Wrong Script, Right Love-Chapter 172: Between Mornings and Late Nights

[Renji’s POV—Kurosawa Mansion—Continuation]

I stepped back after tying the knot, fingers lingering a fraction longer than necessary before I forced myself to let go.

"There," I said softly. "It’s done."

I lifted my gaze—and realized I was still far too close.

Close enough to notice the faint crease between his brows when he concentrated. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, steady and real, just inches away. Hayato hadn’t moved. His eyes were fixed on me, unreadable and intent, as if he’d forgotten to look away.

My heart stuttered.

"Oh— I’m sorry," I started, instinctively taking half a step back.

"Did you have breakfast, Renji?"

The question cut cleanly through the moment.

I blinked, thrown off. "Huh? Oh... no, sir. I hurried here."

For a second, he said nothing. Then he turned toward the door, reaching for his coat. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"Then have breakfast with me."

I froze.

"...Sir?"

He glanced over his shoulder, expression calm, almost casual—yet there was something deliberate in his tone. As if this decision mattered more than he was willing to show.

"You skipped a meal because of my schedule," he said. "That makes it my responsibility."

My lips curved before I could stop them.

It was such a him way of saying it. Practical. Controlled. Completely unaware of the effect it had on me.

"I know a place," I said gently, falling into step beside him. "The coffee shop I used to work at. They serve light breakfast. It won’t take long."

He considered it for a moment, then nodded. "I don’t mind."

That was all.

But it felt like an opening.

***

[Later—Coffee Shop]

The bell above the door chimed softly as we stepped inside.

The space smelled of fresh bread and roasted beans, warm and familiar. Morning light spilled across wooden tables, catching in the steam rising from cups already set out for early customers.

I hadn’t realized how tense I was until my shoulders relaxed.

"Renji!" Mika waved at me from behind the counter the moment she spotted us.

"I’ll order and come," I said quietly to Hayato, bowing slightly.

He nodded, already drifting toward the window seat, one hand slipping into his coat pocket as he checked his phone.

I placed our order quickly. By the time I turned back, he was seated exactly where I expected—back straight, gaze unfocused, sunlight cutting across his profile in a way that felt unfairly distracting.

I took the seat across from him. "The coffee will be here in a few minutes, sir."

He glanced up, then nodded once. "Alright."

A moment later, Mika appeared, setting down two cups with a soft clink—along with a small tray of tamagoyaki, grilled salmon, and onigiri arranged neatly beside them.

"And breakfast," she added brightly. "On the house."

I smirked. "Thank you, Mika."

She leaned in and patted my shoulder conspiratorially. "Eat well. And—" her eyes flicked briefly to Hayato "—have fun."

I raised my thumb. "You’re the best."

She grinned. "I know."

Then she turned and swept back to the counter like she’d just delivered a perfectly timed bomb.

I chuckled under my breath. Reaching for the chopsticks, I handed a pair across the table. "Sir—"

He didn’t take them.

I looked up.

Hayato was watching me. Not casually. Not distractedly. His eyes were fixed on my face with quiet intensity, like he was piecing something together.

"Is that girl your girlfriend, Renji?"

The question landed so suddenly.

"...Eh?"

He blinked once, clearly realizing how blunt it sounded. "You both seem close. And you worked together, so I assumed—"

"Let me be brutally honest, sir," I said gently.

He stilled.

"I’m gay."

Silence.

Not the awkward kind. The kind that stretches—thin but fragile.

Hayato straightened slightly, expression unreadable for half a second. Then he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"You’re... brutally honest," he said.

"I know," I replied, chuckling softly. "But that’s who I am."

For a moment, he just studied me. Then—slowly—his expression warmed. Not dramatically. Just enough.

He finally reached out and took the chopsticks from my hand.

"...We have a meeting later, right?" he said, returning to his coffee.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

He took a bite, then paused. "This is good."

I smiled into my own cup.

Something had shifted. Not because of what I said—but because of how he accepted it, like last time.

***

[Hayato’s POV—Conference Room—Late Morning]

The conference room was too bright.

Floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight pour in, reflecting off the polished table and the glass walls. Numbers glowed on the screen at the far end of the room—quarterly projections, growth margins, and risk assessments.

Routine.

Familiar.

Safe.

"—as you can see, the variance in Q3 expenditure—"

I nodded once, fingers steepled in front of me, eyes fixed on the screen. My expression remained neutral, attentive. The board members watched me closely, as they always did, gauging my reactions more than the data itself.

