thought that maybe, just maybe, she also felt the way I did.

And ever letting that thought into my head was my worst mistake of all.

Because after that, it only snowballed. It’s like I didn’t even know how to hold back anymore. I couldn’t stop making mistakes and everything I did was wrong. The late-night phone call, calling her by her name, her soft hair, and… not pulling away.

I’m someone who knows his place. I know that as an Executive Protection Agent, aka bodyguard, I am only hired to protect my client. Emotions have no place in my role. I know that as someone who has made the mistake of getting fatally attached to a client before, I’d be damned to let that happen again. I know that I’ve already gotten too close for comfort with Iseul, and tonight is the closest I can and should ever get—millimeters away from her lips.

I know that millimeters isn’t my place. Right now, it’s meters—meters away from her and beside her door. She doesn’t walk me there; she doesn’t even watch as I walk away. It’s the least of what I deserve, I know, but I still wish that tonight, this wasn’t my place.

“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying, trying one last time. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just can’t—“

“Don’t,” she interrupts, her voice sharp. “Just go.”

. I watch her as she tries to look anywhere but at me and to be honest, I can understand. Everything I say is wrong or worse. My entire body is screaming to ask her if she’ll really be okay if I leave—because she can’t even walk properly—but I know that that’ll only make things even more confusing. I’ll just be a jackass giving off chronically mixed signals.

“Good night,” I say at last, one foot out the door. “Remember to take care of your ankle.”

Her gaze is still pinned on the floor. I allow myself to stall briefly, watching her as she limps out of sight and into her room. Only then do I shut the door.

Within minutes, I’m on my motorbike racing home—a studio apartment in a complex not too far from Iseul’s. It isn’t anywhere as glamorous, but it’s decent and sufficient. And while it’s usually less than a 10-minute ride, I take the long way home tonight. I take the extra minutes to clear my head.

I try not to think about what will happen tomorrow. Instead, I try to make peace with what happened tonight. I try to tell myself that at least Iseul didn’t lash out with ultimatums like ‘I never want to see you again’ or ‘you’re fired’. At least she didn’t even say she hates me. And even though this is selfish, at least I know that what happened on the kitchen counter affected her too.

But does that make everything better or worse? What’s the point of knowing that the girl you think about every night might have feelings for you too if you know for sure that you just acted like a total and ruined every last chance you have with her?

My grip on the handlebars tightens. The problem is I had to. You had to, Jongin. You know you had to do it for the sake of being able to stay beside her at all.

If, of course, you don’t get a dismissal call in the morning.

The incident involving Jongguk has never completely left my mind. But no—the problem with getting involved with Iseul isn’t just the pitchfork it’ll stab in my conscience, it’s about what’ll happen when other people find out. Whether it’s Iseul’s father or my agency—or the media, or the Seos’ gossipy, high-profile social circle—it will most definitely result in my removal.

After all, Seo Janghoon has made it crystal clear that I’m here to keep his daughter out of any kind of trouble that can not only harm her, but also him—or more specifically, his reputation. His daughter getting involved with her bodyguard will definitely axe it.

So if such an incident goes public, my agency will undoubtedly release me. Especially after my flawed history with the NIS. In an industry where you are only as good as how well you left your last client, I’m lucky to still be with one of the largest private security companies in the country at all.

At this point, you might be thinking—why worry about all that now? How will you know if anyone is ever going to find out?

Well, for starters, my phone’s already ringing. I’ve just gotten out of the shower, and I already have Iseul’s father on the line.

I clear my throat and try to sound completely normal. “Hello?”

“Did you get my daughter home?”

I double-check the caller ID, confused. Is this really Mr. Seo? He should know that Iseul has been home for about 2 hours by now.

“Yes, sir, just before 9 PM tonight.” I furrow my brows. “Is there an issue?”

“She seems completely drunk, which is why I wanted to make sure that you got her home.” Her father sighs. “Did something happen?”

“What?” I say, maybe a second too fast to sound completely unsuspicious. , I cannot sound too concerned. “Not when I was with her, why? Should I go back and check?”

“I’m not sure,” her father says, and funnily enough, there’s a note of surprise in his voice. I pause, halfway to my closet to get dressed again already.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Because all she said was she wants you fired.”

The words echo in my head. I want to think this cannot be happening so soon, but the fact is, it is. As Iseul’s father says something about heading to her place at 8 AM sharp tomorrow, there’s only one thing I try to tell myself to keep myself sane.

It’s that at least I’m only getting fired, not hearing that she’s run off to some other guy.

ISEUL 

Here’s the thing about waking up in the morning: it’s never a pleasant experience when it’s achieved by hearing your full name being yelled at your face.

“SEO ISEUL!”

I start, snapping my head up in a way that's definitely gonna break something in my neck.

“What—what—” I stutter, severely disoriented, blinking like mad to try to grasp where I am and why I have a splintering headache.

Ow. . So many green bottles on my table, that’s why. Wait, that means—no, don’t tell me—

Slowly, I lift my eyes. Yup, my enraged father is standing in front of me and the mess I made, alright. I’m so, so ed.

“Unbelievable. A car blows up and what do you do? Get black out drunk without showing a single ounce of concern—and for what reason?” His lips curl in unconcealed annoyance. “For God’s sake, Iseul, when are you going to grow up?”

“Dad, I’m sorry, I—” I brake abruptly, realizing that there’s someone else standing behind him. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. Kim Jongin cannot be here and seeing me like this.

My father follows my gaze. “Ah, do you remember what you said last night?”

“Last night?”

Here’s the thing: I drank to forget last night. It didn’t work. Everything I said to Jongin is still fresh in my brain, and what essentially was a rejection is still humiliating as to me. The problem is I don’t remember what else I said after I started drinking like a fish, especially to this furious-looking old man over here.

“Yes.” He crosses his arms, and Jongin and I avert our eyes at pretty much the same time. “Come on, I have to meet the Cabinet in an hour. Do you want Jongin fired or not?”

Fired? , , me. What exactly did I say I want again?!

“Uh… what?” I pale, grabbing my phone. No, this can’t be real, I couldn’t have—, okay, I actually did. I drunk-dialed my father and prob