Good.

That was how it should be.

And yet—

"Sir?"

Renji’s voice reached me from my right, low and unobtrusive.

I shifted my gaze to him without thinking. He stood beside my chair, tablet in hand, posture straight. Sunlight caught the edge of his glasses, briefly obscuring his eyes before he adjusted them with a small, practiced motion.

"You asked for the revised cost breakdown," he said quietly. "I’ve highlighted the discrepancies."

I took the tablet from him.

Our fingers brushed.

Barely.

The contact was insignificant—accidental, even. And yet something sharp and strange sparked beneath my skin, like static.

... Now that I think about it—why did I smile when he said he was gay?

The question surfaced uninvited.

I looked at him again.

Renji stood where he always did—calm, composed, eyes lowered respectfully. Nothing about him was out of place. Nothing inappropriate. And yet the feeling lingered, unsettling and persistent.

I didn’t understand it. But I knew this much—I wanted him closer.

Closer than what was required.Closer than what made sense.Closer than a mere assistant.

I forced my gaze back to the tablet, exhaling quietly through my nose.

"Good," I said, my voice steady. "Proceed with the revised forecast. I want a risk mitigation plan by next week."

"Yes, sir," the CFO replied, relieved.

A hand lifted from the other side of the table. "What about the pending meeting with Astraeon Holdings?"

I hummed thoughtfully, tapping my finger once against the tabletop before turning my head.

"Renji," I asked, "have we received any confirmation from Astraeon yet?"

He checked his tablet immediately, fingers moving with practiced speed.

"Not yet, sir," he said. "We haven’t received any response or finalized schedule from them."

I nodded once.

"Then we wait," I said. "The moment they respond, forward all information directly to you."

He looked up. "Understood."

I stood, buttoning my coat in one smooth motion. The room straightened with me.

"That’s all," I said. "The meeting is dismissed."

Chairs shifted. Quiet acknowledgments followed. One by one, they filed out, conversation resuming in low, controlled murmurs.

I walked toward the door without looking back.

And yet—I was acutely aware of Renji falling into step beside me, perfectly timed, as if he already knew my pace.

That awareness stayed with me longer than it should have.

And as we left the conference room, one thought echoed—unwelcome, undeniable, and far too dangerous for a CEO to entertain during business hours:

This wasn’t a distraction.

It was interesting.

I didn’t confront it.

I buried it beneath work.

Renji and I worked together—closely. Meetings bled into evenings. Evenings bled into nights. Somewhere along the way, breakfasts became routine. Then dinners. Then quiet coffee breaks that stretched longer than necessary.

I learned things about him I hadn’t intended to.

That he was surprisingly bubbly outside the office. Talkative when relaxed. Animated when he spoke about things he liked. That he laughed easily—bright, unguarded—and worked just as hard as he smiled.

He was efficient, yes. But he was also warm.

And I didn’t know when it happened. Only that one day, I noticed his absence before his presence.

Just like that—

Six months passed.

"Gosh—why are you so drunk?" Renji’s voice cut through the noise as strong arms hauled me upright.

The bar lights swam above me, too bright, too loud. I squinted, trying to focus.

I pointed an unsteady finger across the room. "He—he made me drink."

Ryo, slouched against the counter, stiffened. Renji shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood.

Ryo immediately raised both hands. "I didn’t. I swear. He called me and said he wanted to get drunk. I’m innocent."

Renji exhaled slowly, clearly counting to ten. "Alright," he muttered. "Let’s go home."

I tilted my head, smiling lazily as he adjusted my arm over his shoulder.

"Are you... Are you gonna take me home?"

He snapped, voice echoing louder than necessary. "WHO ELSE WILL?!"

He tightened his grip, muttering under his breath. "I can’t believe you drank this much. Do you have any idea how heavy you are—ugh..."

I laughed softly, the sound bubbling out before I could stop it.

Then I leaned fully into him.

Wrapped my arms around him.

Held on.

"God..." I murmured, cheek pressed against his shoulder, utterly sincere. "You’re so cute."

He froze.

"...Stop talking," he said stiffly.

But he didn’t let go.

And as he carried me out into the night, holding me far more carefully than necessary, one last thought drifted through my hazy mind—Somewhere between shared mornings and late nights...

He had stopped being just my assistant.